yay, over a month without a post, a NEW RECORD! actually this is pretty much par for the course, as lately I've been finding it hard to get the energy to post anything on here.
tons of new stuff has happenned, including the acquistion of GUITAR HERO which makes me silently shed teardrops of joy. New apartment, two and a half weeks off of work, the xbox 360, and of course xmas parties with the familia.
I have to say that no human being should ever have to endure the agony of being in the company of a group of excitable, passionate, friendly POLISH people that converse in their native language, especially when your vocabulary consists of swears and "where's the bathroom". I can't properly describe the sensation my brain feels when I'm asked to "sit down with us and have a beer!" among five others and then listening to them babble in what could have been Klingon for all I know. Seriously, if you ask a non-native speaker of your language to join your group, you show him/her a little courtesy by babbling in english for the time that they're present.
So I'm sitting on the couch, trying to drink my beer as fast as I can and my eyes are desperately searching for visual stimulation, but I had the choice of watching some fat polish chick on tv sing christmas carols or watch the blinking lights on the tree. Guess what option I chose? Yeah, that was the longest seven minutes of my life.
Still managed to survive, and now I'm gearing up for the big move. I'm somewhat surprised at all the junk I have here, I mean why exactly am I hanging onto a plush gnome that is holding a mug of beer in his hand? I've also found some tupperware that had a black greasy mass inside, obviously the remains of some long-forgotten scraps of nourishment that I've failed to consume. Or a dead alien, or Jimmy Hoffa.
This move can't come soon enough. I'll now be able to sleep in without having the damn laundry machine being turned on at 9am, god help me, I will get my revenge for that somehow.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, November 18, 2005
...and its right where it belongs
NINE INCH .. FUCKING NAILS was every bit as awesome as I expected them to be. Having been a fan since Pretty Hate Machine (1992), it was a nice bit of closure to have finally seen them perform live in thirteen years.
Opening band, Death From Above 1979 was so-so, Queens of the Stone Age seemed a bit lackluster. But NIN? I was tempted to put an empty cup over my crotch to hide the huge erection I was trying to control. But I thought, fuck it, and I sat there, for two gloriously short hours listening to thirteen years of NIN with a large penis poking into my left eye.
God I wish it went on all night. Donald Rivers happilly assisted me in dumping a cup of beer onto Jerry's leg. I dont think giving a manly hug to a friend in the seat across from you while holding a beer, is a good idea. The idea is to do the quick head nod and go "sup", I must learn to control these homoerotic urges in times of drunken debauchery.
Terrible Lie was the highlight of the night. Now thats a fucking classic.
trent looking particulary morose
Look at that fat corporate douchebag. I hate him with every fiber of my being :)
In other stories, check out the amusing ancedotes of the AMAZING FleshLight product. Basically its a fake vagina disguised as a flashlight, yes, this is for those of you who are extremely bored. Still, hearing guys give a page long review of a hunk of rubber is fascinating in a surreal kind of way.
"I happily received my new "Fleshlight" this past Tuesday. Upon arriving home I opened the package with great anticipation"
For the record, I found the site by clicking on an ad on this page here. No, I do not personally need or want a FleshLight(tm), as I am perfectly content to simply continue on with my self-imposed vow of celibracy. Besides, nothing beats the touch of an under-inflated latex doll.
Adios.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Rock God
If there is any one game a man like me needs to own, its Guitar Hero. Check out the video clip where a couple of Angus Young wannabes rawk out to iron man.
tracklist
---------
Audioslave "Cochise"
Boston "More than a Feeling"
Bad Religion "Infected"
Black Sabbath "Iron Man"
Blue Oyster Cult "Godzilla"
David Bowie "Ziggy Stardust"
Burning Brides "Heart Full of Black"
Cream "Crossroads"
Deep Purple "Smoke on the Water"
The Donnas "Take It Off"
The Exies "Hey You"
Franz Ferdinand "Take Me Out"
Helmet "Unsung"
Incubus "Stellar"
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts "I Love Rock 'n' Roll"
Judas Priest "You Got Another Thing Comin"
Jimi Hendrix "Spanish Castle Magic"
Megadeth "Symphony of Destruction"
Motorhead "Ace Of Spades"
Pantera "Cowboys from Hell"
Ozzy Osbourne "Bark at the Moon"
Queen "Killer Queen"
Queens of the Stone Age "No One Knows"
The Ramones "I Wanna Be Sedated"
Red Hot Chili Peppers "Higher Ground"
Stevie Ray Vaughan "Texas Flood"
Sum 41 "Fat Lip"
White Zombie "Thunderkiss '65"
The Edgar Winter Group "Frankenstein"
ZZ Top "Sharp Dressed Man"
Acro-Brats "Call Out"
Anarchy Club "Behind the Mask"
Artillery "The Breaking Wheel"
Count Zero "Sail Your Ship By"
Freezepop "Get Ready 2 Rokk"
Honest Bob and the Factory-to-Dealer Incentives "Hey"
Made In Mexico "Farewell Myth"
Monkey Steals the Peach "Theme from Guitar Hero"
The Model Sons "The Story of My Love"
Shaimus "All of This"
The Bags "Caveman Rejoice"
Din "Fly on the Wall"
Drist "Decontrol"
The Slip "Even Rats"
The Upper Crust "Eureka! I Found Love"
Graveyard BBQ "Cheat on the Church"
Black Label Society "Fire It Up"
this game looks like tits, I must have it.
In other news, it appears that I will be playing tour guide for a French "model" when NIN comes to town on the 16th. Yes, I said a French model. Who barely knows english. This should be fun.
Not much to comment on, I've been trying to figure out how to profit from the Asian chicken flu crisis. Buy stock in 3M? Someone's gotta clue me in.
Over and out.
tracklist
---------
Audioslave "Cochise"
Boston "More than a Feeling"
Bad Religion "Infected"
Black Sabbath "Iron Man"
Blue Oyster Cult "Godzilla"
David Bowie "Ziggy Stardust"
Burning Brides "Heart Full of Black"
Cream "Crossroads"
Deep Purple "Smoke on the Water"
The Donnas "Take It Off"
The Exies "Hey You"
Franz Ferdinand "Take Me Out"
Helmet "Unsung"
Incubus "Stellar"
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts "I Love Rock 'n' Roll"
Judas Priest "You Got Another Thing Comin"
Jimi Hendrix "Spanish Castle Magic"
Megadeth "Symphony of Destruction"
Motorhead "Ace Of Spades"
Pantera "Cowboys from Hell"
Ozzy Osbourne "Bark at the Moon"
Queen "Killer Queen"
Queens of the Stone Age "No One Knows"
The Ramones "I Wanna Be Sedated"
Red Hot Chili Peppers "Higher Ground"
Stevie Ray Vaughan "Texas Flood"
Sum 41 "Fat Lip"
White Zombie "Thunderkiss '65"
The Edgar Winter Group "Frankenstein"
ZZ Top "Sharp Dressed Man"
Acro-Brats "Call Out"
Anarchy Club "Behind the Mask"
Artillery "The Breaking Wheel"
Count Zero "Sail Your Ship By"
Freezepop "Get Ready 2 Rokk"
Honest Bob and the Factory-to-Dealer Incentives "Hey"
Made In Mexico "Farewell Myth"
Monkey Steals the Peach "Theme from Guitar Hero"
The Model Sons "The Story of My Love"
Shaimus "All of This"
The Bags "Caveman Rejoice"
Din "Fly on the Wall"
Drist "Decontrol"
The Slip "Even Rats"
The Upper Crust "Eureka! I Found Love"
Graveyard BBQ "Cheat on the Church"
Black Label Society "Fire It Up"
this game looks like tits, I must have it.
In other news, it appears that I will be playing tour guide for a French "model" when NIN comes to town on the 16th. Yes, I said a French model. Who barely knows english. This should be fun.
Not much to comment on, I've been trying to figure out how to profit from the Asian chicken flu crisis. Buy stock in 3M? Someone's gotta clue me in.
Over and out.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
post not found
ugh, for the teeming masses (6) that check on the blog every so often, I've got to apologize for the lack of posts. Right now, my plan is to keep working my ass off until November where I get a week off for good behavior (NIN, yay).
things will come around eventually :P and yes, I still have people taking noisy dumps next to me in the bathroom stalls.
click me
best. movie. trailer. ever.
things will come around eventually :P and yes, I still have people taking noisy dumps next to me in the bathroom stalls.
click me
best. movie. trailer. ever.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
weekend update
Well there goes 11 days of fun and frolic in the wasteland known as Fort McMurray, and I gotta say, it wasn't too bad. Now that I've been officially promoted to 3rd year I'm given the privelege of doing much less work than I used to, and getting paid more for it. My dad used to always say "the more you get paid, the less you actually work" I'm starting to see the truth in all the "out of left field" pieces of advice he's given me over the years, what a smart fucking guy, I'm glad its hereditary *wink*
Some of the highlights over the past while include: (in random order)
1) The Droner Groupie
2) Shitty Soulmate
3) Incompetent Immigrant Imbecile
4) El Big Purchaso
The Droner Groupie is a title I've designated to this Bon Jovi crackhead that I met at work. Whenever he sees me, he comes over and drones, its pretty straightforward. At first I was tolerant of it, now Im practicising the subtle art of misdirection to keep this guy from yammering at me, here's a paraphrased sample of a typical conversation between us:
Me: "I'd like to get one of those new badass HDTVs, 42" so I can watch porn in high-def"
Real (yes thats his name): "Oh yeah, back home I got myself a nice 50" Toshiba, paid about two grand for it, top of the line when I got it. Now I've got no time to use it, my son at home loves it and plays his games with friends on that. I saw it for 1100$ at Walmart a while ago, its amazing how low prices get after a while, you usually don't want to spend a lot of money on something so expensive when you know its going to get old anyways. I figured if I'm here till December, I can save up enough money to finish the payments on my car, then I can start saving up to pay off my house. Last year I made about 60 grand, and it should be pretty easy to make that kind of money here. I mean, if I'll be working from now till December, I should have about 10k and I'll be able to get back on pogey. But thats only if we're working 11 and 3, its not worth it if its just four days a week here, I may have to quit if that happens. Heh heh."
Me: ZZZzzzzZZzzzzz
The guy is 42 years old and has the cadence of a dude that smoked up before coming to work. My misdirection skills include such tactics as avoiding eye-contact and hoping someone nearby will think Real is talking to them, I also employ the use of interupting his conversation by chatting to someone else and attempting to draw those two into a conversation. There's really a lot of finesse involved when trying to politely redirect the flow of a conversation without pissing the guy off. I remember when I used to work at Swarm as a graphic designer, one of the guys there had the uncanny ability of being able to talk for hours without any input from a second party, basically the biggest fucking monologue ever. I however was naive in the art of misdirection, and made the mistake of telling him "can you stop talking for a while, I'm trying to concentrate on my work" and well.. that elicted a bad response: "oh, I see, sorry" and I had to apologize for saying that to him :P
Okay, highlight #2 - Shitty Soulmate
In my trailer park (heh), we have to share bathrooms so it was only a matter of time before I felt the need to perch my buttocks atop a porcelin pedestral and facillitate the transfer of a fair amount of feces from my anus to the disposal unit. One balmy evening I found myself doing just that, I sat on the crapper and a dude next to me also synched my movements. After about a minute, we both crapped at the same time. He however let out a few wet tbbytytyttttt of the ass trombone, and I opted instead for the quieter clarinet approach where only the squeaking of the poo exiting the oriphice can be heard. We both peed at the same time, except I peed longer than him, and somehow when I dropped a loaf and made a splash, I could hear the other dude follow up with an equally impressive effort. In short, he was my spiritual poo mate. I've never had the pleasure of sharing my bowel movements with a stranger before, and the whole experience left me with a grin all along. I honestly think they should have theatrical productions based around the poo mate concept, the world needs to experience the unspoken camraderie between assholes, it really is both a humbling and endearing event to be a part of.
#3 Incompetent blah blah
So they paired me with this guy at work, a Newfie named Leo Howe and on the first day I knew I got a real winner on my hands. Typically in the profession I'm in, most guys from Eastern provinces do not get the proper training required for the job we do out West, so you get a lot of amateurs that call themselves "Journeymen" but are about on par with 2nd year apprentices knowledge-wise.
One of the greatest things to happen to me this week, was given Leo as a partner on doing a 10 x 2 1/2 metal elbow. A metal elbow is basically where the pipe goes from horizontal to vertical and the "elbow" is that part that transitions between them. So I insulated the elbow, and usually its the journeyman that has to metal it, except, oh my god, he couldnt do it. With this particular elbow, metal gores (which are about six seperate metal pieces that go on in a spiral) had to be applied. Basically the rule for installing those, is to center the gores along the weld of the elbow.
But Leo could not do it. He ended up telling me to help him, except he wouldnt listen to my advice because he was the "experienced" guy and I was just a "3rd year", hilarity ensues.
It took him 1 and a half days to get that ONE elbow on, typically it takes less than two hours. During this time it was hot outside and since Leo was a big guy, he started sweating hardcore. And I mean HARDCORE. His face looked like a water fountain, I thought it really was something to see. Of course, I had to laugh when he asked me how come I'm not sweating. Well the answer I gave him was "er, I sweat more below the waist" which is true, considering the size and position of the kielbasa contained below.
During this entire time there has been some great moments where Leo would just get completely frustrated and start lamenting his situation. Some of the catchphrases include:
"I'm trying to understand it, I can't understand it!"
"I've never worked so hard in my life, and I'm 50 years old!"
"I'll give anything to get this fucker on, anything!"
and the big one:
"I might as well take a plane back home, I'm going to get fired!"
me: "you won't get fired."
him: "Well if I cant do the work, I'm out of here!"
