February 2010 Archives

Ozzie Guillen now has a Twitter account.

Ozzie. Freakin'. Guillen. Unhandled, unfiltered, unspellchecked. For the first time in my life, I 1) believe in God and 2) say the following without a trace of sarcasm: I can't wait for baseball season to start.

tailgating

Like most tech firms, my employer makes you scan your ID card whenever you enter a building. When someone with no ID card tries to follow someone else through a door, they call it "tailgating." I've always thought that a poor metaphor. It's more like "drafting."

The other day, I couldn't find my ID, and I stood at the door and did the Keycard Patdown of all my pockets. I shan't be posting a video, but trust that this is the lily-whitest of all dances. A stranger held the door as he patiently watched a dork swat himself, and we shared a knowing look.

"Who on earth would go in there who didn't have to be there?" I sighed.

"Now I know you work here," he replied, gesturing for me to walk through.

waggot season

The site appears to be back up. Such is the mystery of my ISP.

• • •

Perusing Facebook, I saw that Mike had just fanned the group "Seattle Gay Scene." Specifically, it looked like this:

"Mike Pinkpoofter has become a fan of Seattle Gay Scene."
Seeking something to mock, I clicked the second link. It was then that I discovered that unlike with status updates or groups, the fan link does more than show you the item in question.
"You have become a fan of Seattle Gay Scene."
Ha, ha. Imagine my family's face when they see that. They've long suspected. I like cooking and Glee, after all, and no girlfriend has stuck around longer than six years. Something's seriously up with that.

And then I tried to un-fan Seattle Gay Scene. Took me a good 20 minutes of combing my configuration to figure out that you have to open the fan page you've never before opened, then click "Remove Me As a Fan." 20 increasingly less amused minutes. 20 costly minutes.

"Poor little waggot," Mike chided.

"Wanna smoke?"

Dirt knows I haven't taken a day off work in a month, so the offer was especially sweet to my ears. God, yes. I'll be right over.

"This is Brian," Dirt said, pointing to a stranger offering me a Cuban cigar.

"You're the computer guy?" Brian asked. "Got any degrees?"

Beware strangers bearing Cubans.

For the glacial next two hours, I smoked that Cuban and listened to Brian's business idea. He made me swear not to divulge it, but as you'll see in 29 words' time, absolutely nothing will come of my sharing it with a mass audience. Brian's big idea: people can use the Web to teach one another...around the world!

His patent was rejected, but he's resubmitting it.

"My friend the second-ranked quantum physicist in the world says this could be the first company in the world with a trillion-dollar market cap."

Maybe with a trillion dollars in venture capital, sure.

Over and over, he talked about the brilliance of his idea, about how he couldn't believe that he beat Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and Warren Buffet to it. Eventually Dirt just got up and went inside, abandoning me to listen to the unremitting drone of Brian's self-delusions. "We're gonna save the economy and change the world," he said, shaking his head meaningfully, at least a dozen times.

In fact, I have now shared every last thing Brian said in two hours during which he talked unremittingly. As you might imagine, there was some repetition. Finally, he concluded with "So what do you think of my business idea, John?"

"Enough about you, what do I think about you?" I replied.

"Right," he replied with no self-awareness.

fair's fair

Continuing the theme, here's a Canadian mocking Americans' whiney pussitude when it snows. Kind of hard to argue with him.

In the Puget Sound area, we don't get much snow at all. I haven't seen a single flake this winter. Perhaps because of inexperience on ice and snow, the drivers here are not to be believed. They brake on inclines. They brake on curves. They brake because a cloud looks kinda like a teapot. I have no compunction about driving on snow back East, but here? I don't have a death-wish.

You know how you feel when your friend comes out of the bathroom into a crowded bar teeming with hotties and your friend is trailing 20 feet of toilet paper out of their pants? That was the exact feeling I had watching the opening ceremonies in Vancouver Friday night. No matter how perfectly charming your friend had been prior to the toilet paper, all anyone in the room would remember was the toilet paper.

Oh, Canada. Here comes some teasing from your favorite sib.

If you're going to incorporate giant crystal wangs into your opening ceremonies, was it really necessary to hammer the point home by having them slowly rise into the air? They already had heads and clefts, for chrissakes. Give your audience some credit. Sometimes less is more.

totems.jpg

That imagery only made your torch snafu worse. When later you couldn't get it up, how could we not make erectile dysfunction jokes? Don't worry. Once in a while, it happens to every country.

The torch moment did lead to my absolute favorite photo from these or any Olympic games. Here's flame-bearer Wayne Gretzky's face at about Minute IV of billions of people watching him stand there helplessly, watching the torch not rise.

gretzky.jpg

When did he start looking like Richard Nixon?

• • •

Attention Canadian readers: I'm afraid I require yet another apology for Bryan Adams. Any Canadian will do.

yes, osama

Yes, those of you who guessed that I saw Osama bin Laden in this print were correct. The owners of the print told me I was a moron for seeing that. So apparently you're all morons, too. Welcome.

just don't read the comments. trust me.

I didn't think there was any fresh territory when it came to 9/11 coverage, but these recently declassified helicopter photos are stunning.

