Be alert; everyone likes lerts

BREAKING: I have discovered that the StanleyCorp water cooler over near the executive offices dispenses noticeably colder water than the water cooler near the peon cubicles. Also: they have better coffee. What gives?

Since both cold water and coffee serve as stimulants (uh, they both do; just trust me), it seems the only logical answer is a sinister plan to keep us just alert enough to be reasonably productive, while not being juiced enough to question the hierarchy and our measly lot in life.

Of course, I can always make the walk over to Executive Office Land and partake in their perked-up perquisites, but realizing I have to work on Labor Day, I feel more inclined to concoct conspiracy theories about the Man! Keeping! Me! Down!

Next time on cockamamie-work-theory blogging: the eschatological implications of small paper clips and the cretins who use them.

Also, Walgreens doesn't sell beer? Where the fuck have I been living?

AS OF THIS MOMENT::::::
Peoria, Illinois ->
Vermillion, South Dakota - >
Pine Ridge, South Dakota - >
Hill City, South Dakota - >
Teton Village, Wyoming - >
Pine Creek, Montana - >
Missoula, Montana.

I had no idea there were so many RVs in existence. Literally billions. Look it up. There are more RVs putting around just the northern slope of Yellowstone than all bicycles in America combined times seven. Plus I don't know if you're aware of this but everybody who owns an RV is a professional photographer. Suitcases full of lenses and filters and film and smaller, more versatile camera-storing gear. It's just a fact I've recently been privy to.

Whenever I'm around some kind of photo-op thingy, I offer to take pictures for all the couples, because having a picture of both of you in front of Old Faithful is way better than having a picture of him, then of her, or having a picture where it's one of those here-I'll-hold-the-camera-in-front-of-us-hurry-up-quick-smile deals. Usually, though, the dude looks at me, then at his camera, then back at me and explains that, you know, the auto-focus is kind of shaky and really it won't pickup the subtle sunset hues unless you're using the ONX filter and really thanks, we appreciate it, but we're okay, we can just photoshop ourselves in front of it anyway.

And I don't know what your personal experience has been, but everybody who has ever owned a motorcycle and/or driven/rode one on a public/private road for an indiscriminate amount of time, is a badass.

On the occasion of one's birth, twenty-one years on

I'm loathe to engage in mockery of the inebriated, lest I find myself in such a predicament—drunken and mocked, that is.

And so it is with some reluctance and personal shame that I share the antics that ensued on or around A.Smith's recent completion of his twenty-first on this green Earth.

I should note, as a matter of pre-emptive defense, that I would greatly have preferred this sort of good-natured—healthy, even—intervention to that which befell me on my own twenty-first. (Some unsavory lout employed the clever ruse of telling me a shot of cheap gin and tabasco was instead a tasty cocktail combination. The bastard.)

Moreover, I suppose, I should apologize in advance to Mr. Smith. Hey, Mr. Smith: I'm sorry I'm about to post a funny video of you on my blog.

Video: after the jump here

Fit

I can think of few things less beneficial to my health than a Tuesday afternoon Benefits Meeting. At this point, I've read enough about the U.S. healthcare system to know that I'm getting screwed—regardless of whether it's the Premier or the Value Plan. Ooh, or the HSA. (That stands for Health Savings Account, which helps me understand better the cost of my doctor visits by, uh, making me pay for them outright. Sweet. Thanks. Helpful.)

I know we're getting aced, that I'm paying into an entirely inefficient system that's demonstrated its failure to do what it purports to do (to wit, provide for the health of the participants), and instead, in some sense, I'm paying for you, Mr. Benefits Explainer Man to be here, thanks for the free pen. Wait. Scratch that. I paid for the pen, too.

So it's not healthy for me to sit there in that meeting. I just stew in bitterness that bubbles towards contempt.

"Allowable Charge."

"Biologically-Based Mental Illness."

"Infusion Therapy."

"And what I like to call the worst-case scenario: 'the train-wreck year.'"

...

I don't know how to make health-care better, but I know that ours is fucked and all I can do is look away, lest I give myself a fucking hernia by stewing over it (hernia: covered in-network at a 20% allowable charge, out-of-network at 40%).

"Are there any questions?"

Yes, there are. I ask if those of us who work with our Canadian branch can just go ahead and enroll in that country's universal health-care system. And we all laugh, because, ha!, that's ridiculous.

Benefits Man assures me: "Just remember you'd be waiting in line!"

When was the last time you checked out an Andrew Dice Clay movie?

AS OF THIS MOMENT::
Richmond, Virginia ->
Charlottesville, Virginia ->
Philladelphia, Pennsylvania ->
Columbus, Ohio ->
Cleveland, Ohio ->
Columbus, Ohio ->
Springfield, Ohio ->
Indianapolis, Indiana ->
Peoria, Illinoise.

At first there were mountains and trees and hills and lots of rain and now there are corn fields and trees and soybean fields with signs for genetically altered seeds and low-flying clouds and signs promoting jesus and gun ownership and really, really flooded farms. Plus a lot of road work being done. The midwest is awesome.