Imagine all those phrases repeated a couple dozen times over the course of a ten hour day. Delivered in the same tone of voice, a tone thats pleading and frantic but not frustrated and you have COMEDY GOLD here folks. I swear the hardest thing about working with Leo is to keep from laughing out loud whenever he spits out another "I'll give anything to get this fucker on, anything!". Yeah I shouldn't be so cruel, but I DID tell him how to do it and he chose to ignore my advice until the next day. Hard to believe he's making ten bucks more an hour than I am.
Gotta jet back again tonight for another four days, thankfully I got myself one of these babies:
the 60gb model. FUCKIN A! 12,000 songs or 1,000 cds can be uploaded to this biznitch, I love the hell out of it. Originally I wanted the 40gb model, but they dont make that one anymore, so I had to splurge 519$ on the 60gb, but it was sooo worth it. I've already got 11,000+ songs on it and there's still 7gb left for porn pictures that I can share with friends and family. The real innovation is that click wheel, its totally off the hook, all touch-based, you just rub that thing like you'd rub a cootch. Anyone considering buying an iPod definetely should if they want to be a trendy music-obsessed mofo like myself. I suggest the iPod mini for casual users (5gb drive) and of course, the 60 gigger for the hardcores like myself who need to carry junk like The Star Wars Christmas cd and every Tupac cd to remote and desolute locations.
Over and out.
Some of the highlights over the past while include: (in random order)
1) The Droner Groupie
2) Shitty Soulmate
3) Incompetent Immigrant Imbecile
4) El Big Purchaso
The Droner Groupie is a title I've designated to this Bon Jovi crackhead that I met at work. Whenever he sees me, he comes over and drones, its pretty straightforward. At first I was tolerant of it, now Im practicising the subtle art of misdirection to keep this guy from yammering at me, here's a paraphrased sample of a typical conversation between us:
Me: "I'd like to get one of those new badass HDTVs, 42" so I can watch porn in high-def"
Real (yes thats his name): "Oh yeah, back home I got myself a nice 50" Toshiba, paid about two grand for it, top of the line when I got it. Now I've got no time to use it, my son at home loves it and plays his games with friends on that. I saw it for 1100$ at Walmart a while ago, its amazing how low prices get after a while, you usually don't want to spend a lot of money on something so expensive when you know its going to get old anyways. I figured if I'm here till December, I can save up enough money to finish the payments on my car, then I can start saving up to pay off my house. Last year I made about 60 grand, and it should be pretty easy to make that kind of money here. I mean, if I'll be working from now till December, I should have about 10k and I'll be able to get back on pogey. But thats only if we're working 11 and 3, its not worth it if its just four days a week here, I may have to quit if that happens. Heh heh."
Me: ZZZzzzzZZzzzzz
The guy is 42 years old and has the cadence of a dude that smoked up before coming to work. My misdirection skills include such tactics as avoiding eye-contact and hoping someone nearby will think Real is talking to them, I also employ the use of interupting his conversation by chatting to someone else and attempting to draw those two into a conversation. There's really a lot of finesse involved when trying to politely redirect the flow of a conversation without pissing the guy off. I remember when I used to work at Swarm as a graphic designer, one of the guys there had the uncanny ability of being able to talk for hours without any input from a second party, basically the biggest fucking monologue ever. I however was naive in the art of misdirection, and made the mistake of telling him "can you stop talking for a while, I'm trying to concentrate on my work" and well.. that elicted a bad response: "oh, I see, sorry"
Okay, highlight #2 - Shitty Soulmate
In my trailer park (heh), we have to share bathrooms so it was only a matter of time before I felt the need to perch my buttocks atop a porcelin pedestral and facillitate the transfer of a fair amount of feces from my anus to the disposal unit. One balmy evening I found myself doing just that, I sat on the crapper and a dude next to me also synched my movements. After about a minute, we both crapped at the same time. He however let out a few wet tbbytytyttttt of the ass trombone, and I opted instead for the quieter clarinet approach where only the squeaking of the poo exiting the oriphice can be heard. We both peed at the same time, except I peed longer than him, and somehow when I dropped a loaf and made a splash, I could hear the other dude follow up with an equally impressive effort. In short, he was my spiritual poo mate. I've never had the pleasure of sharing my bowel movements with a stranger before, and the whole experience left me with a grin all along. I honestly think they should have theatrical productions based around the poo mate concept, the world needs to experience the unspoken camraderie between assholes, it really is both a humbling and endearing event to be a part of.
#3 Incompetent blah blah
So they paired me with this guy at work, a Newfie named Leo Howe and on the first day I knew I got a real winner on my hands. Typically in the profession I'm in, most guys from Eastern provinces do not get the proper training required for the job we do out West, so you get a lot of amateurs that call themselves "Journeymen" but are about on par with 2nd year apprentices knowledge-wise.
One of the greatest things to happen to me this week, was given Leo as a partner on doing a 10 x 2 1/2 metal elbow. A metal elbow is basically where the pipe goes from horizontal to vertical and the "elbow" is that part that transitions between them. So I insulated the elbow, and usually its the journeyman that has to metal it, except, oh my god, he couldnt do it. With this particular elbow, metal gores (which are about six seperate metal pieces that go on in a spiral) had to be applied. Basically the rule for installing those, is to center the gores along the weld of the elbow.
But Leo could not do it. He ended up telling me to help him, except he wouldnt listen to my advice because he was the "experienced" guy and I was just a "3rd year", hilarity ensues.
It took him 1 and a half days to get that ONE elbow on, typically it takes less than two hours. During this time it was hot outside and since Leo was a big guy, he started sweating hardcore. And I mean HARDCORE. His face looked like a water fountain, I thought it really was something to see. Of course, I had to laugh when he asked me how come I'm not sweating. Well the answer I gave him was "er, I sweat more below the waist" which is true, considering the size and position of the kielbasa contained below.
During this entire time there has been some great moments where Leo would just get completely frustrated and start lamenting his situation. Some of the catchphrases include:
"I'm trying to understand it, I can't understand it!"
"I've never worked so hard in my life, and I'm 50 years old!"
"I'll give anything to get this fucker on, anything!"
and the big one:
"I might as well take a plane back home, I'm going to get fired!"
me: "you won't get fired."
him: "Well if I cant do the work, I'm out of here!"
Imagine all those phrases repeated a couple dozen times over the course of a ten hour day. Delivered in the same tone of voice, a tone thats pleading and frantic but not frustrated and you have COMEDY GOLD here folks. I swear the hardest thing about working with Leo is to keep from laughing out loud whenever he spits out another "I'll give anything to get this fucker on, anything!". Yeah I shouldn't be so cruel, but I DID tell him how to do it and he chose to ignore my advice until the next day. Hard to believe he's making ten bucks more an hour than I am.
Gotta jet back again tonight for another four days, thankfully I got myself one of these babies:
the 60gb model. FUCKIN A! 12,000 songs or 1,000 cds can be uploaded to this biznitch, I love the hell out of it. Originally I wanted the 40gb model, but they dont make that one anymore, so I had to splurge 519$ on the 60gb, but it was sooo worth it. I've already got 11,000+ songs on it and there's still 7gb left for porn pictures that I can share with friends and family. The real innovation is that click wheel, its totally off the hook, all touch-based, you just rub that thing like you'd rub a cootch. Anyone considering buying an iPod definetely should if they want to be a trendy music-obsessed mofo like myself. I suggest the iPod mini for casual users (5gb drive) and of course, the 60 gigger for the hardcores like myself who need to carry junk like The Star Wars Christmas cd and every Tupac cd to remote and desolute locations.
Over and out.
Friday, August 12, 2005
highway to hell
Six hours. It takes nearly six hours to get home from Fort McMurray, I dont even know why I bother, oh wait I do, its to pay respect to the power of the almighty dollar. Son of a bitch am I ever a sucker. Anyways, I just finished my first week of work in three months after finishing yet another year of insulating school and the feeling is similar to being cold cocked with a sucker punch and dumped in a bathtub full of ice. Immediately those old familar "this place sucks" emotions came flooding into my brain even though I was sure I've been up here enough times to become fairly jaded to the whole experience. No sir, McMurray still operates at the same level of suckitude now as it did four months ago.
After work, I usually find myself settling into a routine. I'd come to my room inside of a trailer that was built in the 60s (complete with the requisite yellow stains) and pull my pants off. Then I air out the snuffleapagus while retro-ing out with my cassette walkman and enjoying a cup of coffee followed by one of hot chocolate. This is a very important ritual, as it enables me to suffer through yet another day of pain that the Marquis De Sade himself would be proud of undergoing. Maybe I'm embellishing a little too much about the torture that goes on up there, but its definetely not a cakewalk. I mean damn, it was raining for two days, my monogoggles kept fogging up and I didn't even have a lunchroom to eat in ('tis full). So I spent my breaks outside, enjoying the added fiber that blowing dust contributes to my turkey sandwich and I'm a million miles from home to boot. The small comforts that the experience affords me would have to consist of a fat paycheque, seeing some of the people I used to work with (yay for fat indian broads) and the previously mentioned removing of pants.
I had also been fortunate to be amused while brushing my teeth one evening in the *public* bathroom. Some dude was taking a dump four stalls away and made these awesome guttural sounds that made me smile. Thankfully the odour didn't make its way over to me, but after the dude flushed the can I noticed some fourty year old guy coming out with a sheepish look on his face. Now I can read guilty expressions and combine this with my dirty mind it was easy to figure out that he wasn't actually taking a shit. So the guy notices me peering at him through the corner of my eye and says "uh oh good morning.. I mean evening.. heh heh heh" he was definetely nervous and embarassed about milking the meat stick, but rather than just grunting affably in his direction, I thought I'd engage in the conversation that he tried iniatating.
Some small talk commenced and then the guy reveals that he was working there for three years as an electrician. After I've gotten over my shock, he then expressed admiration for the insulating trade and how we create "works of art" instead of being subjected to the boring electrical work he does. I shake my head sadly upon hearing that someone shows approval towards insulating, I then made a comment about how electrical work is better since all they really do is "pull their wires" all day. Although my observation was correct (there's usually six+ electricians pulling wire from a cable spool), I think my new friend took it as a double-entredre as an allusion to his wanking in the stall, so he turned red, uttered a good night and quickly exited.
Yeah thats the highlight of my week, sad isn't it? Another thing that pisses me off is that they don't have tuna salad sandwiches anymore. Why? Because they were afraid "decaying mayonaise" has "toxic" effects, regardless that these sandwiches are made fresh daily.
Two days off and back I go.
After work, I usually find myself settling into a routine. I'd come to my room inside of a trailer that was built in the 60s (complete with the requisite yellow stains) and pull my pants off. Then I air out the snuffleapagus while retro-ing out with my cassette walkman and enjoying a cup of coffee followed by one of hot chocolate. This is a very important ritual, as it enables me to suffer through yet another day of pain that the Marquis De Sade himself would be proud of undergoing. Maybe I'm embellishing a little too much about the torture that goes on up there, but its definetely not a cakewalk. I mean damn, it was raining for two days, my monogoggles kept fogging up and I didn't even have a lunchroom to eat in ('tis full). So I spent my breaks outside, enjoying the added fiber that blowing dust contributes to my turkey sandwich and I'm a million miles from home to boot. The small comforts that the experience affords me would have to consist of a fat paycheque, seeing some of the people I used to work with (yay for fat indian broads) and the previously mentioned removing of pants.
I had also been fortunate to be amused while brushing my teeth one evening in the *public* bathroom. Some dude was taking a dump four stalls away and made these awesome guttural sounds that made me smile. Thankfully the odour didn't make its way over to me, but after the dude flushed the can I noticed some fourty year old guy coming out with a sheepish look on his face. Now I can read guilty expressions and combine this with my dirty mind it was easy to figure out that he wasn't actually taking a shit. So the guy notices me peering at him through the corner of my eye and says "uh oh good morning.. I mean evening.. heh heh heh" he was definetely nervous and embarassed about milking the meat stick, but rather than just grunting affably in his direction, I thought I'd engage in the conversation that he tried iniatating.
Some small talk commenced and then the guy reveals that he was working there for three years as an electrician. After I've gotten over my shock, he then expressed admiration for the insulating trade and how we create "works of art" instead of being subjected to the boring electrical work he does. I shake my head sadly upon hearing that someone shows approval towards insulating, I then made a comment about how electrical work is better since all they really do is "pull their wires" all day. Although my observation was correct (there's usually six+ electricians pulling wire from a cable spool), I think my new friend took it as a double-entredre as an allusion to his wanking in the stall, so he turned red, uttered a good night and quickly exited.
Yeah thats the highlight of my week, sad isn't it? Another thing that pisses me off is that they don't have tuna salad sandwiches anymore. Why? Because they were afraid "decaying mayonaise" has "toxic" effects, regardless that these sandwiches are made fresh daily.
Two days off and back I go.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
O.o
These are not the droids you are looking for.
Haven't really had much to talk about lately as you can see I've skipped almost an entire month between posts, this is truly a historical moment. I've been in a funk the past while, bored out of my skull and itching to get back to work again next week. So yeah, I don't think most of you would be interested in hearing about how much fun I had with the crossword puzzle last night.
I did however, got one of my numbers right in Saturday's Lotto 6/49 draw, which is amazing and totally deserves to be bragged about.
And now, a picture of a frog.
Haven't really had much to talk about lately as you can see I've skipped almost an entire month between posts, this is truly a historical moment. I've been in a funk the past while, bored out of my skull and itching to get back to work again next week. So yeah, I don't think most of you would be interested in hearing about how much fun I had with the crossword puzzle last night.
I did however, got one of my numbers right in Saturday's Lotto 6/49 draw, which is amazing and totally deserves to be bragged about.
And now, a picture of a frog.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
my eyes are wide awake
I know its only been a few weeks, but I can't believe how much I still miss my cat.
After the first little while, I thought I put the whole grieving period behind me.
I was wrong.
I miss not having a big furry baby to hold.
I miss his purring.
I miss the two little meows he makes whenever he wants to go out.
