Midnight TV personality/douche bag at his finest
Friday, March 27, 2009
"Look at this - now I'm beating a prostitute. Look! So easy. One, two, three. Look at this."
"Wow! This so easy Look - all you gotta do is have a few drinks Ok, 5 Lookit - one, two, three - they practically drink themselves! - four, five Now I'm going to pay this hooker Look, I'm going to hit her now Watch this, you can do this with one hand behind your back, it's crazy! Lookit, bam! bam! it's SO simple why havent i dont this before? bam! bam! BAM-WOW!
Midnight TV personality/douche bag at his finest
Midnight TV personality/douche bag at his finest
morning observations
- "At least it's Friday, am I right?" count before 9 am: 6. It actually carries some weight today though because if you didnt have the fact that it's at least Friday, many people would only have "At least you used to have a job here as of yesterday."
- I noticed my hair flopping while running for the first time yesterday. It was mostly the tuff in the back that rears the most violent cowlicks, but still, it's a major development. No guarantees past this point...
- Yesterday when I got home, I saw a woman coming out of my apartment building through the door that locks from the outside and shuts by itself. She was wearing reflective shades and bright turquoise running pants. We exchanged obviously phony smiles right before she pulled the door shut behind her, being sure that the door was latched before she left it unattended. She even stopped her stride and leaned back on her leg to make sure it was shut. This was one of those times where I considered forgetting my own convenience to prove a point - like pretending I didn't have keys and following her down to the street to walk in the practically same entrance that doesn't have any door. Probably even give her a weird look like I was following her at first, before bolting into the building. But I just used my keys.
- I noticed my hair flopping while running for the first time yesterday. It was mostly the tuff in the back that rears the most violent cowlicks, but still, it's a major development. No guarantees past this point...
- Yesterday when I got home, I saw a woman coming out of my apartment building through the door that locks from the outside and shuts by itself. She was wearing reflective shades and bright turquoise running pants. We exchanged obviously phony smiles right before she pulled the door shut behind her, being sure that the door was latched before she left it unattended. She even stopped her stride and leaned back on her leg to make sure it was shut. This was one of those times where I considered forgetting my own convenience to prove a point - like pretending I didn't have keys and following her down to the street to walk in the practically same entrance that doesn't have any door. Probably even give her a weird look like I was following her at first, before bolting into the building. But I just used my keys.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Is the Chron buying Onion stories?
As Oakland outclasses itself again today with a march for justice.
A real takeaway from the story that we can all use is a truly profound and remarkable commentary from Lolo Darnell, apparently graciously taking a hiatus from pursuing her doctorate and duties as a teacher for autistic children. When asked about Lovelle Mixon, the martyr accused of attempted "murder", "convicted" of armed carjacking, breaking probation, "witnessed" murdering four police officers and "connected" by "DNA testing" to five "rapes", she shared, "If he's a criminal, everybody's a criminal."
Indeed, Lolo.
Stock photo of Lolo
Fellow marcher Mandingo Hayes, MBA, also took time away from his Big Brother responsibilities (after ensuring his Little Brother could be cared for at his after school program) and his thesis, Why DNA testing and science in general is the Po-Po's made up shiat to cast a rightful shadow of doubt on the DNA "link" that Mixon raped five women including, but not limited to, a 12 year old at gun point. "He wasn't a rapist. I don't believe that."
Who does, really? When will society learn that cops, science, education, good parenting and non-violence are just a waste of our time?
Mandingo, a portrait
A real takeaway from the story that we can all use is a truly profound and remarkable commentary from Lolo Darnell, apparently graciously taking a hiatus from pursuing her doctorate and duties as a teacher for autistic children. When asked about Lovelle Mixon, the martyr accused of attempted "murder", "convicted" of armed carjacking, breaking probation, "witnessed" murdering four police officers and "connected" by "DNA testing" to five "rapes", she shared, "If he's a criminal, everybody's a criminal."
Indeed, Lolo.
Stock photo of Lolo
Fellow marcher Mandingo Hayes, MBA, also took time away from his Big Brother responsibilities (after ensuring his Little Brother could be cared for at his after school program) and his thesis, Why DNA testing and science in general is the Po-Po's made up shiat to cast a rightful shadow of doubt on the DNA "link" that Mixon raped five women including, but not limited to, a 12 year old at gun point. "He wasn't a rapist. I don't believe that."
Who does, really? When will society learn that cops, science, education, good parenting and non-violence are just a waste of our time?