Why doesn't Wallmart sell beer?

Also: the Fiendz are a punk band from Jersey, so I don't know what I was thinking

I just typed the word "feen" in an e-mail (about a song, not about drugs, you narc) and thought, "No, that can't be right. I've never even seen that word before." Googling revealed that the word I wanted was "fiend." Right. Of course. Where the hell did I get "feen"? Pronunciation?

According to this snotty Urban Dictionary entry:

Used by people who listen to other people who have no idea what they are talking about. At some point I assume somewhere between Generation X and Y someone overheard a word being used and misinterpred it. Now legions of people born after 1977 are saying the word Feen. The word used which they misheard is Fiend defined as a person who is craving something in a maniacle way.

improper use of said non-word:

I'm feening some weed!

propper* use:

I'm fiending some weed!

Yeah, I guess it's just a pronunciation thing. Generation Awesome, indeed.


*[my emphasis] Hartman's Law confirmed again.

All Points West

It seems to be one of those times of the year when lots of people are coming or going. Ryan, the faithful co-blogger and maker of wines, embarks tomorrow on his journey to Oregon. He's got some new-fangled wireless laptop thingy, so he may post about his travels and new job there. Then again, maybe he won't. Thus is Ryan.

Also, I learned today that houseguest Máxico—did I tell you we've had a houseguest? we have—will be heading back to Los Angeles in one week.

When I first learned we'd be having a houseguest, I was kind of anxious. In a house with one bathroom and a small kitchen, four people vs. five could make a big difference in general comfort. Plus the new roommates had just moved in. Why create more of an adjustment-needing situation?

But honestly Máxico has been a delight to live with. Example: I often come home from work grumpy, and Máxico immediately and without fail cracks me up with is off-the-wall, goofball antics. He's genuinely cheerful in a way that's not annoying but rather, uplifting. I'm sad to see him go.

Good luck, guys.

...

Also: No badminton tourney today. A confluence of events including me completely fucking up in my own personal scheduling plans forfended the proper organization of the event. Plus, uh, it rained. But! Maybe this Saturday instead?

Oh, and when I finally did get home I played a stellar best-of-three doubles match with Scritchie, Pagreasy, and JDukes. Scritch and I lost. And I'm pretty sure I pulled a muscle in my back that I didn't even know existed.

Irkle

Can I tell you what irks me? Of course I can. That's what this blog thing is all about.

It irks me when, in music-video production, there is a lack of attention to the timing—specifically for drummers, but anyone, really—of the video of a musician vs. the audio of said player. It's fucking annoying:



Video found via dooce.

Plus, all the mongooses ran from the tsunami

We were watching Scott Baio is 45 . . . and Single, which I think I like, but am not sure because maybe it's just the first TV show I've seen, start to finish, in a few years, and maybe I just think I like it because really I just like TV, all kinds of TV in all forms, even though I've been telling myself I hate TV for a few years now - we were watching Scott Baio, which he's a kind of a semi-interesting guy, all things being equal, is all I'm saying, and maybe I watched the same episode twice, back-to-back, maybe that first episode of Scott Baio is the first TWO TV shows I've seen, start to finish, in a few years (because, like I said, I watched it twice) -

Anyway, we were watching Baio and had reached one of those lethargic TV-watching points where nobody has commented on the entertainment in over five minutes, nobody has said anything sarcastic or witty, everybody is deep in their couch cushions, far from thought, unawares, just totally TV catatonic -

We were watching Baio and the cat (whose name is Bug) the cat whose name is bug, who was sleeping 'neath somebody's legs, stood up quickly from 'neath the legs, jumped up on the couch, perked its ears up, and jumped at least three feet into the air, just straight up in the air, absolutely straight up, just -BAM! - there goes Bug, in the air, straight up -

And it was at the point when Bug's trajectory was almost complete, Bug was almost on the ground and it was too soon for anybody to form thoughts and start saying, "Woah. Bug just jumped." but it was not too soon for us all, all three, to be thinking it, as Bug got closer and closer to the ground after jumping three feet up for no reason, it was at that point -

When the doorbell rang.

And so then just let me direct your attention to Wikipedia; topic "Earthquake Prediction;" subtopic "Animals and Earthquake Prediction."

Tourn Around

Possible activity for next Sunday: Badminton tournament in our backyard. We were discussing a $5 buy-in, to fund a keg and some prize money. Alternatively, we could just play, um, for the game, man.

Haters: there will be a losers' bracket, so you're guaranteed two games and some beer for a measly five bucks.

So?

Update: No swimming pool re-filling for us. Maybe we can add chlorine? That water's kinda skunky right now.

Miscellany

1. A co-worker informs me that when I turn forty-five, I will begin to need to visit the bathroom three times throughout the night. This is an inescable Fact Of Life, he tells me, and it's the reason he's not going to move to a really cool cabin he found. The bathroom is too far away from the bedroom.
   
   Getting old freaks me out sometimes.
   