*sighs*
...I dont know if I'm overreacting or not. But my life feels a whole lot empty now without Fluffy. He was my sidekick, my dancing partner, my only defense against evil mice. I'd hate to think what it would be like if it was my mother who died, or my father, or a friend.
We used to watch TV together.
...*sighs again*
well thats the way it goes.
I'm sure sex with Erica Campbell is the cure.
After the first little while, I thought I put the whole grieving period behind me.
I was wrong.
I miss not having a big furry baby to hold.
I miss his purring.
I miss the two little meows he makes whenever he wants to go out.
*sighs*
...I dont know if I'm overreacting or not. But my life feels a whole lot empty now without Fluffy. He was my sidekick, my dancing partner, my only defense against evil mice. I'd hate to think what it would be like if it was my mother who died, or my father, or a friend.
We used to watch TV together.
...*sighs again*
well thats the way it goes.
I'm sure sex with Erica Campbell is the cure.
Monday, June 20, 2005
the greatest cat in the world...
*sighs deeply*
I haven't posted in over a month. In that time, many things have happened that should have been written about, but I always felt they were trivial and unimportant. I felt like I didn't really have anything important to share on my blog.
Well.. until today...
At around three o'clock, I was called over by my mother because she thought our cat Fluffy was having trouble with his leg. My mother thought someone hurt him while he was outside and she kept saying that his leg was broken. We scrambled to take him to the vet.
On the way, Fluffy was crying, shedding hair and breathing rapidly. My mother kept annoying the piss out of me with her attempts at placating his meows. Her tone of voice was shrill and ended up amping up the tension on the way. Thanks a fucking lot, mom.
As we waited for the xrays and general examination to finish, my mother engaged in conversation with some of the people there about the cruelty of our neighbors. Though I kept reminding her that I didn't think someone hurt him, she was clinging to her train of thought regardless. Fluffy was always the type to be fearful of strangers, he'd run away from the slightest movement of someone he didn't know, which is why I deduced that it couldn't have been inflicted by some lowlife in the neighborhood.
Later this assumption would prove correct, but I was unprepared for the shock that the veterinarian brought us.
Fluffy had a stroke.
A blood clot formed in his body and paralyzed both his hind legs. Xrays revealed that there weren't any fractures in his bones, but that a clot has cut off the blood flow to his limbs and killed his nerves, paralyzing his lower-half.
We were offered the chance to take him to a specialist where they would give him an MRI among other things, but the chances of him surviving would be at around five to ten-percent and the cost of the treatment would be over two thousand dollars.
When the vet told us all this, I could see my mother collapse in tears. I felt choked up but didn't want to start bawling along with her. It took a lot of fucking self control to keep myself in check. I had to keep my head down and push those feelings deep within me while all this was going on.
It looked like we were going to have to put him down.
My mother left the vet room when I asked if I could see Fluffy one more time, and I don't blame her. I felt that I may have made a mistake in requesting to do so, thinking that I would just fucking crumble in a mess of my own tears, but I was able to keep it together somehow.
They brought him to the room wrapped in a pink blanket, he was sedated, and wasn't meowing his heart out like before. I kneeled at the table, watching him and petting his little furry head. I just looked into his big green eyes for about ten minutes. Stroking his head, knowing that this would be the last time I'd ever do it for him. He didn't purr once. At this point I was getting choked up and I could feel myself blinking back a few stray tears as I watched the best pet I've ever had drool uncontrollably in front of me. This entire time he only looked me once into my eyes, seemingly unaware of who I was. I felt shamed. I took an extra minute to collect myself and knocked on the vet's door. They asked if I wanted to witness the euthanasia, and I knew I had to refuse. It would've killed me.
When we first got Fluffy in 1997--and when I started getting really attached to him-- I knew he was going to die someday and it would be emotionally painful for me. But I've always reminded myself that I would be around thirty-five years old before his fifteen-year life span might conceivably end.
I am twenty-seven fucking years old, this has happened eight years behind fucking schedule. EIGHT YEARS. Why the fuck did it have to happen so early? It seemed like only a short while ago that I held him in the palm of my hand when he was three-weeks old. He was so tiny.
I remember how he'd hide in the corner of the room for the first few days, scared like hell until he finally got used to the new place. I remember when I'd pet him by the window, for an hour at times, getting a kick out of the way he'd purr so loudly. He was the cutest little guy. I always liked calling him my little furry monkey.
Once we had to get his coat shaved, and I was pissed off that my mother brought him to some cheap pet grooming place. They took him downstairs into the pet-grooming dungeon while he was meowing and meowing and clawing ferociously at whoever was holding him. An hour later when I went to pick him up, he was hiding in the back of a cage, half the size he was before and he just JUMPED onto my shoulder, purring like mad, meowing and rubbing his face against mine. If I had any doubt that animals were incapable of love, I didn't have any since that day.
I'll miss the way he'd rub his face against mine, doing that cute thing with his nose. I'll miss the way he'd run away from just about anyone who'd try to pet him, but was always so affectionate towards me. I'll miss the way he'd run up to meet me just as I parked my truck outside. I'll miss how he'd flip on his back in all sorts of crazy directions, like a fish out of water whenever he sees me coming towards him.
I'll miss the way he'd let me pick out the boogers from around his eyes and not flinching like our other cat.
I'll miss his purring, loud purrs that I didn't think cats were capable of making. I'll miss the way he'd spread his legs out when I'd hold him in my lap like a baby, dangling into the air. I'll miss the racket he makes every morning when he wants to be let outside. I'll miss the way he'd stare at you from just outside an open door and won't come in.
I'll miss the mice he used to bring home to play with. The way he'd jump three feet in the air. The lazy, half-shut eyes he had when he sat around the house. The way he'd sleep on my mother's pillow. How he jumped onto my bed and laid curled under my arm as I watched tv. I'll miss the way we used to play hide and seek, I'd peek around a corner at him and when I hide, he'll come running up to me and purring. I'll miss his fear of furry objects (especially the living room rug) and how he gets panicky if you try to place him on something hairy.
I'll miss the clumps in his fur. I'll even miss that time he threw up on me, as I lifted him up into the air while laying in bed.
I loved him so much.
I'll miss you Fluffy.
I haven't posted in over a month. In that time, many things have happened that should have been written about, but I always felt they were trivial and unimportant. I felt like I didn't really have anything important to share on my blog.
Well.. until today...
At around three o'clock, I was called over by my mother because she thought our cat Fluffy was having trouble with his leg. My mother thought someone hurt him while he was outside and she kept saying that his leg was broken. We scrambled to take him to the vet.
On the way, Fluffy was crying, shedding hair and breathing rapidly. My mother kept annoying the piss out of me with her attempts at placating his meows. Her tone of voice was shrill and ended up amping up the tension on the way. Thanks a fucking lot, mom.
As we waited for the xrays and general examination to finish, my mother engaged in conversation with some of the people there about the cruelty of our neighbors. Though I kept reminding her that I didn't think someone hurt him, she was clinging to her train of thought regardless. Fluffy was always the type to be fearful of strangers, he'd run away from the slightest movement of someone he didn't know, which is why I deduced that it couldn't have been inflicted by some lowlife in the neighborhood.
Later this assumption would prove correct, but I was unprepared for the shock that the veterinarian brought us.
Fluffy had a stroke.
A blood clot formed in his body and paralyzed both his hind legs. Xrays revealed that there weren't any fractures in his bones, but that a clot has cut off the blood flow to his limbs and killed his nerves, paralyzing his lower-half.
We were offered the chance to take him to a specialist where they would give him an MRI among other things, but the chances of him surviving would be at around five to ten-percent and the cost of the treatment would be over two thousand dollars.
When the vet told us all this, I could see my mother collapse in tears. I felt choked up but didn't want to start bawling along with her. It took a lot of fucking self control to keep myself in check. I had to keep my head down and push those feelings deep within me while all this was going on.
It looked like we were going to have to put him down.
My mother left the vet room when I asked if I could see Fluffy one more time, and I don't blame her. I felt that I may have made a mistake in requesting to do so, thinking that I would just fucking crumble in a mess of my own tears, but I was able to keep it together somehow.
They brought him to the room wrapped in a pink blanket, he was sedated, and wasn't meowing his heart out like before. I kneeled at the table, watching him and petting his little furry head. I just looked into his big green eyes for about ten minutes. Stroking his head, knowing that this would be the last time I'd ever do it for him. He didn't purr once. At this point I was getting choked up and I could feel myself blinking back a few stray tears as I watched the best pet I've ever had drool uncontrollably in front of me. This entire time he only looked me once into my eyes, seemingly unaware of who I was. I felt shamed. I took an extra minute to collect myself and knocked on the vet's door. They asked if I wanted to witness the euthanasia, and I knew I had to refuse. It would've killed me.
When we first got Fluffy in 1997--and when I started getting really attached to him-- I knew he was going to die someday and it would be emotionally painful for me. But I've always reminded myself that I would be around thirty-five years old before his fifteen-year life span might conceivably end.
I am twenty-seven fucking years old, this has happened eight years behind fucking schedule. EIGHT YEARS. Why the fuck did it have to happen so early? It seemed like only a short while ago that I held him in the palm of my hand when he was three-weeks old. He was so tiny.
I remember how he'd hide in the corner of the room for the first few days, scared like hell until he finally got used to the new place. I remember when I'd pet him by the window, for an hour at times, getting a kick out of the way he'd purr so loudly. He was the cutest little guy. I always liked calling him my little furry monkey.
Once we had to get his coat shaved, and I was pissed off that my mother brought him to some cheap pet grooming place. They took him downstairs into the pet-grooming dungeon while he was meowing and meowing and clawing ferociously at whoever was holding him. An hour later when I went to pick him up, he was hiding in the back of a cage, half the size he was before and he just JUMPED onto my shoulder, purring like mad, meowing and rubbing his face against mine. If I had any doubt that animals were incapable of love, I didn't have any since that day.
I'll miss the way he'd rub his face against mine, doing that cute thing with his nose. I'll miss the way he'd run away from just about anyone who'd try to pet him, but was always so affectionate towards me. I'll miss the way he'd run up to meet me just as I parked my truck outside. I'll miss how he'd flip on his back in all sorts of crazy directions, like a fish out of water whenever he sees me coming towards him.
I'll miss the way he'd let me pick out the boogers from around his eyes and not flinching like our other cat.
I'll miss his purring, loud purrs that I didn't think cats were capable of making. I'll miss the way he'd spread his legs out when I'd hold him in my lap like a baby, dangling into the air. I'll miss the racket he makes every morning when he wants to be let outside. I'll miss the way he'd stare at you from just outside an open door and won't come in.
I'll miss the mice he used to bring home to play with. The way he'd jump three feet in the air. The lazy, half-shut eyes he had when he sat around the house. The way he'd sleep on my mother's pillow. How he jumped onto my bed and laid curled under my arm as I watched tv. I'll miss the way we used to play hide and seek, I'd peek around a corner at him and when I hide, he'll come running up to me and purring. I'll miss his fear of furry objects (especially the living room rug) and how he gets panicky if you try to place him on something hairy.
I'll miss the clumps in his fur. I'll even miss that time he threw up on me, as I lifted him up into the air while laying in bed.
I loved him so much.
I'll miss you Fluffy.
the greatest cat in the world...
*sighs deeply*
I haven't posted in over a month. In that time, many things have happened that should have been written about, but I always felt they were trivial and unimportant. I felt like I didn't really have anything important to share on my blog.
Well.. until today...
At around three o'clock, I was called over by my mother because she thought our cat Fluffy was having trouble with his leg. My mother thought someone hurt him while he was outside and she kept saying that his leg was broken. We scrambled to take him to the vet.
On the way, Fluffy was crying, shedding hair and breathing rapidly. My mother kept annoying the piss out of me with her attempts at placating his meows. Her tone of voice was shrill and ended up amping up the tension on the way. Thanks a fucking lot, mom.
As we waited for the xrays and general examination to finish, my mother engaged in conversation with some of the people there about the cruelty of our neighbors. Though I kept reminding her that I didn't think someone hurt him, she was clinging to her train of thought regardless. Fluffy was always the type to be fearful of strangers, he'd run away from the slightest movement of someone he didn't know, which is why I deduced that it couldn't have been inflicted by some lowlife in the neighborhood.
Later this assumption would prove correct, but I was unprepared for the shock that the veterinarian brought us.
Fluffy had a stroke.
A blood clot formed in his body and paralyzed both his hind legs. Xrays revealed that there weren't any fractures in his bones, but that a clot has cut off the blood flow to his limbs and killed his nerves, paralyzing his lower-half.
We were offered the chance to take him to a specialist where they would give him an MRI among other things, but the chances of him surviving would be at around five to ten-percent and the cost of the treatment would be over two thousand dollars.
When the vet told us all this, I could see my mother collapse in tears. I felt choked up but didn't want to start bawling along with her. It took a lot of fucking self control to keep myself in check. I had to keep my head down and push those feelings deep within me while all this was going on.
It looked like we were going to have to put him down.
My mother left the vet room when I asked if I could see Fluffy one more time, and I don't blame her. I felt that I may have made a mistake in requesting to do so, thinking that I would just fucking crumble in a mess of my own tears, but I was able to keep it together somehow.
They brought him to the room wrapped in a pink blanket, he was sedated, and wasn't meowing his heart out like before. I kneeled at the table, watching him and petting his little furry head. I just looked into his big green eyes for about ten minutes. Stroking his head, knowing that this would be the last time I'd ever do it for him. He didn't purr once. At this point I was getting choked up and I could feel myself blinking back a few stray tears as I watched the best pet I've ever had drool uncontrollably in front of me. This entire time he only looked me once into my eyes, seemingly unaware of who I was. I felt shamed. I took an extra minute to collect myself and knocked on the vet's door. They asked if I wanted to witness the euthanasia, and I knew I had to refuse. It would've killed me.