Mandingo, a portrait
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
March Day
To add to an all around shitty [sorry mom] day, i just realized that i forgot to recognize march day. granted, we're a solid three-plus weeks into march, but February should not pass without celebrating its passing. what a preposterous month. what possible good does the month of February serve to anyone outside of, of course, my mom's birthday. hallmark basically bought the rights to 1/12 of our year and rents it out for one day to more than pay for the mortgage. on top of that, it's generally cold, windy, cloudy. normally i'm into brisk weather and a good dousing, but in february? come on. we've had a good several months to get that out of our system by then. where's the bbq and baseball? 28 days? what kind of a joke is 28 days? we should
start the year January, March, April, with a few weeks of limbo bogarting onto the end of january where people drink, heat the grill and hit the pool to help force the issue that winter is freaking over, shrinkage be damned.
some (non)interesting facts about month #2:
- Anglo-Saxons used to call it Solmonath, the "mud month". wow, nice.
- they sometimes switched it up with Kale-monath, "month of the cabbage".
What a wonderful time of year.
- presidents' day used to be president's day, as in one for abe and one for george. this meant two days off from school. somewhere around 7th grade they decided they'd move one of the holidays to a more deserving month and consolidated to the ambiguous nod to national leaders that we have today
Let's celebrate my half-birthday instead, yes?
This is why several years ago a few friends and i decided to commemorate the end of this lame 28 day nuisance by a hearty dinner and night on the town on feb 28th (27th on leap years). it evolved into march day, which i have more or less ceremoniously marked since. it might be because im in an all-inclusive sour mood today and think that march 24 should join the month of february in the annals of contemptible periods of the past, but ill have a glass of wine tonight and be grateful that it could be worse.
start the year January, March, April, with a few weeks of limbo bogarting onto the end of january where people drink, heat the grill and hit the pool to help force the issue that winter is freaking over, shrinkage be damned.
some (non)interesting facts about month #2:
- Anglo-Saxons used to call it Solmonath, the "mud month". wow, nice.
- they sometimes switched it up with Kale-monath, "month of the cabbage".
What a wonderful time of year.
- presidents' day used to be president's day, as in one for abe and one for george. this meant two days off from school. somewhere around 7th grade they decided they'd move one of the holidays to a more deserving month and consolidated to the ambiguous nod to national leaders that we have today
Let's celebrate my half-birthday instead, yes?
This is why several years ago a few friends and i decided to commemorate the end of this lame 28 day nuisance by a hearty dinner and night on the town on feb 28th (27th on leap years). it evolved into march day, which i have more or less ceremoniously marked since. it might be because im in an all-inclusive sour mood today and think that march 24 should join the month of february in the annals of contemptible periods of the past, but ill have a glass of wine tonight and be grateful that it could be worse.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
"I'd like to use him as an example"
From my boss in the group meeting this morning to my coworkers, as a point that just because you've been making your numbers doesn't mean you're safe from being laid off or graded poorly on his subjective scale for employees at risk.
Tactful.
Tactful.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Hoorah for depression
or recession, whatever the hell we're supposed to be in. A couple fun facts I read tonight:
- With 600,000 jobs becoming no more in this country in each of the past 2 months, we're now in the wonderful place to say if you're out of a job, that you will have less of a chance finding a new one since before the mid-1950's when they began keeping records on this sort of thing.
- In SF, we overpay on housing by 93% compared to the rest of the country. Awesome. I mean, it's kind of old news, but still, awesome. It still feeds into the general mood we're being told to feel right now: fear and anxiety.
I wasn't very fearful or anxious at all until Old Grand Daddy Hearst decided to lay a big turd of "shape up or ship out, and since it's impossible to shape up, ship-freaking-out" on the several hundred employees at the Chron/SFGate. Though I've been looking for a new job for a while now, I was performing well and the Chron was a comfortable place to wait out a new and better opportunity.
Needless to say, I've become a job board whore. I've slutted out my resume to any pimply-faced recruiter intern who will "reach out" to me (and what the hell. is that the first thing these people are told when they're hired? "welcome aboard! now, you start a call by saying, 'hello, sir. i just wanted to... reach out to you today regarding an exciting opportunity.'") Let's all just take it easy on the "reaching out".
Another one these recruiter types need to cool it on is the term "hunter mentality". I don't care how many hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of people are milling around these job boards with me for a decent prospect, it's asinine to try to pump up some mundane, entry-level sales job with flare like that. People obviously buy into it, like it will be some dramatic adventure to dial a hundred phone numbers a day on some excel spreadsheet. The phone as your sword and your cubicle as your cave... really, let's just call it what it is. That wouldn't have even been cool in the 50's.