   
2. I thought this was a good photograph, but I don't know enough about photography to say exactly why. Last year, I had plans to hang out with the aforementioned co-worker after work, so he could teach me more about cameras and photography. (He worked in a camera shop for years and years.) We hung out one time. Drank Bass Ale. Then he showed me some old guns he has. I still have my notes. I should re-initiate these informal classes.
   
   
3. I got called for jury duty, and I'm oddly excited about it. Sure, I may not even get to serve, and if I do, it may some seemingly trivial matter. But the process! Neat! (Also, work pays me for the time I serve, which I support.)

DMV Trip #2: Success!!!1

After discovering that I had, unbeknownst to myself, failed to show up in court after being caught drunk driving in Wise, VA, I was a little concerned about the computers being used by the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles. Are they using computers from two years ago, I wondered. Are they using, like, non-Macs? I was concerned because (a) I have never been caught drunk driving (because I don't drive drunk), (b) I have never been to Wise, VA, and (c) I was never told (via letter or email or phone call) that I missed court for a traffic violation that never happened in a town I've never been to. Instead, they just revoked my license and, wonderfully enough, that seems to have made exactly no difference whatsoever in my ability to drive an automobile all around the country.

After today, however, my faith in the DMV is restored, all thanks to my teller, C. Powell (desk #7), who was wonderful. We talked about music. She likes old soul and doesn't hold it against me that I can't name many Aretha Franklin songs and that I don't really know anything about the Temptations (but we did attend the same James Brown concert about four years ago). We talked about the weather (today my car said it was 110F outside, I was telling her, and is that really possible?). We talked about how when you feel, deep in your gut, that you are 80% sure about something - i.e. I am 80% sure that I left my glasses on the night table - it is very very very depressing when you learn that you're way off - i.e. My glasses were actually in their case in the bathroom. We joked about some of the other people patiently waiting their turn to get a new license. She talked about TV shows and I sort of knew what she was talking about. It was wonderful.

C. Powell didn't care that I hadn't had a legit license in over two years. C. Powell didn't care that I waited over five months to register my car. C. Powell didn't even care that I couldn't read the letters in the little eye chart thing they have, not even the really big letters at the very bottom. "I left my glasses at home," was all she needed, not bothering to deduce that this would mean I drove to the DMV without a license, with an overdue registration, and legally blind. C. Powell didn't ask if I was on muscle relaxants, but if she did, I couldn't have lied. I would have said "Yes! And I feel all floaty!".

In my new picture I look like the most tan individual on the East Coast.

Easy Black Bean Recipe

This one came from Boobers (as I will be calling him on this here blog), and it's quite good, quite cheap, and quite easy:

1 can black beans
1/2 cup red salsa (I used a variation on this one, but you can probably get away with whatever you have around)
1/4 cup (approximately) feta cheese

Combine all ingredients and simmer for ~20 minutes or until feta begins to get creamy.

Serve hot as a side dish, or chill overnight and serve as a dip.

High-Brow Edition

I was all set to write about the great Mac 'n' Cheese cookoff from this past weekend, but really what's the point? Grinchy's recipe—remember Grinchy? she rules—carried the day easily. It was served pre-hated by the pedantry classes, but the requisite Velveeta and Campbell's Tomato Soup made for gooey deliciousness.

True, A. Smith's "Train Wreck" gave Grinchy's recipe a run for its money, but I think we can all agree that, even if Smith's is not disqualified for its more casserole-like nature, it sorta looks like vomit.

So really, there's no point in rambling further about the good times and outstanding comestibles that characterized our Sunday get-together. And with nothing else to talk about, I'll leave you with this out-of-context thing that I said today, which really didn't make any more sense when said in-context:

Somebody, or my moustache, smells like a fart.

Joke's On Me

Attempting to calculate my approximate conception date (because, you know, one should do such things), it occurred to me that I was likely conceived in April, 1981. (I subtracted ten months from February, 1982, because I was a month late.) Which suggested that my entire existence might have been predicated on some strange April Fool's joke. ("ha! no, i didn't put on a condom/take my birth control! ha!")

But then I realized that I had miscounted, and, in reality, I was likelier to have been sexed-in, as it were, in May. Also, my parents are Catholic and did not, to my knowledge, use the ol' contraceptions. So really, my entire though experiment was ill-gotten from the get-go.

Uh, whoops

My understanding is that these things get submitted at least a week in advance, but, in light of current events involving, you know, actual cars in actual water, you'd think they'd opt for running a re-run or something. Guess not:

Things I Like, Apparently

Abe Rock called me at work today.

Me: Hey man. What's up?
Abe: I like cock.
Me: Uh…me too?
Abe: I like cock.
Me: Okay. Um. What brought this on?
Abe: Did you fuck with my computer?
Me: No. What does that have to do with cock?
Abe: Someone did something to my computer, and that phrase will mean something to that person. I figured it was you.
Me: Oh. That's funny. But really, I didn't do it.
Abe: Okay.

I must say, even though I didn't have the forethought—let alone the technical know-how (I don't think)—to pull whatever prank was pulled, I'm flattered that Abe thought of me first when the moment arrived.