When we first got Fluffy in 1997--and when I started getting really attached to him-- I knew he was going to die someday and it would be emotionally painful for me. But I've always reminded myself that I would be around thirty-five years old before his fifteen-year life span might conceivably end.
I am twenty-seven fucking years old, this has happened eight years behind fucking schedule. EIGHT YEARS. Why the fuck did it have to happen so early? It seemed like only a short while ago that I held him in the palm of my hand when he was three-weeks old. He was so tiny.
I remember how he'd hide in the corner of the room for the first few days, scared like hell until he finally got used to the new place. I remember when I'd pet him by the window, for an hour at times, getting a kick out of the way he'd purr so loudly. He was the cutest little guy. I always liked calling him my little furry monkey.
Once we had to get his coat shaved, and I was pissed off that my mother brought him to some cheap pet grooming place. They took him downstairs into the pet-grooming dungeon while he was meowing and meowing and clawing ferociously at whoever was holding him. An hour later when I went to pick him up, he was hiding in the back of a cage, half the size he was before and he just JUMPED onto my shoulder, purring like mad, meowing and rubbing his face against mine. If I had any doubt that animals were incapable of love, I didn't have any since that day.
I'll miss the way he'd rub his face against mine, doing that cute thing with his nose. I'll miss the way he'd run away from just about anyone who'd try to pet him, but was always so affectionate towards me. I'll miss the way he'd run up to meet me just as I parked my truck outside. I'll miss how he'd flip on his back in all sorts of crazy directions, like a fish out of water whenever he sees me coming towards him.
I'll miss the way he'd let me pick out the boogers from around his eyes and not flinching like our other cat.
I'll miss his purring, loud purrs that I didn't think cats were capable of making. I'll miss the way he'd spread his legs out when I'd hold him in my lap like a baby, dangling into the air. I'll miss the racket he makes every morning when he wants to be let outside. I'll miss the way he'd stare at you from just outside an open door and won't come in.
I'll miss the mice he used to bring home to play with. The way he'd jump three feet in the air. The lazy, half-shut eyes he had when he sat around the house. The way he'd sleep on my mother's pillow. How he jumped onto my bed and laid curled under my arm as I watched tv. I'll miss the way we used to play hide and seek, I'd peek around a corner at him and when I hide, he'll come running up to me and purring. I'll miss his fear of furry objects (especially the living room rug) and how he gets panicky if you try to place him on something hairy.
I'll miss the clumps in his fur. I'll even miss that time he threw up on me, as I lifted him up into the air while laying in bed.
I loved him so much.
I'll miss you Fluffy.
I haven't posted in over a month. In that time, many things have happened that should have been written about, but I always felt they were trivial and unimportant. I felt like I didn't really have anything important to share on my blog.
Well.. until today...
At around three o'clock, I was called over by my mother because she thought our cat Fluffy was having trouble with his leg. My mother thought someone hurt him while he was outside and she kept saying that his leg was broken. We scrambled to take him to the vet.
On the way, Fluffy was crying, shedding hair and breathing rapidly. My mother kept annoying the piss out of me with her attempts at placating his meows. Her tone of voice was shrill and ended up amping up the tension on the way. Thanks a fucking lot, mom.
As we waited for the xrays and general examination to finish, my mother engaged in conversation with some of the people there about the cruelty of our neighbors. Though I kept reminding her that I didn't think someone hurt him, she was clinging to her train of thought regardless. Fluffy was always the type to be fearful of strangers, he'd run away from the slightest movement of someone he didn't know, which is why I deduced that it couldn't have been inflicted by some lowlife in the neighborhood.
Later this assumption would prove correct, but I was unprepared for the shock that the veterinarian brought us.
Fluffy had a stroke.
A blood clot formed in his body and paralyzed both his hind legs. Xrays revealed that there weren't any fractures in his bones, but that a clot has cut off the blood flow to his limbs and killed his nerves, paralyzing his lower-half.
We were offered the chance to take him to a specialist where they would give him an MRI among other things, but the chances of him surviving would be at around five to ten-percent and the cost of the treatment would be over two thousand dollars.
When the vet told us all this, I could see my mother collapse in tears. I felt choked up but didn't want to start bawling along with her. It took a lot of fucking self control to keep myself in check. I had to keep my head down and push those feelings deep within me while all this was going on.
It looked like we were going to have to put him down.
My mother left the vet room when I asked if I could see Fluffy one more time, and I don't blame her. I felt that I may have made a mistake in requesting to do so, thinking that I would just fucking crumble in a mess of my own tears, but I was able to keep it together somehow.
They brought him to the room wrapped in a pink blanket, he was sedated, and wasn't meowing his heart out like before. I kneeled at the table, watching him and petting his little furry head. I just looked into his big green eyes for about ten minutes. Stroking his head, knowing that this would be the last time I'd ever do it for him. He didn't purr once. At this point I was getting choked up and I could feel myself blinking back a few stray tears as I watched the best pet I've ever had drool uncontrollably in front of me. This entire time he only looked me once into my eyes, seemingly unaware of who I was. I felt shamed. I took an extra minute to collect myself and knocked on the vet's door. They asked if I wanted to witness the euthanasia, and I knew I had to refuse. It would've killed me.
When we first got Fluffy in 1997--and when I started getting really attached to him-- I knew he was going to die someday and it would be emotionally painful for me. But I've always reminded myself that I would be around thirty-five years old before his fifteen-year life span might conceivably end.
I am twenty-seven fucking years old, this has happened eight years behind fucking schedule. EIGHT YEARS. Why the fuck did it have to happen so early? It seemed like only a short while ago that I held him in the palm of my hand when he was three-weeks old. He was so tiny.
I remember how he'd hide in the corner of the room for the first few days, scared like hell until he finally got used to the new place. I remember when I'd pet him by the window, for an hour at times, getting a kick out of the way he'd purr so loudly. He was the cutest little guy. I always liked calling him my little furry monkey.
Once we had to get his coat shaved, and I was pissed off that my mother brought him to some cheap pet grooming place. They took him downstairs into the pet-grooming dungeon while he was meowing and meowing and clawing ferociously at whoever was holding him. An hour later when I went to pick him up, he was hiding in the back of a cage, half the size he was before and he just JUMPED onto my shoulder, purring like mad, meowing and rubbing his face against mine. If I had any doubt that animals were incapable of love, I didn't have any since that day.
I'll miss the way he'd rub his face against mine, doing that cute thing with his nose. I'll miss the way he'd run away from just about anyone who'd try to pet him, but was always so affectionate towards me. I'll miss the way he'd run up to meet me just as I parked my truck outside. I'll miss how he'd flip on his back in all sorts of crazy directions, like a fish out of water whenever he sees me coming towards him.
I'll miss the way he'd let me pick out the boogers from around his eyes and not flinching like our other cat.
I'll miss his purring, loud purrs that I didn't think cats were capable of making. I'll miss the way he'd spread his legs out when I'd hold him in my lap like a baby, dangling into the air. I'll miss the racket he makes every morning when he wants to be let outside. I'll miss the way he'd stare at you from just outside an open door and won't come in.
I'll miss the mice he used to bring home to play with. The way he'd jump three feet in the air. The lazy, half-shut eyes he had when he sat around the house. The way he'd sleep on my mother's pillow. How he jumped onto my bed and laid curled under my arm as I watched tv. I'll miss the way we used to play hide and seek, I'd peek around a corner at him and when I hide, he'll come running up to me and purring. I'll miss his fear of furry objects (especially the living room rug) and how he gets panicky if you try to place him on something hairy.
I'll miss the clumps in his fur. I'll even miss that time he threw up on me, as I lifted him up into the air while laying in bed.
I loved him so much.
I'll miss you Fluffy.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
marinated choco puffs
my mother is easily excited when it comes to the most inane things, one of those happen to be her belief that homemade foods do NOT compare with anything else on the planet. This ticks me off, I mean why should some apple cake made by an unprofessional chef be decidedly "better" than oh say.. apple pie at McDonalds? Its not! but because its "home made" my mother foams at the mouth over it. "You've got to try some! ITS HOME MADE!!" and when she shoves this visually unappetizing dish directly onto my eyeballs, I'm often tempted to get into questioning the origin of said substance.
Who made this? How old is she/he? How long has she/he been cooking for? Why is this better than crumbled no-name apple cake from Superstore? Does the person observe general cleanliness while preparing this dish? I don't know about you, but when I eat something that has been 'homemade', I picture some sweaty grandma with poor vision allowing a few stray armpit hairs fall into the cooking pot, and she'd use this greasy spatula with a fuzzy residue on the edges. And thats for strangers. For people I know, I simply question whether or not they cook these things in the nude.
Let me tell you about mass-produced corporate foods. They all started as recipes. Some of them have been in families for generations before being manufactured on a commercial level and distributed to the masses for their immediate and souless consumption. Pilsbury has perfected the art of making some kick ass oven-baked cookies that rival and surpass most other 'home made' cookies I've had in the past. And they observe the rules of cleanliness by having these hardcore MACHINES do all the grunt work in a completely sterilized and airtight bubble that NASA designed.
What does suck about mass-manufactured foods are the preservatives and DNA-altering chemicals that are inadvertently added into their products. Still, you can't argue with foods that millions of people happily purchase each and every day. Except of course, store-brought pizza.
...E3 this week, blueprint final, math final, theory final, shop final and the provincial exams. Its the last big crunch before I finally finish the course. If I can make it through this week unscathed, I will insert a webcam onto this page and point it at my crotch. Or not.
...we'll see.
Who made this? How old is she/he? How long has she/he been cooking for? Why is this better than crumbled no-name apple cake from Superstore? Does the person observe general cleanliness while preparing this dish? I don't know about you, but when I eat something that has been 'homemade', I picture some sweaty grandma with poor vision allowing a few stray armpit hairs fall into the cooking pot, and she'd use this greasy spatula with a fuzzy residue on the edges. And thats for strangers. For people I know, I simply question whether or not they cook these things in the nude.
Let me tell you about mass-produced corporate foods. They all started as recipes. Some of them have been in families for generations before being manufactured on a commercial level and distributed to the masses for their immediate and souless consumption. Pilsbury has perfected the art of making some kick ass oven-baked cookies that rival and surpass most other 'home made' cookies I've had in the past. And they observe the rules of cleanliness by having these hardcore MACHINES do all the grunt work in a completely sterilized and airtight bubble that NASA designed.
What does suck about mass-manufactured foods are the preservatives and DNA-altering chemicals that are inadvertently added into their products. Still, you can't argue with foods that millions of people happily purchase each and every day. Except of course, store-brought pizza.
...E3 this week, blueprint final, math final, theory final, shop final and the provincial exams. Its the last big crunch before I finally finish the course. If I can make it through this week unscathed, I will insert a webcam onto this page and point it at my crotch. Or not.
...we'll see.
Monday, May 09, 2005
delineation, dissemination, dissarray
damn...! its been a while since i last posted on here, here's the poop.
school is going fine, 91% on my theory test today and I even argued over some answers which gave me a +2 to my overall ass-kickage.
my step dad got himself a $35,000 suv over the weekend, a 2004 dodge durango, which made my left eye twitch in jealousy. look at this thing.
it has enough room in it for don and at least two of his girlfriends! ha ha! (sorry bro)
and ohhhh get this, I happened to be shopping for a gift for my momma on saturday and found this dvd at the local walmart:
its kung phooey! a movie that takes a very different approach to "comedy". Its hard to describe, but kung phooey is written in a way so that a joke appears every six seconds and it uses so much improvisation that I was left wondering exactly how big the shooting script was. two pages? damn!
kung poo-ey is by and large, a film that a group of stoned and/or drunk friends can awkwardly giggle over. I dont remember if there are any boobs in it, but there are some hot whasian woman (1/2 white, 1/2 asian) in a catfight, so there's something for the pervs to enjoy as well.
and it only costed me six dollars and eighty-eight cents! good god, i feel like going back to the store and laying down another ten bucks on the counter, its that sexy.
they even had this there:
tony scott can play with my balls anytime he so wishes. yes, this also is only six dollars and eighty-eight cents. you'll have to rummage for it in the bottom of the bin though.
sorry for the lack of capital letters today. i have a suspicion that every time you hit the shift key, somebody takes a shit and doesn't flush the toilet.
school is going fine, 91% on my theory test today and I even argued over some answers which gave me a +2 to my overall ass-kickage.
my step dad got himself a $35,000 suv over the weekend, a 2004 dodge durango, which made my left eye twitch in jealousy. look at this thing.
it has enough room in it for don and at least two of his girlfriends! ha ha! (sorry bro)
and ohhhh get this, I happened to be shopping for a gift for my momma on saturday and found this dvd at the local walmart:
its kung phooey! a movie that takes a very different approach to "comedy". Its hard to describe, but kung phooey is written in a way so that a joke appears every six seconds and it uses so much improvisation that I was left wondering exactly how big the shooting script was. two pages? damn!
kung poo-ey is by and large, a film that a group of stoned and/or drunk friends can awkwardly giggle over. I dont remember if there are any boobs in it, but there are some hot whasian woman (1/2 white, 1/2 asian) in a catfight, so there's something for the pervs to enjoy as well.
and it only costed me six dollars and eighty-eight cents! good god, i feel like going back to the store and laying down another ten bucks on the counter, its that sexy.
they even had this there:
tony scott can play with my balls anytime he so wishes. yes, this also is only six dollars and eighty-eight cents. you'll have to rummage for it in the bottom of the bin though.
sorry for the lack of capital letters today. i have a suspicion that every time you hit the shift key, somebody takes a shit and doesn't flush the toilet.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
frying bugs with my magnifying glass
So I came across two videos recently that have just utterly decimated any spare thought in my brain. These videos have CONSUMED me to the point that I actually google'd out info about them.