- With 600,000 jobs becoming no more in this country in each of the past 2 months, we're now in the wonderful place to say if you're out of a job, that you will have less of a chance finding a new one since before the mid-1950's when they began keeping records on this sort of thing.
- In SF, we overpay on housing by 93% compared to the rest of the country. Awesome. I mean, it's kind of old news, but still, awesome. It still feeds into the general mood we're being told to feel right now: fear and anxiety.
I wasn't very fearful or anxious at all until Old Grand Daddy Hearst decided to lay a big turd of "shape up or ship out, and since it's impossible to shape up, ship-freaking-out" on the several hundred employees at the Chron/SFGate. Though I've been looking for a new job for a while now, I was performing well and the Chron was a comfortable place to wait out a new and better opportunity.
Needless to say, I've become a job board whore. I've slutted out my resume to any pimply-faced recruiter intern who will "reach out" to me (and what the hell. is that the first thing these people are told when they're hired? "welcome aboard! now, you start a call by saying, 'hello, sir. i just wanted to... reach out to you today regarding an exciting opportunity.'") Let's all just take it easy on the "reaching out".
Another one these recruiter types need to cool it on is the term "hunter mentality". I don't care how many hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of people are milling around these job boards with me for a decent prospect, it's asinine to try to pump up some mundane, entry-level sales job with flare like that. People obviously buy into it, like it will be some dramatic adventure to dial a hundred phone numbers a day on some excel spreadsheet. The phone as your sword and your cubicle as your cave... really, let's just call it what it is. That wouldn't have even been cool in the 50's.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Euroland - to sound!
Finally got around to putting some pictures together, though I'd like to personally thank the foresight at Apple for not allowing the rotating of photos in their little imovie program. It's very iconvenient to get to use three iprograms at once to do a simple itask. imorons.
An hour a day my ass
I've been reading Outliers recently and- well actually, I started it a couple of months ago and took a sabbatical before now coming back to it - so it goes with my book-reading strategy. I actually can't remember ever reading a book all the way through, but that's counting the obnoxious prefaces, introductions and about the author's that every book is intent on including. When you get to the meat of the book- why you bought the book in the first place- my percentage of completion skyrockets to scholarly levels.
Anyway, Outliers is a pretty interesting book, mostly attempting to explain why people born in certain geographical areas, during certain periods of time or with birthdays in certain periods of the year, are more likely than others to be successful in different capacities (i.e. as a hockey player, businessman, tycoon). The tycoon ship has sailed, apparently. Damnit.
One of the most interesting claims has been that in general and for the most part, anyone of us with an IQ above legally retarded is capable of becoming a Tiger Woods, Miles Davis, or the Japanese kid who eats all those hot dogs. All it takes is 10,000 hours of practice. Obviously, occasionally someone is born with some freak ability, but for the most part, if anyone put a serious and driven 10,000 hours into anything, they could be one of the unquestioned best in the world. Part of it is sort of a "no shit" because who the hell has 10,000 hours to nance around with trying to absolutely master a new talent? Still, it's somehow encouraging that if I really wanted to, I could out-nerd Bill Gates or turn on a Tim Lincecum fastball. Actually, I could now if i really wanted to, but I don't.
Anyway, Outliers is a pretty interesting book, mostly attempting to explain why people born in certain geographical areas, during certain periods of time or with birthdays in certain periods of the year, are more likely than others to be successful in different capacities (i.e. as a hockey player, businessman, tycoon). The tycoon ship has sailed, apparently. Damnit.
One of the most interesting claims has been that in general and for the most part, anyone of us with an IQ above legally retarded is capable of becoming a Tiger Woods, Miles Davis, or the Japanese kid who eats all those hot dogs. All it takes is 10,000 hours of practice. Obviously, occasionally someone is born with some freak ability, but for the most part, if anyone put a serious and driven 10,000 hours into anything, they could be one of the unquestioned best in the world. Part of it is sort of a "no shit" because who the hell has 10,000 hours to nance around with trying to absolutely master a new talent? Still, it's somehow encouraging that if I really wanted to, I could out-nerd Bill Gates or turn on a Tim Lincecum fastball. Actually, I could now if i really wanted to, but I don't.
Viva booby traps
As boring, depressing, claustrophobic, ominous and decrepit as this building is, sometimes the human spirit overcomes its power and shines through as a brief reminder that no, we won't all die here in a windowless coffin of stained newspapers and absurd sports sales analogies.