I'm tempted to just put the YouTube link in here, but I really want you to see the whole After the Rapture Pet Care site. Seriously, guys, send me a job application. And when do we get paid?

Thanks to Katrina for the link.

do you see what i see?

An argument broke out over this painting, specifically about the figure on the right. Anyone else think he resembles someone famous?

binny.jpg

giving the dexil her due

As I've written previously, my dog, Dex, was not exactly an early bloomer. "She's got doggie down syndrome," observed one person. I had just about accepted that she was a moron when at around 14 months, something clicked. In terms of IQ, she went from worst to first among my dogs, overnight.

My first indication was when she figured out the difference between shower lengths. If she sees me get out of the shower in less than a minute, she goes right into her kennel because she knows I'm adjourning to the hot tub. This was welcome.

Soon after that, she figured out how to lower the car windows. This was unwelcome.

Now she listens to my phone conversations. If she hears Dirt's ringtone, she gets up and listens attentively to what I say. And if she hears "See you in a few," she goes batshit, because that means she gets to play with her friend Evie.

At this pace, she'll eclipse my own intelligence by 6 o'clock tonight. I think. Maybe I should have her do the math.

ganesha is his co-pilot

My favorite clip of the week.

cracks

I was wary of Anna's friendship from the start. She's got the two qualities I look for in a woman:

  • Beautiful
  • Married
"I will stop speaking to you if you screw this up," Allie said.

"Understood."

low-hanging-fruit.jpgBut bloom a friendship did, and, determined to start this off on the right note, I invited her, her husband and their kids over for dinner. All was apparently well. And then one night Anna and I were chatting when suddenly she went into confessional mode. Her husband had had an affair last year. Aw, crap.

"I will miss you," Allie said the next day, not entirely kidding.

The next time I saw the husband, I latched on to him to discuss football, and somehow we got to talking about the significant amounts of time Anna spends doing volunteer work. I told him how awesome I think he is for helping to accommodate all that time away from their home and kids. He snorted.

"I just had to put my foot down about that. When I've been working all day, I want a meal on the table and I don't want to have to deal with the kids n'shit. I said, 'You know, I'm sorry, but you are the woman. You need to take care of this shit,'" said the cheater of his wife, who incidentally also works all day.

I relayed this conversation to Allie. She sighed resignedly. "Seriously, what IS it with you?"

"It's a gift."

"See, I don't think it is."

Months have now passed, and if I had any nefarious designs, I obviously wouldn't be writing about Anna here. But all that backstory was necessary for you to fully appreciate how the following development makes me feel. A couple times a month, she and I will be talking, and I will make a remark, and she'll reply "That's exactly what my husband said! You two are so much alike, I swear!"

Charmed.

Charmed n'shit, even.

saints nation

I hear an announcer say it at least eight times a year: "No one's fans travel like Steelers fans do. I think the Steelers fans might actually outnumber the home fans, Vern!"

This is, of course, complete bullplop. Steelers fans may travel well, but a good many of those fans woke up in their own beds on game day.

Is this because they're front-runners? Sure, some of them. More likely they're displaced Pittsburghers. There are large pockets of them in every major city. The numbers are truly astounding: when the steel industry collapsed in the 80s, Pittsburgh shed 150,000 jobs and over half (!) of its peak population. They scattered across the country and raised families. They are a "nation" in the looser meaning of the word: a body of people of common origin who may or may not be in the same location. They are, in other words, the lost tribe of Pittsburgh. And what connects them are the sports loyalties of their forbears. That's why their provincialism about the Steelers can seem a little...much sometimes. The ties run deeper than merely football.

28cnd-storm-traffic184.jpgIt is unique. Or rather, it was.

As I look at the Saints prepare for their first Super Bowl, something looks familiar. A different sort of calamity hit New Orleans, a far faster and more devastating one. Its people scattered across the country and haven't returned. And now you see it: the lost peoples of that particular nation are stirring. They're seeking one another out and gleefully commiserating. They finally have something happy to share, the word "share" being more operative than even "happy." They're returning home, figuratively if not literally.

It's wonderful to see. I don't know that anyone could be as happy for them as this Steelers fan. I suspect that I know just how deep this joy is running.

You dat.

Noon - iPad? Seriously? What a horrible name. It makes me think of feminine hygiene products.

12:05 - Heh heh. I hope my iPad comes with wings for heavy flow.

1:30 (on phone) - "Did you hear what they're calling the Apple tablet? Yeah! I'm gonna call it my maxi-pad and the iPhone my panty liner. Har, har!"

3:30 - Wow, there's a lot of tampon jokes going on out there. I guess it was sort of obvious.

4:03 - Ugh, I'd better stop with the tamPod jokes.

7:30 - My god, every media outlet, every discussion board, is saturated with people who think this is an clever joke. Stop embarrassing yourselves. Give it a rest, already.

9:04 pm - (comedian) "I hope my iPad comes with wings for heavy flow."

9:04 pm (me) - "Oh, HAR HAR. Moron."

• • •

Really, can you remember a joke going from hilarious to unfunny pop-cliche so rapidly? By comparison, "Yeah, that's the ticket" and "Talk to the hand" were multi-generational epics.

contact
moron taxonomy
stupid church signs
super bowl xl officiating
percy chronicles

Monthly Archives

Pages