This video I first saw on wtfpeople.com, and I nearly choked once it started playing. This John Daker guy is fucking hilarious! I love the way he'd introduce his name right when the piano plays, and how he segues into Dean Martin's "Thats Amore" which is a song that I sometimes mumble to myself. But not like this! Not THE JOHN DAKER WAY! This guy completely and totally ANNIHILATES the original version! He hums over certain lines, incoherently mumbles over words and has these funny as fuck facial expressions throughout the entire thing. Notice his apologetic grin near the end of his set, I LOVE IT!
Its one thing to appreciate bad singing, its another to be caught up in the mystery of wondering who these people are. What lives do they lead? Are they doctors, nurses, garbagemen, unemployed heroin addicts? Do they have family?
So I went out on the prowl for more information about John Daker. This is the first time I've ever shown real interest in knowing the story behind those intranet videos. I'm sure a lot of people watch video clips that they get from friends over the internet or on web sites, but those people never really consider the story behind any of those. Which is a shame, since I think those videos are really something quite special.
So I found this:
My Name is John Daker
Thats like the unofficial, official website dedicated to that video. I was amazed and close to creaming my pants when I discovered that I watched just a small CLIP of John Daker, and that on that website, was the ENTIRE show in DiVX format! Anyone know how to convert from .wmv to a dvd video file format? heh.
As I watched this video, I was uh.. baffled. After a while it got a little addictive to watch as its sitting right here on the desktop awaiting that double-click of my mouse. So it grew on me, and I went to see if there was any more stuff by the band/guy.
Lo and behold! I ended up finding the official website! Here I go to play the song, wtf.. the song is completely different! There's no "fuck yeah!" in the chorus, its cut differently, I smelled a rat. Turns out this was the ORIGINAL version of the video which can actually be purchased via a donation (of any amount, got ten cents?). And that the "fuck yeah!" was really a video made by an ambitious bunch of guys with too much time on their hands. Not only did they re-edit the video to sync their own music to, but they recorded a completely different song for it as well! Nice job.
edit: after further sleuthing, I have discovered that the parody song is from Team America: World Police. By the Orgazmo guys!
And in addition to the official website, I found this flash spoof OF the spoof! Check this out, its got Dubya! And yet another flash spoof (awesomely done).
Yay for school, its tomorrow morning :P
John Daker
This video I first saw on wtfpeople.com, and I nearly choked once it started playing. This John Daker guy is fucking hilarious! I love the way he'd introduce his name right when the piano plays, and how he segues into Dean Martin's "Thats Amore" which is a song that I sometimes mumble to myself. But not like this! Not THE JOHN DAKER WAY! This guy completely and totally ANNIHILATES the original version! He hums over certain lines, incoherently mumbles over words and has these funny as fuck facial expressions throughout the entire thing. Notice his apologetic grin near the end of his set, I LOVE IT!
Its one thing to appreciate bad singing, its another to be caught up in the mystery of wondering who these people are. What lives do they lead? Are they doctors, nurses, garbagemen, unemployed heroin addicts? Do they have family?
So I went out on the prowl for more information about John Daker. This is the first time I've ever shown real interest in knowing the story behind those intranet videos. I'm sure a lot of people watch video clips that they get from friends over the internet or on web sites, but those people never really consider the story behind any of those. Which is a shame, since I think those videos are really something quite special.
So I found this:
My Name is John Daker
Thats like the unofficial, official website dedicated to that video. I was amazed and close to creaming my pants when I discovered that I watched just a small CLIP of John Daker, and that on that website, was the ENTIRE show in DiVX format! Anyone know how to convert from .wmv to a dvd video file format? heh.
America We Stand As One...
As I watched this video, I was uh.. baffled. After a while it got a little addictive to watch as its sitting right here on the desktop awaiting that double-click of my mouse. So it grew on me, and I went to see if there was any more stuff by the band/guy.
Lo and behold! I ended up finding the official website! Here I go to play the song, wtf.. the song is completely different! There's no "fuck yeah!" in the chorus, its cut differently, I smelled a rat. Turns out this was the ORIGINAL version of the video which can actually be purchased via a donation (of any amount, got ten cents?). And that the "fuck yeah!" was really a video made by an ambitious bunch of guys with too much time on their hands. Not only did they re-edit the video to sync their own music to, but they recorded a completely different song for it as well! Nice job.
edit: after further sleuthing, I have discovered that the parody song is from Team America: World Police. By the Orgazmo guys!
And in addition to the official website, I found this flash spoof OF the spoof! Check this out, its got Dubya! And yet another flash spoof (awesomely done).
Yay for school, its tomorrow morning :P
Saturday, April 30, 2005
beggers lips and cherry dips
recently my friend Jerry posted this little blurb on his gaming blog about the AWESOMENESS of the graphics in a titled called Okami.
I however, have found something that actually blows Okami out of the water and onto the moon, its this link here. A little game called 2 Days to Vegas.
Those are supposedly PS3 graphics, and oh. my. god. are those ever the sexiest assembly of pixels I ever laid eyes on.
There's got to be a catch, no way could that be actual in-game graphics. There would be rioting in the streets! Grannies would have to arm themselves to the false teeth to stave off the hordes of psychopathic males in the 17-26 demographic.
And the angels will come from the sky with big ass trumpets, singing the praises of the dev team.
Its gonna happen.
I however, have found something that actually blows Okami out of the water and onto the moon, its this link here. A little game called 2 Days to Vegas.
Those are supposedly PS3 graphics, and oh. my. god. are those ever the sexiest assembly of pixels I ever laid eyes on.
There's got to be a catch, no way could that be actual in-game graphics. There would be rioting in the streets! Grannies would have to arm themselves to the false teeth to stave off the hordes of psychopathic males in the 17-26 demographic.
And the angels will come from the sky with big ass trumpets, singing the praises of the dev team.
Its gonna happen.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
skinny dipping in razorblades
So we took our little field trip to Grant MacEwan today, and hoo boy was that ever a gas. After all was said and done, the general consensus decreed that it was a complete waste of time, and it was an accurate enough observation. I mean shit, we drive 20 minutes on the yellow school bus, feeling like retarded schoolchildren just to look at a bunch of pipes in the mechanical room. PIPES. Damn. Its not like we couldn't see pipes at our own campus, noooo, we had to go look at these specific pipes which were done in PVC, which ironically, is not part of the job I do for a living, which ironically means that the time spent there could have been spent at home playing with my cock (ironically a pipe in of itself).
PVC pipes. Pbbt. I guess the teachers anticipated record numbers of us in attendance which is why they FORBADE the use of vehicles to get there, instead herding us onto the aforementioned yellow school bus. Then in order to sweeten our torture, they implored the class to be on their best behavior as there is a rampant number of uber-hotties roaming the hallways. This intrigued me to a point where I didn't openly complain out loud, but upon arrival, we were dropped off in front of this entrance that says "MECHANICAL ROOM". Yes, so we didn't even directly enter the campus to ogle said "hotties" nooo.. my palms were sweating in anticipation as we reached the dark recesses of the mechanical room hoping that at any moment a hot broad will jump out from behind a boiler and say "hey boys.. so.. you guys like big pipes huh?" and then she'd start licking this one pipe all sensuously. Mmmm.. but no. We didn't even get to see Freddy Krueger in the boiler room, all we had was each other. *wraps arms around self*
About three people in all managed to somehow sneak out during the dog and pony show, but they were marked as "absent" on the sheets. Which I doubt actually affects anything, as being absent from this field trip doesn't have any bearing on your marks. Ooooohhh I'm absent, I'm going to fail this course! OH NOES!
Well that was that and this is this. I also hit the chiropractor today, its hard to believe that it costs 17$ (from my pocket, and the rest from health insurance) to do something that takes less than three minutes. I can imagine my chiropractor right now at his mansion on the hills drinking from a bottle of '81 Don Quixote that I helped pay for. That fat bastard.
PVC pipes. Pbbt. I guess the teachers anticipated record numbers of us in attendance which is why they FORBADE the use of vehicles to get there, instead herding us onto the aforementioned yellow school bus. Then in order to sweeten our torture, they implored the class to be on their best behavior as there is a rampant number of uber-hotties roaming the hallways. This intrigued me to a point where I didn't openly complain out loud, but upon arrival, we were dropped off in front of this entrance that says "MECHANICAL ROOM". Yes, so we didn't even directly enter the campus to ogle said "hotties" nooo.. my palms were sweating in anticipation as we reached the dark recesses of the mechanical room hoping that at any moment a hot broad will jump out from behind a boiler and say "hey boys.. so.. you guys like big pipes huh?" and then she'd start licking this one pipe all sensuously. Mmmm.. but no. We didn't even get to see Freddy Krueger in the boiler room, all we had was each other. *wraps arms around self*
About three people in all managed to somehow sneak out during the dog and pony show, but they were marked as "absent" on the sheets. Which I doubt actually affects anything, as being absent from this field trip doesn't have any bearing on your marks. Ooooohhh I'm absent, I'm going to fail this course! OH NOES!
Well that was that and this is this. I also hit the chiropractor today, its hard to believe that it costs 17$ (from my pocket, and the rest from health insurance) to do something that takes less than three minutes. I can imagine my chiropractor right now at his mansion on the hills drinking from a bottle of '81 Don Quixote that I helped pay for. That fat bastard.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
my brain is turning to mush
So, I'm into the third day of school this week, about halfway through the entire course and I've realized a number of things about myself and the school system in general. It .. well sucks... 60-75% of what we're learning is NOT applicable to the job that I actually do for a living. We're learning how to insulate shit for commercial applications, COMMERCIAL. I work with the big boys in INDUSTRIAL. So unless I plan on quitting industrial and decide to slap up bundles of Pink Panther(tm) into people's celings, I'm not likely to ever use this knowledge.
Another thing I noticed is that every day I'm so tired. I get at least seven hours of sleep each night, but halfway through my school day (a mere four hours), I start getting seriously drowsy. Today I did some strategic sleeping where I'd wake up to take notes, and pretend I'm reading my book while the teacher extrapolates and pontificates on the advantages/disadvantages of using PVC instead of canvas finishing. Its all in the notes, why do I need to hear him ramble about the mundane details that will likely not end up on the test? I didn't. So it was amusing when I was sleep-reading to hear the teacher go "looks like we got someone sleeping..." and then me waking up and casually turning the page of my book, it was seamless, oh yeah I'm good!
Tomorrow we're going on a "field trip" ON THE YELLOW BUS! So if you see a bunch of retards thwacking our chests with the side of our hands at Grant MacEwan's main campus, thats us, THATS THE INSULATING GUYS!
I've realized another thing, this course is bloody easy and difficult at the same time. I can get by on only an hour of studying each week and get at least 75% on my tests. But at the same time, I'm falling behind in shop class because I don't like to rush things. I miss 1st year insulating school because we had four or five people who were absolutely terrible and made me look good by comparison. Not so this time around, oh well.
An interesting quote by Roman Kroiter (pioneer in AI research): "Many people feel that in the contemplation of nature and in communication with other living things, they become aware of some kind of force, or something, behind this apparent mask which we see in front of us, and they call it God."
I'm not surprised, Ken and Ryu have been using this power for years. How else would they be able to summon globes of energy to fire at their opponent?
Another thing I noticed is that every day I'm so tired. I get at least seven hours of sleep each night, but halfway through my school day (a mere four hours), I start getting seriously drowsy. Today I did some strategic sleeping where I'd wake up to take notes, and pretend I'm reading my book while the teacher extrapolates and pontificates on the advantages/disadvantages of using PVC instead of canvas finishing. Its all in the notes, why do I need to hear him ramble about the mundane details that will likely not end up on the test? I didn't. So it was amusing when I was sleep-reading to hear the teacher go "looks like we got someone sleeping..." and then me waking up and casually turning the page of my book, it was seamless, oh yeah I'm good!
Tomorrow we're going on a "field trip" ON THE YELLOW BUS! So if you see a bunch of retards thwacking our chests with the side of our hands at Grant MacEwan's main campus, thats us, THATS THE INSULATING GUYS!
I've realized another thing, this course is bloody easy and difficult at the same time. I can get by on only an hour of studying each week and get at least 75% on my tests. But at the same time, I'm falling behind in shop class because I don't like to rush things. I miss 1st year insulating school because we had four or five people who were absolutely terrible and made me look good by comparison. Not so this time around, oh well.
An interesting quote by Roman Kroiter (pioneer in AI research): "Many people feel that in the contemplation of nature and in communication with other living things, they become aware of some kind of force, or something, behind this apparent mask which we see in front of us, and they call it God."
I'm not surprised, Ken and Ryu have been using this power for years. How else would they be able to summon globes of energy to fire at their opponent?
Sunday, April 24, 2005
spumco is run by a bunch of perverts
Last night I was watching disc three of my Ren & Stimpy boxset when I came upon this absolutely perverted scene involving Ren and Eddie Kowalski. What happens is that Ren signs up for this "fake dad" program and ends up having to babysit a convict with the mental IQ of a seven year old. At about the 25:40 mark there is a scene where Eddie grabs Ren and something reallllllly pervy happens. It went like this:
Stimpy: "Go ahead Ren, give him your love...!"
Ren: "..."
Eddie: "Love..... Mmmmmmm" *grabs Ren and jams his entire body up against his chest*
Its at this part where you'll notice that as Eddie is squeezing Ren's body, Ren's butt starts to swell up (from displacement because he's being squeezed) and his head takes on an odd shape. Eddie is holding Ren with two clutched fists, so you can't really tell what he's holding. But when you're like me and looking for odd sexual references in the unlikest of places, you'd notice that Eddie Kowalski appears to be holding a COCK in his hand and is groaning with orgasmic ecstasy. I'm not kidding! It looks just like a COCK with two eyes on top AND it has a ballsack!
Its moments like this that made me wish I knew how to rip video from dvd. God bless John K.
edit: we here at blasè have taken it upon ourselves to OFFER YOU THE VIDEO CLIP RIPPED DIRECTLY FROM THE DVD, RIGHT FACKING HERE! (4.5mb/avi) holy cow do we love our readers! All four of you!