Such was the case this morning minutes after discovering that Fidel, the meanest queen ginger to ever be called a Chronnie, had somehow manufactured a sliding door on his cubicle. He's always been excessively vocal about what is his around the general office area and what others are not allowed to touch and/or use, but installing a sliding door to help his Dwight Complex that he is somehow more important than his position actually is and requires a private wall from the common folk is impressive.
It should go without saying that he was non too pleased (maybe in the sense that an eminence would respond when her subject refuses to kiss her ring) to discover that someone was not as impressed with his remodeling and had somehow sealed his sliding door from the inside, hid all his ginger trinkets from his desk and taped his drawers shut.
After stampeding around the rows like an angry, red, gay rhinoceros trying to pin the culprit, Fidel is pissed and morale is high. At least until we're all laid off.
Such was the case this morning minutes after discovering that Fidel, the meanest queen ginger to ever be called a Chronnie, had somehow manufactured a sliding door on his cubicle. He's always been excessively vocal about what is his around the general office area and what others are not allowed to touch and/or use, but installing a sliding door to help his Dwight Complex that he is somehow more important than his position actually is and requires a private wall from the common folk is impressive.
It should go without saying that he was non too pleased (maybe in the sense that an eminence would respond when her subject refuses to kiss her ring) to discover that someone was not as impressed with his remodeling and had somehow sealed his sliding door from the inside, hid all his ginger trinkets from his desk and taped his drawers shut.
After stampeding around the rows like an angry, red, gay rhinoceros trying to pin the culprit, Fidel is pissed and morale is high. At least until we're all laid off.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Bad runs and death in Bloomie's WC? Something stinks.
I'm glad to see that Wally finally figured out how to leave comments. He also forwarded me a news story about a mysterious and alarmingly intimate occurance at the local Bloomingdales over the weekend. Turns out some guy ("Patrick Callahan") went to shed a few pounds in the store's john and was found dead the next morning inside. No leads yet, except the "authorities'" two cents that perhaps Pat "fell unconscious". That must've been some case of the shits.
What really hit home with me was that this wasn't any old weekend department store unsolved pooper death; this happened in my very own private oasis.
Everyone knows coffee is a notorious ... evacuation agent. The Chron has ("had", maybe by the time you read this?) a cheap coffee service which is about as unforgiving as throwing some prunes and watermelon into a blender with some coffee rinds. Needless to say, your stomach wants revenge. Problem is, you can't really utilize the Chron's facilities because of the dudes who apparently pee with their eyes closed and their hands behind their backs all over the seats, and because of people like coworker "Fidel" (see: Havana Omelet).
That's when/why I found my palace of a personal study: the handicapped stall in the lower level of Bloomingdales 1/2 block away (aka the new county morgue, apparently). Bloomingdale's has a reputation to uphold and their lavatories demand respect, peace and quiet. Quiet except, of course, for the adult contempo being quietly pumped in through the speakers. The stall is large enough to accommodate two couches. The pristine marble floors' only flaw is the reflection giving a broadcast to the other side of the door. The flush is like a pissed off, yet refined jet engine.
I don't know what I'm going to do, since nobody just dies mysteriously in a crapper and doesn't end up haunting the place. My jewel is tainted, thanks to Pat.
I'm sure the coroner can stop wasting his time though and just look 50 feet down the street to find the cause of death. Peet's: I'm back.
What really hit home with me was that this wasn't any old weekend department store unsolved pooper death; this happened in my very own private oasis.
Everyone knows coffee is a notorious ... evacuation agent. The Chron has ("had", maybe by the time you read this?) a cheap coffee service which is about as unforgiving as throwing some prunes and watermelon into a blender with some coffee rinds. Needless to say, your stomach wants revenge. Problem is, you can't really utilize the Chron's facilities because of the dudes who apparently pee with their eyes closed and their hands behind their backs all over the seats, and because of people like coworker "Fidel" (see: Havana Omelet).
That's when/why I found my palace of a personal study: the handicapped stall in the lower level of Bloomingdales 1/2 block away (aka the new county morgue, apparently). Bloomingdale's has a reputation to uphold and their lavatories demand respect, peace and quiet. Quiet except, of course, for the adult contempo being quietly pumped in through the speakers. The stall is large enough to accommodate two couches. The pristine marble floors' only flaw is the reflection giving a broadcast to the other side of the door. The flush is like a pissed off, yet refined jet engine.
I don't know what I'm going to do, since nobody just dies mysteriously in a crapper and doesn't end up haunting the place. My jewel is tainted, thanks to Pat.
I'm sure the coroner can stop wasting his time though and just look 50 feet down the street to find the cause of death. Peet's: I'm back.
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