Thursday, September 19, 2002
What is the deal with the elevator door close button? Why is it there? It obviously doesn't close the door to the elevator, because you've pressed it enough times in futility. Now I hate to say this, but here goes; in China, the elevator door close button works, and you can read it because it looks just like this >|< . Yep, they look the same.
Now when I was at Crotonville, the compound that I stayed in for my leadership class had elevators, and all of those buttons performed their designated functions flawlessly. I think they're the only close door buttons in America that actually work. When Jack Welch is in a building that bears his name, he's gonna see to it that every button in that place does its job, and that all the cute journalists get preferential treatment.
One thing that I'm remembering about China right now (which is completely off the subject) is that you could pass cops. Everyone did it. If a cop was doing the speed limit of 65, you could blow by him at 75 and the guy wouldn't blink. People never think to slow down for cops. And if you were driving an S-Class, Cops would NEVER TOUCH YOU if you sped. It's far too political over there. If they pulled the wrong guy over, it meant his job.
How am I going to conclude this . . . oh yeah. I''ve been looking into buying an island . . . in lake Nicaragua. I mean, that one looks a little pricey, but the undeveloped ones that aren't as big are only eight boxes of ziti. I always wanted my own island. I'll have one some day.
That's it for tonight.
7:38 PM . . .
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
I'm going to a meetup tomorrow night. A weblogger meetup. Didn't ya know? It's international weblogger meetup day. It starts at seven tomorrow at Ben's Chili Bowl. I only hope I don't have to stay at work until nine like I did tonight. Of course, that was a good enough excuse for me not to start my workout regimen. How many workouts does it take to make a regimen, anyway?
8:57 PM . . .
Monday, September 16, 2002
This weekend, I made four bets at ten dollars a piece and won them all. They were all underdog bets. It feels good to win.
7:26 AM . . .
Sunday, September 15, 2002
My roomate Brian hears his fiancee call from downstairs about something, and he relays the message to Chris and I.
"Guys, you gotta see this. Two snails having sex."
So we get up and go downstairs, because, you know, snails having sex . . . you gotta check that out. Three guys walk downstairs to see some snails having sex. Brian starts miming how big the snails are with his hands and it seems to me that in seconds I'll be watching two Chambered Nautili get it on. We get to the door and the bride-to-be, Samantha, is holding an imaginary, grapefruit sized snail in her hand. Now I'm scared they may devour me whole.
I get to the door, and, well, I have to say I'm not too disappointed. They weren't even snails and I'm not disappointed. First of all, they're slugs. Second of all, they're each only about three inches long. They were slithering the side of the house with this blue and white effluvium slowly emerging from this hanging ball of slug love. And they were movin.
"Dude. They're banging. I mean, they're bangin' HARD," Brian said, as if he'd never heard a better example of an oxymoron. But let me tell ya; these slugs were strokin'.
I remember one time at my house on Slaytonbush lane, I was about ten years old or something, I found a slug and put some salt on it. I regret that. I swear that I heard the poor thing screaming as it shriveled and shrunk into a gooey blob. And this slug was shriveling as fast as it could have possibly shrivel because he was shriveling for his life . . . and he was movin'.
These slugs were going that fast. Just imagine monkeys going at it and then slow it down to slug pace. Yeah. Slug Porn. That's right.
8:22 PM . . .
Friday, September 13, 2002
Let me tell you something, this is ALL TRUE. Every word of it. Fantasy Football is life from September to December. If you're a football fan, get a fantasy team. It definitely adds life to a football season, especially seasons like last year, when your Buffalo Bills go 3-13.
1:56 PM . . .
Thursday, September 12, 2002
I'm walking out of work last night at about 7:30 after a meeting with my manager, and a woman is walking about thirty yards ahead of me. It's late, and it might seem odd that someone's walking behind her at 7:30 when there's no one else in the parking lot and only one other car in the area she's walking to. I step on a leaf, and she kind of spins around and says, "So is it gonna rain or what?"
I'm looking at her and I know exactly what she's thinking; that guy is going to kill me. I figure this because of the hint of nervousness in her voice and the absence of any meteorological condition that could have possibly made it seem like rain was approaching. I mean, I understand that it's a different world if you're a woman, but come up with something better than that to engage a possible attacker:Woman walking to her car in downtown Boston: So, uhhhh . . . How 'bout them Yankees? (Psycho music plays, man pulls out knife . . .)It's like she was suggesting that abduction was an option I had by appearing nervous. It's not like I've ever walked behind someone to my car and thought, "Hmmm, I wonder if this girl would be a good rape?"
8:49 AM . . .
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
Saturday, September 07, 2002
This site is the best . . . for me to poop on. And what the heck was up with that MTV VMA stuff with Eminem, anyway? From our friend, Triumph:I only wish Eminem could relax and enjoy all he has: his unique talent, and his smooth white hair, which brings to mind a beagle's nutsack. He should lighten up...I mean, my mom was a bitch too, but I don't go writing songs about it.
6:03 AM . . .
Friday, September 06, 2002
There's a fish story coming up next week. And let me tell ya, it's a whopper.
It's about a man who goes by the name of Flounder. It's a little like Sleepers without the ass-raping or murder, or the accents . . . or the girl . . . OK, so it's not really like Sleepers at all. It's revenge exacted by two downtrodden college teammates. You'll like it.
2:40 PM . . .
Jimmy Carter takes aim at U.S. global presence in this piece. I couldn't agree with his statements more:Some new approaches have understandably evolved from quick and well-advised reactions by President Bush to the tragedy of Sept. 11, but others seem to be developing from a core group of conservatives who are trying to realize long-pent-up ambitions under the cover of the proclaimed war against terrorism . . . Formerly admired almost universally as the preeminent champion of human rights, our country has become the foremost target of respected international organizations concerned about these basic principles of democratic life . . . Belligerent and divisive voices now seem to be dominant in Washington, but they do not yet reflect final decisions of the president, Congress or the courts.People have called George Bush a "Constitutional Dictator," but he's not in control of his cabinet right now, and that's seen in the points that Carter asserts in his article.
Now I also just read this, and it made me think this. Yes, James; that's you sitting there taking the blood of our patriots and turning it into the hatred that clouds the minds of Americans and aids our government in making poor foreign policy decisions. Think about it . . . People don't just fly airplanes into buildings because we stole their lunch money. There are things that we need to fix about the way we interact with the rest of the world, and people are losing sight of this fact by the war now rhetoric spouted by our government officials.
There's a guy a couple cubes down from me who is the biggest "patriot" in the office. He's a volunteer fireman with all sorts of red, white, and blue remember this and never forget that stuff all over his cube. He's got an American flag hanging on the shades at his window and little American flag Christmas lights draped like bunting across the borders of his cube. I forgive the fact that it's terribly tacky, but I can't forgive his blind national pride.
8:27 AM . . .