I also want one of these... BAD.
POWDERED TOAST MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN!!
Thursday, April 21, 2005
woe is me
arghhh.. school is driving me nuts. We have this big ass test tomorrow and I have to memorize like 8 pages worth of notes AND a bunch of mathematical formulas. Its gayer than Paul Reubens in a feather boa. Here's a taste of some of the stuff that needs immediate injection into my frontal lobe (or wherever there is room). remember, this is all off the top of my head, there's still a zillion other things that need a single raised eyebrow before I can fully memorize those:
Four steps of band saw safety:
1) keep your mind on the task at hand
(hmm, what am I doing today.. should I.. ARGHHH)
2) if distracted, turn off band saw
(look! Mike is riding a broomstick like a horse, hey, where's my hand go?)
3) turn band saw off before making adjustments
(yeah, try moving the angle of the blade while its still spinning, duh)
4) I forgot step four, but its probably just as anal as steps one to three
edit: step four is "do not leave band saw unattended" REALLY, thats step four!
Canvas
-------
Comes in two types. Heavy and lightweight!
Lightweight is in 2-4oz bolts, heavy canvas comes in 6-8oz bolts
If you got a bunch of bolts, its called a BALE. OMG
For elbows, cut canvas two inches less than the circumference
For end caps, cut canvas two inches more than the diameter
For end caps (with a honkin pipe sticking out) cut canvas 1/4" less than the radius
Canvas that has been treated with fire retardent is called THERMOCANVAS
Canvas shrinks approximately one inch per yard (three feet) just like my cawk
Adhesives (for application of canvas)
Lagging Adhesive: strong, expensive, when dry it must be cleaned with MEK, made of a water-soluble resin, retarded to fires, your mother loves this stuff
Wheat Paste: The ghetto version of Lagging adhesive, cheap, prone to mould growth, not fire retardent, water soluble, resembles jizsm
Then there's this section on pin spotters / stud welders I have to know. And fun things called LAGS, which is this complicated math shit to memorize.
I swear, I'm going to bust some heads if I get any lower than 70% on the test tomorrow. We're talking bloodbath in the streets. You may want to hide inside on Friday, April 21th because there WILL be a guy with a machete hacking at anything that moves, this includes cars so please avoid psychopathic pedestrians if one should be anywhere near the vicinity of your vehicle.
Other than that.. back to studying I go, wish me luck
Monday, April 18, 2005
for your consideration...
As a fan of conspiracies, I got lucky today. I found out about this video (mpeg format) which shows an astronaut getting a taste of some overhead lighting. Now, thinking about this video, I'm asking myself: Is this fake? If its fake, who would go to such elaborate lengths? Can you purchase a spacesuit in a costume store? How about the grainy film footage? The people on set? The props? Was that faked as well? Could this maybe be an outtake from some space movie? All things considered, it seems like it would have taken too much unnecessary effort to just pass off as a prank.
Even if that video IS fake, I was tempted to research the matter further. The url shown in the clip points to www.moontruth.com which no longer exists (hmm.. interesting...) and I came across a website which details a list of anomalies in the moon landing. I believe that if you present a long, credible laundry list of evidence to prove a conspiracy, then there must be something to it. Of all the points raised in that website, could even one be credible and worth looking into? I'd think so. Or is it all 100% factually incorrect? If even one point raised by the author is correct, then the whole thing starts to look kind of shady.
Say someone saw a red balloon float into the sky, they have pictures, witnesses, even the balloon itself, but the NSA decided they want to cover it up. What do they do? They issue a press release stating that there was no balloon in the sky, that it was (insert random object here), they state the witnesses have zero credibility and the whole thing is brushed under the carpet. Because the NSA can easily manipulate the news media, most people never get all the facts. So now you have a few dozen people who actually saw this red balloon and are being made fun of, despite their evidence and conviction of what they saw. Then on the other side, you have millions/billions of people who get exposed to the media's interpretation of the event. The media says there wasn't a red balloon, and thats good enough for the millions that are watching, why should they care? Worse yet, the media just doesn't report this at all. Then its onto the next conspiracy that gets unreported/manipulated in press coverage. These things likely happen more often than you think. Its not what gets reported that counts, but what goes UNreported.
There has been such an overwhelming pile of evidence detailing the existence of aliens, ghosts, the illuminati (or some form of an organization that promotes a 'new world order'), psychic powers, the conspiracy behind 9/11, the murder of Princess Di, etc. and its difficult to dismiss all of those claims as being the ravings of lunatics. There HAS to be something to it. And yes, Bush is a remotely controlled android that aliens bent on world domination, have created. Hey don't take my word for it! omg look!
Its an external power supply. I rest my case.
Even if that video IS fake, I was tempted to research the matter further. The url shown in the clip points to www.moontruth.com which no longer exists (hmm.. interesting...) and I came across a website which details a list of anomalies in the moon landing. I believe that if you present a long, credible laundry list of evidence to prove a conspiracy, then there must be something to it. Of all the points raised in that website, could even one be credible and worth looking into? I'd think so. Or is it all 100% factually incorrect? If even one point raised by the author is correct, then the whole thing starts to look kind of shady.
Say someone saw a red balloon float into the sky, they have pictures, witnesses, even the balloon itself, but the NSA decided they want to cover it up. What do they do? They issue a press release stating that there was no balloon in the sky, that it was (insert random object here), they state the witnesses have zero credibility and the whole thing is brushed under the carpet. Because the NSA can easily manipulate the news media, most people never get all the facts. So now you have a few dozen people who actually saw this red balloon and are being made fun of, despite their evidence and conviction of what they saw. Then on the other side, you have millions/billions of people who get exposed to the media's interpretation of the event. The media says there wasn't a red balloon, and thats good enough for the millions that are watching, why should they care? Worse yet, the media just doesn't report this at all. Then its onto the next conspiracy that gets unreported/manipulated in press coverage. These things likely happen more often than you think. Its not what gets reported that counts, but what goes UNreported.
There has been such an overwhelming pile of evidence detailing the existence of aliens, ghosts, the illuminati (or some form of an organization that promotes a 'new world order'), psychic powers, the conspiracy behind 9/11, the murder of Princess Di, etc. and its difficult to dismiss all of those claims as being the ravings of lunatics. There HAS to be something to it. And yes, Bush is a remotely controlled android that aliens bent on world domination, have created. Hey don't take my word for it! omg look!
Its an external power supply. I rest my case.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
holy smoke-skis
90% on my blueprint exam, 100% on my math and I actually managed to catch up in shop class today.
Maybe school isn't so bad after all! *elbow pump* hungh! HUNGH!
Time will tell.
Maybe school isn't so bad after all! *elbow pump* hungh! HUNGH!
Time will tell.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
ex-cons, school and a whole lotta poop
So today I got ambushed outside Londonderry Mall by a recently released ex-convict. Yeah it was that bad. He asked me for a cigarette and then proceeded to tell me his life story, without taking a single gulp of air, it was amazing. In the five minutes it took for me to finish my smoke (before heading in to do some studying at the library) "Steve" told me how he got out of the clink after serving three years for armed robbery. He has a completely new outlook on life now, he's a reformed man. His father could lift a car engine off the ground and he's sixty-seven years old and looks like a wizard, with big nose hairs poking out. His grandfather is much hated in his family, since he has amassed millions of dollars of wealth but refuses to share/spend it. Steve's brother is working for the United Nations and is currently in Ireland, where he makes a sweet 40 grand for two months of work (overpaid bastard). Steve also taught me about how it pays to be kind to people and how its "not a technology world.. its like, God, everyone is God, and they affect everyone else. I take something from you, then I get something taken from me, or some other guy gets something taken. I talked with a professional about this, and he says that the world is a single entity, and you need to approach life with a sensitive mindset and really understand how it all fits together"
That was five minutes, well maybe six. I managed to squeak in a couple of things while he was rambling:
"What did you get sent away for?"
"You gotta do what you gotta do right?"
"Yeah man, and its not getting any better"
"PH D? In what?"
"..four..FOURTY GRAND?"
"Like Gandalf? Heh"
"I uh.. gotta go do some studying, I'm in school, a student, uh take care man"
Gotta love those ex-cons.
So I'm in school now, insulating school to be exact and I soooo dislike it. Part of the problem is that I'm still dealing with being poisoned (either accidentally by the consumption of poorly cooked meat, or with malicious, covert intent) on Sunday so I have like no appetite, I'm constantly tired (go to sleep at 7pm, wake up at 6am, still tired all day), getting headaches, I just finished crapping my bowels out a few days ago, so I no longer require the services of the nearest porcelain chamber and I've also been feeling nauseous. A winning combination! To get an idea of what my meal for the day consists of, I've been living off a banana, a chocolate bar, one slice of pizza and half a sandwich, for the DAY. Thats fucked up. So rather than be a sissy and go to the medicenter, I'm going to sit on it one more day and see what happens. Hopefully I'll pass out in class and they'll take me away in an ambulance, because I heard how this exact same thing happened to another student and they gave him pass marks despite his not being in class for most of the course. Lucky bastard.
S'anyhoo, another exciting day awaits, we get a test in blueprint reading! yay! I already got the acronym down pat, its OH, C DEBS. Which stands for: Object lines, Hidden lines, Center lines, Dimension lines, Extension lines, and uh oh.. what was B... shit I forgot B, and Section lines. They may take away my body, but they'll never take my minnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd! *drops dirty rag to floor a'la Braveheart-style*
I hate school. Insulating sucks.
That was five minutes, well maybe six. I managed to squeak in a couple of things while he was rambling:
"What did you get sent away for?"
"You gotta do what you gotta do right?"
"Yeah man, and its not getting any better"
"PH D? In what?"
"..four..FOURTY GRAND?"
"Like Gandalf? Heh"
"I uh.. gotta go do some studying, I'm in school, a student, uh take care man"
Gotta love those ex-cons.
So I'm in school now, insulating school to be exact and I soooo dislike it. Part of the problem is that I'm still dealing with being poisoned (either accidentally by the consumption of poorly cooked meat, or with malicious, covert intent) on Sunday so I have like no appetite, I'm constantly tired (go to sleep at 7pm, wake up at 6am, still tired all day), getting headaches, I just finished crapping my bowels out a few days ago, so I no longer require the services of the nearest porcelain chamber and I've also been feeling nauseous. A winning combination! To get an idea of what my meal for the day consists of, I've been living off a banana, a chocolate bar, one slice of pizza and half a sandwich, for the DAY. Thats fucked up. So rather than be a sissy and go to the medicenter, I'm going to sit on it one more day and see what happens. Hopefully I'll pass out in class and they'll take me away in an ambulance, because I heard how this exact same thing happened to another student and they gave him pass marks despite his not being in class for most of the course. Lucky bastard.
S'anyhoo, another exciting day awaits, we get a test in blueprint reading! yay! I already got the acronym down pat, its OH, C DEBS. Which stands for: Object lines, Hidden lines, Center lines, Dimension lines, Extension lines, and uh oh.. what was B... shit I forgot B, and Section lines. They may take away my body, but they'll never take my minnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd! *drops dirty rag to floor a'la Braveheart-style*
I hate school. Insulating sucks.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
back in black
holy cow, I've done it. No, I didn't end up buying that acerage with the monkey butler, but I finally finished eight days of work. GRUELLING work. Work that says "damn, this really is a lot of work". Its all over, for about six weeks as I head back into ye old insulating school on Monday. At the moment, my buttocks are singing hallelujah as they've manage to finally escape their velvetly prison (the driver's seat), listen ..! PBBBTTTT ..
Five and a half hours of driving is just wrong. Its 2005, we should have super speedy conveyer belts like the Jetsons do. The future sucks.
Yeah, I am sooo tired right now, I'm drinking a half a liter of coffee and I'm saving my can of Red Bull for the grand finale. All because I hate going to bed this early. *frankenstein voice* I VANT TO LIVE!
So I managed to covertly snap a wad of pictures at work today, even though thats like a huge no no and you risk having your head cut off publicly if you get caught. But I guess I was able to intimidate those who saw me with my imposing physique, and my warning "nod" which took me years to perfect. I wanted to get those pictures taken because its always difficult to explain exactly what I do for a living to others. Yes I do put "clothing" on pipes to keep them "warm" but in the next couple of days I'll do a little "expose" on life as a construction worker, including a close-up look at insulation itself. Yes, I said I have pictures of insulation, INDUSTRIAL insulation to be more precise. You won't find stuff like this any where else folks.
00------>
Since my friends are considerate enough to wait untill I get back before seeing Sin City, I'm having to end up going with a co-worker this Saturday instead. Sin City is supposed to be some fine eye candy, and I'm going to be there with a lump in my jeans. But I heard some very mixed reviews about it as well, one look at Rotten Tomatoes (80%)has allayed any doubt that I've had. It WILL be as eye-masturbatory as I envisioned it. I have just got to see how Elijah Wood is going to pull off "Kevin" in this movie.
Chapelle awaits. G'nite
Five and a half hours of driving is just wrong. Its 2005, we should have super speedy conveyer belts like the Jetsons do. The future sucks.
Yeah, I am sooo tired right now, I'm drinking a half a liter of coffee and I'm saving my can of Red Bull for the grand finale. All because I hate going to bed this early. *frankenstein voice* I VANT TO LIVE!
So I managed to covertly snap a wad of pictures at work today, even though thats like a huge no no and you risk having your head cut off publicly if you get caught. But I guess I was able to intimidate those who saw me with my imposing physique, and my warning "nod" which took me years to perfect. I wanted to get those pictures taken because its always difficult to explain exactly what I do for a living to others. Yes I do put "clothing" on pipes to keep them "warm" but in the next couple of days I'll do a little "expose" on life as a construction worker, including a close-up look at insulation itself. Yes, I said I have pictures of insulation, INDUSTRIAL insulation to be more precise. You won't find stuff like this any where else folks.
00------>
Since my friends are considerate enough to wait untill I get back before seeing Sin City, I'm having to end up going with a co-worker this Saturday instead. Sin City is supposed to be some fine eye candy, and I'm going to be there with a lump in my jeans. But I heard some very mixed reviews about it as well, one look at Rotten Tomatoes (80%)has allayed any doubt that I've had. It WILL be as eye-masturbatory as I envisioned it. I have just got to see how Elijah Wood is going to pull off "Kevin" in this movie.
Chapelle awaits. G'nite
Saturday, March 26, 2005
what to expect when you die [spoiler warning]
I thought about what death would be like. I really fleshed it out in my mind, and my heart tells me that my depiction of this event is probably close to 100% accurate. It kinda goes like this:
Lets say that you are walking somewhere and your heart stops. You immediately start pounding your chest, trying to get your heart started, but you fail. You begin gasping for air, trying to deliver oxygen to your blood that your heart will not. You begin to feel dizzy, this causes you to fall down. The asphalt pummels your knees hard, your torso leans forward and you are pitched to the ground, head first. You feel your head bounce off the sidewalk and a spreading wetness on the side of your face. This is when your vision starts getting "watery" and things are beginning to blur. Your body aches, it becomes a terrible effort to move even a finger. As your breathing becomes shallower, awareness of your physical condition and need for air is diminished, and now your brain is completely focused on a last ditch effort to rescue your body from oblivion. Your heart races, pumped with adrenaline, you know you're about to die.
You can no longer see at all, your eyelids close and you feel and hear the pounding in your chest getting weaker. This however, does not concern you, as your attention is frantically grasping towards stimuli via sight, touch, sound but unable to secure any of those. Your attention then disregards external stimulation and begins to focus solely on keeping your thoughts clear. But you lose the ability of thought, you can no longer "think" with words. And you begin to conjure up images of your life. The face of your father, the tree in your backyard, a smudged out frame of an old cartoon you saw as a child. You can no longer organize your visuals, and images become erratic and jumbled. Soon, the pictures in your mind begin to fade, the emptiness grows darker and you completely relinquish the control of being conscious and feeling. You can now sense only on an intuitive level, consciousness is minimal and things such as your awareness of dying, are no longer there. You become an entity onto yourself, like a tiny non-flickering flame floating in the air, no limbs, no awareness of the mortal life you once led, and no capability for critical thought but rather an intution that consumes you deeply. You KNOW which is true, what is false, and everything from the meaning of life to how did they put the caramel into the caramel bar. You know everything, but you lack the ability to appreciate this new-found knowledge, you become incapable of emotion, curiosity, love, hate, fear, guilt.
So, you're floating in space, you know that each and every living, dead and inanimate object are made up of the same energy in which you are created from. You realize that the earthly form that energy takes, is a natural process in the maintainence/order of the universe. You understand that there is no such concept as "time" that everything runs from a pre-determined starting point and to an ending that never ends. Yet you're are at the starting point and at the end, at the same time. You're able to move faster than the speed of light to any destination that you feel "attracted" to. To become a pivotal piece in a delicate structure known as the universe.
Eventually your death will realize you this: there isn't a beginning and there isn't an ending, there is just simply.. being.
Thats my take on how "death" will go. Funny how those that fear dying are the ones that haven't fully thought it out. They probably believe that they'll even have the moment to regret being "dead" let alone being able to say "ah shit, I'm dead, oh man this is fucked up. FUCK... me."
In the end, nobody would care. You're dead. You wouldn't have to absolve or redeem the decisions you made in life because there wouldn't be a heaven or hell. Do you think giant globs of energy have a sense of morality? Do they care that you killed someone? That you didn't go to church on Sundays? That you enjoyed pinching your nipples while watching pro wrestling?
Eventually (for some unknown reason) you would become solid again. Whether its as a plant or a rock, or an animal, or a newborn baby you wouldn't know, and you wouldn't care. Physical forms are merely a representation of matter that energy has created, E=MC² you bitches.
My biggest fear isn't death at all. Having to go on living if I should become a quadriplegic, or ending up as a vegetable is. I like living, I want to enjoy it as long as I can. But not if the highlight of my day consists of getting goop through my feeding tube. Not while I'm shut off from all my five senses in a void of nothingness and being unable to move. That would just suck.
Friday, March 25, 2005
my stepdad has issues
I've been finally given the self-confidence of voicing a controversial opinion in our household. Is my stepdad bloody retarded? YES, YES HE IS.
This isn't a cruel, over-reaction on my part, its my response to individuals that are secure in their ignorance. People that are content not to learn, to be curious and inquisitive individuals. People that take their intelluct for granted.
I present to my audience, an exhibt of the evidence accumulated within a mere fourty-five minutes in his presence:
- asked me to come help him because his computer has no sound
- I search for signs of a problem with the sound card
- fifteen minutes go by
- I then show both palms outward while simultaneously shaking my head
- stepdad turns on speakers
- sound plays
- I begin to search for a sharp object to forcefully jam directly into his eyeball
kindly review what occured afterwards:
- stepdad rambles about downloading a program and encountering a virus
- blames me for not telling him that you can get viruses from things other than looking at porn
- I happily feed his delusion
- I assert that yes, looking at porn, particulary gay porn will likely result in a virus
- spend several minutes comparing computer viruses to actual STDs
- continues to search for Kazaalite to download
- stepdad rambles about how shitty the computer is
- mentions its my fault for not knowing that attempting to install a dvd burner would fry both his hard drive and the video card
- reminded him that he installed the dvd burner, ON HIS OWN
- reminded him that only professionals should attempt any hardware installation
- remindied him that porn = virus and that its difficult to tell which girl on his monitor has a virus and which doesn't
- Kazaalite gets installed, stepdad starts looking for polish music
- retells again, in an agonizingly slow-- you-heard-it-for-the-first-time -- monologue, the story of how he got a virus from a program he downloaded
- finishes retelling the virus story, and again relishes my presence with stories of how sucky his computer is and how I shouldn't be rolling my eyes whenever he asks for help.
- stepdad throws in a cheap shot about my using his dvd burner and that I "owe" him
- whilst I try and sneak out of the room, stepdad calls "The sound is gone! Come back!"
- realized just how helpless he really is
- I then investigate the simplest shit first
- showed step dad how to adjust the volume in windows media player by using the "slider"
- reminded him again, to actually read the stuff that is on the screen
- reminded that being able to use a computer is a learning process
- reminded again, that he's driving a car without knowing how to change the oil or use the shift
- reminded again, that learning comes from a genuine desire to understand the computer
- reminded again, that I know where he lives
- cheap shot I wished I could have used: "dont be so quick to call on me next time, try using one of the three brain cells you have left, first"
- slap the back of his head six times
- walk cooly away, like the Fonz
Is this not a definite case of severe and profound retardation? Uhm, I mean with my stepdad.
This isn't a cruel, over-reaction on my part, its my response to individuals that are secure in their ignorance. People that are content not to learn, to be curious and inquisitive individuals. People that take their intelluct for granted.
I present to my audience, an exhibt of the evidence accumulated within a mere fourty-five minutes in his presence:
- asked me to come help him because his computer has no sound
- I search for signs of a problem with the sound card
- fifteen minutes go by
- I then show both palms outward while simultaneously shaking my head
- stepdad turns on speakers
- sound plays
- I begin to search for a sharp object to forcefully jam directly into his eyeball
kindly review what occured afterwards:
- stepdad rambles about downloading a program and encountering a virus
- blames me for not telling him that you can get viruses from things other than looking at porn
- I happily feed his delusion
- I assert that yes, looking at porn, particulary gay porn will likely result in a virus
- spend several minutes comparing computer viruses to actual STDs
- continues to search for Kazaalite to download
- stepdad rambles about how shitty the computer is
- mentions its my fault for not knowing that attempting to install a dvd burner would fry both his hard drive and the video card
- reminded him that he installed the dvd burner, ON HIS OWN
- reminded him that only professionals should attempt any hardware installation
- remindied him that porn = virus and that its difficult to tell which girl on his monitor has a virus and which doesn't
- Kazaalite gets installed, stepdad starts looking for polish music
- retells again, in an agonizingly slow-- you-heard-it-for-the-first-time -- monologue, the story of how he got a virus from a program he downloaded
- finishes retelling the virus story, and again relishes my presence with stories of how sucky his computer is and how I shouldn't be rolling my eyes whenever he asks for help.
- stepdad throws in a cheap shot about my using his dvd burner and that I "owe" him
- whilst I try and sneak out of the room, stepdad calls "The sound is gone! Come back!"
- realized just how helpless he really is
- I then investigate the simplest shit first
- showed step dad how to adjust the volume in windows media player by using the "slider"
- reminded him again, to actually read the stuff that is on the screen
- reminded that being able to use a computer is a learning process
- reminded again, that he's driving a car without knowing how to change the oil or use the shift
- reminded again, that learning comes from a genuine desire to understand the computer
- reminded again, that I know where he lives
- cheap shot I wished I could have used: "dont be so quick to call on me next time, try using one of the three brain cells you have left, first"
- slap the back of his head six times
- walk cooly away, like the Fonz
Is this not a definite case of severe and profound retardation? Uhm, I mean with my stepdad.
The art of being stoned...
There's a certain amount of grace that is achieved when under the influence of pot. In addition to being aware of the most miniscule sensation; I've also been able to realize some very subtle truths. Truths that have previously been denied my understanding (and appreciation of). For instance, while watching Donnie Darko: Special Edition (booyah!)-- which again comes as my highest recommendation of a "perfectly crafted" movie-- I noticed just how intricate and involved directing and writing a movie can be.
In my ruminations, I understood and was amazed at being able to pick out these tiny elements of believabilty in its acting/writing. Take for example, a small part near the beginning where Drew Barrymore's character (high school teacher) walks through the hall with a stressed out look. The camera then shows her about to enter a classroom where she inhales deeply, lights up her eyes and shines with self-confidence before she enters. Its subtle things like THAT I'm noticing (and loving) right now..
For the most part, I sometimes can't really tell who's a "good" actor and who's a "great" actor in the sense of actually being especially proficent. But while stoned, these things are made readily apparent, if not blatantly obvious. I think that the guy who plays the father in Donnie Darko-- while he doesn't have a whole lot of screen time-- is the one with the most numerable, and is the most adept at pulling off all the little "gestures" that signify realism to the character. The body language is dead on for the situation, and it actually feels like you're watching real people and not seeing actors try and mime a genuine human being.
Speaking of miming, I have found what is undeniably the coolest mime ever. Even cooler than a cryogenically frozen Vanilla Ice. I'm talking about David Armand of Hollow Men, which is a new show on Comedy Central. Click this biznatch and see what I mean.
Best Mime Ever
So yeah, the ability to recognize and process every little variable that you encounter is an awesome effect of weed. You are fully concious that it took you around two seconds to exhale your breath, that you looked to your left and felt a tiny sensation of some indescribable sort on the back of your neck, etc. You start feeling "feelings" that you've disregarded a thousand times, but only becoming aware of just now.
Its pretty cool. And no, I'm not a pothead. *coughcoughDoncough*
So, thats my awesome observation of the day. And remember kids, crack is whack.
In my ruminations, I understood and was amazed at being able to pick out these tiny elements of believabilty in its acting/writing. Take for example, a small part near the beginning where Drew Barrymore's character (high school teacher) walks through the hall with a stressed out look. The camera then shows her about to enter a classroom where she inhales deeply, lights up her eyes and shines with self-confidence before she enters. Its subtle things like THAT I'm noticing (and loving) right now..
For the most part, I sometimes can't really tell who's a "good" actor and who's a "great" actor in the sense of actually being especially proficent. But while stoned, these things are made readily apparent, if not blatantly obvious. I think that the guy who plays the father in Donnie Darko-- while he doesn't have a whole lot of screen time-- is the one with the most numerable, and is the most adept at pulling off all the little "gestures" that signify realism to the character. The body language is dead on for the situation, and it actually feels like you're watching real people and not seeing actors try and mime a genuine human being.
Speaking of miming, I have found what is undeniably the coolest mime ever. Even cooler than a cryogenically frozen Vanilla Ice. I'm talking about David Armand of Hollow Men, which is a new show on Comedy Central. Click this biznatch and see what I mean.
Best Mime Ever
So yeah, the ability to recognize and process every little variable that you encounter is an awesome effect of weed. You are fully concious that it took you around two seconds to exhale your breath, that you looked to your left and felt a tiny sensation of some indescribable sort on the back of your neck, etc. You start feeling "feelings" that you've disregarded a thousand times, but only becoming aware of just now.
Its pretty cool. And no, I'm not a pothead. *coughcoughDoncough*
So, thats my awesome observation of the day. And remember kids, crack is whack.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
the hand that feeds you
I'm a little late with this, but last night I saw NIN's new video for "The Hand That Feeds You" and I was ... doh.. blown away! Its nice to hear that Trent is pushing NIN into a new direction but still retaining the cool as $#*&&! quality that made his previous records so memorable. Just listen to that honkin synth, wow. And the guitars are so crunchy you can practically taste the salty nuts, definitely some superb stuff.
Here's the torrent for the video
You'll need Bittorrent to download the file, I recommend Azureus
And uh.. er, no circus for me tonight, I read this thing in the paper that animal activists are going to protest and I realized they make a pretty good point, why should we see animals exploited for entertainment? Especially when you know that the elephant made to stand on one leg probably had its ass kicked a few hundred times before he got it right. So, fuck the circus. I see plenty of circus-like shenanigans at work, one of my co-workers is going to jail for two months because of a crack deal gone awry, now that beats watching some guy walk a tightrope any day of the week.
Go buy the Incredibles.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
dinky cell phones and other mundane chatter
Well here she is:
Look at that thing, notice how it silently mocks the viewer by saying "you know you want to hold my sexy body in your hot, heavy hands.." and sort of snaps its fingers in your face? Thats my new phone. And damn, this is one light piece of technological wizardy. I'm afraid I'll end up washing my jeans and finding my phone beeping during the wash cycle, its ridiculously easy to lose this thing.
Thats compared to this behemoth:
That there is about 2 pounds of brute cell phone force, which served me for the better part of nearly six years. Few people know this, but I pioneered the popularity of cell phones by being one of the early adopters. Yep, friends were like "wtf would I need a cell for? I only talk to my granny on weekends!" but not me, I was all like "hey if you should one day drive your truck into a ditch and get stranded when its -40 below, you'll be glad you bought this" and believe me, I've driven into plenty of ditches to realize the value of these things. Ah those fond memories of me playing Snake on my green-black colored screen while waiting for the tow truck driver to arrive, some memories are irreplaceable.
But not cell phones. After enduring years of people gossipping behind my back about how crappy my Nokia is, I decided to fight back by purchasing the studly and sevelte, Sony-Ericsson T637. Because the only way to get respect from consumer whores is to be a consumer whore. Never mind the fact that all I need is something to dial numbers with, no, I need 65,000+ colors, over-priced shitty Java games and 3,037,923 options that I'll likely never use. But as I was saying, I've grown tired of being the po' guy in my clique, and I'm upping the stakes. Also, I'm tired of feeling my brain tissue bake from all the radiation that thing was putting out.
So the T637 has all these fancy gimmicks in it. Camera (shitty), bluetooth (useful for wireless headsets/driving/computer connectivity), 65,000+ colors (nice), Java games (eh, but I got Q*Bert and Backgammon dammit!), picture caller-ID, etc, and it also massages my penis when I set it in vibirate mode, so yeah, I guess the switch was worth it.
Guess what? Work sucks. I gotta go get ready for my long-ass commute, but now I can spend the next 5 hours transferring over my phone contacts and making crappy doodles with my phone's uh.. doodle-making prog (?!?) so its all good.
Grrr.. I still need to tweak the page's html..
Look at that thing, notice how it silently mocks the viewer by saying "you know you want to hold my sexy body in your hot, heavy hands.." and sort of snaps its fingers in your face? Thats my new phone. And damn, this is one light piece of technological wizardy. I'm afraid I'll end up washing my jeans and finding my phone beeping during the wash cycle, its ridiculously easy to lose this thing.
Thats compared to this behemoth:
That there is about 2 pounds of brute cell phone force, which served me for the better part of nearly six years. Few people know this, but I pioneered the popularity of cell phones by being one of the early adopters. Yep, friends were like "wtf would I need a cell for? I only talk to my granny on weekends!" but not me, I was all like "hey if you should one day drive your truck into a ditch and get stranded when its -40 below, you'll be glad you bought this" and believe me, I've driven into plenty of ditches to realize the value of these things. Ah those fond memories of me playing Snake on my green-black colored screen while waiting for the tow truck driver to arrive, some memories are irreplaceable.
But not cell phones. After enduring years of people gossipping behind my back about how crappy my Nokia is, I decided to fight back by purchasing the studly and sevelte, Sony-Ericsson T637. Because the only way to get respect from consumer whores is to be a consumer whore. Never mind the fact that all I need is something to dial numbers with, no, I need 65,000+ colors, over-priced shitty Java games and 3,037,923 options that I'll likely never use. But as I was saying, I've grown tired of being the po' guy in my clique, and I'm upping the stakes. Also, I'm tired of feeling my brain tissue bake from all the radiation that thing was putting out.
So the T637 has all these fancy gimmicks in it. Camera (shitty), bluetooth (useful for wireless headsets/driving/computer connectivity), 65,000+ colors (nice), Java games (eh, but I got Q*Bert and Backgammon dammit!), picture caller-ID, etc, and it also massages my penis when I set it in vibirate mode, so yeah, I guess the switch was worth it.
Guess what? Work sucks. I gotta go get ready for my long-ass commute, but now I can spend the next 5 hours transferring over my phone contacts and making crappy doodles with my phone's uh.. doodle-making prog (?!?) so its all good.
Grrr.. I still need to tweak the page's html..
Monday, March 07, 2005
The sweet scent of charred flesh ...
Yay, today is steak night, like it is every Monday evening in faboolous Fort McMurray. Steak, blehhh.
Well that one day off came and went pretty fast, it depressed me. Fight Night 2 that I was so excited for, turned out to be another EA "minor fix" sequel, with nine horrible rap songs on it and NO custom soundtracks. How the game got 9s in various reviews is completely beyond my level of comprehension.
Then of course, teh w33d was my good friend of the evening, he and I watched the O.C. together for about five episodes. I've never seen the O.C. before and I've got a pasty Japanese bud who literally creams his pants at the mention of the O.C. For the first couple episodes I was hooked, this was excellent scripting and had some pretty interesting characters, especially the evil momma who's Marissa's uhh.. momma.
My favourite character is definetely the lawyer dude. Some of you may know him as THE KING of real estate in American Beauty. I just love his dialog in the O.C. thats MY body and mind you got there man.. God cheated me.
And here he is, the KING of real estate, Peter Gallagher. (I just like putting pictures on here, duh)
And the realism in the O.C. is like.. omigod. I've been watching movies lately from the point of view of a "screenwriter" and its easier for me to appreciate solid writing. They have to account for so many subtle little things, it still puzzles me how a script like that is banged out by some pimply dude at his computer. Its a formula goshdarnit, and someday I'll figure that shit out and make million$.
But it got staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale and oooooooooooooooooooold so quickly and at around episode five I realized its just a cheap, fluff teenage opera with drugs and sex to spur the plot along. Its certainly no Six Feet Under, which I consider to be el magnificato (how the hell you spell that I dont know) from season 1 to season 2, episode to episode. It also doesn't need to throw tragedy after tragedy to keep its audience interested, no, it pontificates, ponders, and propells itself RIGHT IN YO FACE the way a good drama should be. Not exploiting its characters so needlessly and dismissing a huge plot point in favour of a new one without properly fleshing out the consequences of the prior plot thread. Eh, maybe I'm being overly critical, I still have a 1/2 season left to go before I lay the final smackdown on my opinion. I may not consider it Days Of Our Lives for teenagers with A.D.D. after all.
Sooo.. my lovely assistant at work today (Natasha) and I may be going to (wait for it) the CIRCUS next weekend. Yeah, it sounds as gay in text as it probably will end up being in person. But I don't care, I'm just sick of spending the past few years just doing .. NOTHING as far as "life experiences" go. I haven't even banged a hot Asian broad, and thats on the TOP of my to do list! (psst Jer, hook me up with your cuz). So thus, the circus we will go. I can just totally imagine the happy, serene look of contention on my face as I relive the joyous wonders of being five years old again. Heh, who am I kidding, I'm gonna get stoned and watch the elephants poo on the stage.
Well thats about it, again I'm anticipating my single day off in about four days, I'm likely to end up spending my day airing out my naked cawk while in a drunk stupor, never underestimate the de-stressing qualities of sheer unabashed nudity, it beats the hell out of Vicodin.
Stay tuned for my next dramatic update, where I will reveal to you all which new cell phone I ended up purchasing to replace my beloved six year old Nokia. You won't want to miss this folks.
Laaaaaaaates.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
blah blah blah blah argh fuck kill
not a whole lot new today, the most exciting thing that happenned was the announcement that we will be getting FREE PIZZA tomorrow afternoon at lunch. Judging from prior experience, I'm fully expecting some greasy ass disgusting "pizza", that doesn't deserve a place in the garbage can, but in dire need of cremation!
adage of the day:
"its all about ass, either you kick it, or you lick it."
adage of the day:
"its all about ass, either you kick it, or you lick it."
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
the snot man cometh
I'm sicccccccck. Sunday night I started getting the "sniffles" and I knew that waking up in the morning with a puddle of snot on my chest wasn't a good sign. So here I am on my second day off fighting the ravages of the Asian chicken flu or whatever it is I'm afflicted with.
If being sick was bad, being sick in a desolute camp 5 1/2 hours from home is even worse. Where's my momma bringing me chicken soup? Wahhhhh! I want to order in a pile of super-spicy chicken wings (which usually guarantees my recovery) but nooo.. I have to eat food here thats just a notch above pablum instead. At the very least, having something to do would cheer me up a bit, I just finished reading the only book I brought along -- American Gods by Neil Gaiman (excellent novel btw). And I don't have a tv. Just a CD player and a headfull of dreams *sniffs* oh, and this internet kiosk that I only have ten minutes left on.
To add insult to injury, I can't even recuperate in my room. I have two neighbors who both work night shift, and with how thin the walls are in this place, I'm fairly certain that if I even blow my nose, they'll both kick down my door and stomp me in the nuts until my ballsack ruptures. You see, they NEED their sleep.
So I'm sauntering off around camp, like Michael Landon in Highway to Heaven minus the helping people part. I usually doze off in the smoking/tv lounges, and play a few games of Adams Family pinball. Then I'll get a cup of tea, wander around a little more, doze off for a bit, let out some random moans, cough up a little phelghm, etc. Its so thrilling to be alive.
I wish I had the Xbox with me. Today marks the release of one of my most anticipated titles of the year, EA's FIGHT NIGHT ROUND 2 ! *farts in excitement* I really enjoyed the hell out of the first one and its innovative use of Total Punch Control as well as the rag doll physics and I'd be a complete moron if I wasn't excited about its sequel which includes (for the first time) online play!! *farts in excitement again* Sadly, EA decided NOT to include custom soundtracks as an option, so once again I'll be forced to turn off the nine mediocre rap songs that are known as EA TRAX. Damn you EA, where's my fucking metal?!
Anyhoo.. I can't wait untill Friday, because thats when I get to go home for the weekend! Except that I only get SATURDAY OFF and have to take the long, gruelling bus ride back on Sunday afternoon. But thats the life I'm cursed with for now, and someday that acerage with the monkey butler and English sheepdog will be mine. Then I'll laugh and laugh at how great my life is.
peace.
Monday, February 21, 2005
getting ready for work...
Well, its that time of the day again, where I begin my lovely six hour bus tour to Fort McMurray. For those that aren't familiar with my migration patterns, I work way up north and every week I have to take a painful commute to get there. Horrible things happen when you're stuck on a bus in a cramped seat, suffering nicotine withdrawl, things that I will not publish out of respect for readers. As far as I'm concerned, cyrogenic technology needs to be improved big time so they can just ship us there in a freezer.
My Chinese-Canadian pal Jerry posted some pictures of the zoo we went to on Saturday, and aside from the Ninja Monkeys, he pretty much captured the essence of the trip, which you can see here.
And now for teh funny, cause I'm not in a hilarious happy go-lucky mood right now in the hours leading up to my commute:
-- A nervous man sits in the hospital waiting room as the doctor walks in holding a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. "Mr. Jones, it's time to meet your new son."
The man stands up with a big smile, tears of joy and happiness well up in his eyes. It is the most wonderful moment of his life. As they walk toward each other the doctor stumbles and drops the baby on the hard waiting room floor.
"Oh my god!" the father cries, "What have you done!?!? That's my baby!"
"Relax," says the doctor. "I was just messing with you. He was stillborn."
Har Har, laaaaaaaaaaaaaaates
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Hurghghhnhgghhh!
There are few things more exciting in life than watching yourself bleed a slow, painful, death. Which is exactly what happenned last night. In the middle of blogging, I was suddenly aware of liquid pouring down my cheek, okay sure, I just washed my face right? Wrong! It was a cascade of blood dripping down all over my hands and keyboard, I went into shock and fell to the floor flopping like a fish. After a few jerky spasms, and a pre-emptive death rattle, I regained my senses and did what anyone else would do.
I grabbed my camera.
Yeah, so here I am bleeding all over the place and I'm rushing upstairs to the bathroom to take a picture of myself to put onto the blog. Yeah, I'm THAT dedicated!
So what caused this sudden discharge of bodily fluid? Turns out I cut myself shaving a few days ago and the cut hasn't properly healed. I was at Mark's Work Wearhouse yesterday morning trying on a new shirt and KA POW! Blood starts pouring. Now I'm in the changeroom looking at myself in the mirror and going "WTF" as I watch the blood drip all over the new shirt I tried on. Yay. I scrambled to find some tissue, but ended up having to use my toque to mop up the mess. It was horrible! I considered leaving the shirt behind in the room and making bloody handprints on the wall, but eventually it stopped bleeding and I went to the checkout counter.
I was praying it wouldn't bleed again but as I was paying for my merchandise...
Clerk: "132.94$ please"
Me: "Okay, debit... sec" *pulls out wallet*
Clerk: "Sir...?"
Me: "What? Wha... HURRRNNGGGHHHHHH!!!"
and I bled all over the counter, all over the debit card I was holding, some people in line were mortified like deer in headlights. To add insult to injury, the clerk was making the sign of the cross admidst the general panickery. One guy even shouted "AIDS! Run awayyyyyyyyyyy!"
Okay I made up that last part, but yeah, IMAGINE if it did happen like that, it would kick all kinds of ass.
Blah.
and on the seventh day, he rested...
finally.. FINALLY ... FUCCCCCCCCK !
tweaking the default Blogger template was harder than I imagined, I even had to design my own little icon thingy that shows up next to the previous post/archives. That ICON THINGY... I DID IT! I DREW EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THOSE PIXELS... BY HAND!
I'm hardcore.
Finally.
Now lets talk about headboppin Lizards. I was at the zoo Saturday and that lucky green bastard is like the rock n roll star of the reptile kingdom. Notice how he headbangs like he's listening to Poison or Warrant while he's trying to get his mack on? Yeah, its definetely Tommy Lee.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
out here we is stoned, immaculate...
The seed has been planted.
DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! *cymbal crash*
DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! *cymbal crash*
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