This is pretty damn funny....
1. Go to Google 2. Type in "Failure" 3. Click"I'm Feeling Lucky" 4. Laugh (or become outraged, as the case may be...)
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
"Well, he checks out, but we might want to keep an eye on his weirdo, loner neighbor..."
Just a bit ago I had a knock on my door.
It was an investigator from the Department of Defense performing a background check on the guy who used to live across the hall from me, who is apparently applying for a job that requires some kind of security clearance or something.
This happened once before, though that time the investigator was a chick and she was pretty hot. This time around it was a guy and he...well, wasn't.
Just like the female investigator, this guy wouldn't take "I don't know who you're talking about" for an answer.
As he talked about him, I was able to dredge up some memories - of the guy's wife. She was a little hottie who rode horses, and frequently when I'd look out my door I'd see her in these tight little riding pants bending over to take off her muddy boots before going into their apartment.
So she stands out in my memory.
I honestly don't remember ever even seeing him.
Still, I was able to inform the investigator that they were pretty quiet people, they didn't appear to be dealing drugs, the police never had to stop by, and that I never observed any foreign nationals hanging around.
Of course, as I was trying to remember him, I was sort of doing so out loud, so I made a few references to having noticed the wife.
I'm sure my name is in some file from the last time, so now the DoD not only has it on record that I don't socialize with my neighbors enough to even know their names or what they look like, they can now conclude that I'm also a creep who scopes out other men's wives (and maybe I am, but the government doesn't need to know that).
At this point, I don't think I could look any more suspicious if I grew a ratty beard and started writing manifestoes...
It was an investigator from the Department of Defense performing a background check on the guy who used to live across the hall from me, who is apparently applying for a job that requires some kind of security clearance or something.
This happened once before, though that time the investigator was a chick and she was pretty hot. This time around it was a guy and he...well, wasn't.
Just like the female investigator, this guy wouldn't take "I don't know who you're talking about" for an answer.
As he talked about him, I was able to dredge up some memories - of the guy's wife. She was a little hottie who rode horses, and frequently when I'd look out my door I'd see her in these tight little riding pants bending over to take off her muddy boots before going into their apartment.
So she stands out in my memory.
I honestly don't remember ever even seeing him.
Still, I was able to inform the investigator that they were pretty quiet people, they didn't appear to be dealing drugs, the police never had to stop by, and that I never observed any foreign nationals hanging around.
Of course, as I was trying to remember him, I was sort of doing so out loud, so I made a few references to having noticed the wife.
I'm sure my name is in some file from the last time, so now the DoD not only has it on record that I don't socialize with my neighbors enough to even know their names or what they look like, they can now conclude that I'm also a creep who scopes out other men's wives (and maybe I am, but the government doesn't need to know that).
At this point, I don't think I could look any more suspicious if I grew a ratty beard and started writing manifestoes...
Aren't Condominiums Those Things You Use To Keep From Getting A Girl Pregnant?
...oh, wait, those are condoms. Well, they’re both pretty much equally useless for me....
I had been a little concerned about the fact that I hadn’t gotten any sort of renewal letter for my apartment lease, as my current lease is up at the end of November.
So today when I dropped off my rent check, I asked about it, and, as I pretty much suspected I would be, I was told that they are no longer renting apartments because the complex is making the switch to condominiums.
I figured that was in the works, as it’s becoming an extremely common practice in these parts, I’d gotten a letter from the management saying that people would be coming in and “surveying” apartments over the next few weeks, and it’s been months since I’ve noticed anyone from the leasing office showing prospective tenants the “show room” apartment that’s next to mine.
The switch hasn’t been officially announced, but I should be receiving a letter at some point. Until we get to the point where I would absolutely have to move out (which will probably be whenever the last of their current leases expires), I can stay here at my current rate.
Alternatively, if I decide I want to duck out early, there will be no penalty for breaking my lease.
Because I’m an existing tenant, I will be offered a substantial price break if I choose to buy in, but given that I’ve seen one bedroom condos selling for upwards of a quarter of a million dollars, it’s unlikely that the price break will be sufficient to allow me to actually afford to buy my place.
So it looks like I’ll be moving at some point.
Unless I want to move somewhere well beyond BFE, there’s pretty much no way that I can afford to buy a place, and even then the odds wouldn’t favor it, so that means I’ll have to go apartment hunting.
Yuck.
I’d rather not leave Ashburn, but I don’t know that I’ll have too much choice, as rent is shooting up as rapidly as purchase prices.
When she was telling me about making the transition from apartments to condos, the Property Manager didn’t look very happy…though she did look extremely hot.
She’s always been a reasonably attractive young woman, but the last few times I’ve seen her she seems to have kicked it up a notch, particularly when I saw her a few weeks ago on what must have been her day off and she was wearing what may well be the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen.
In any case, I got the impression that this transition isn’t going to be good for her. Would they still need a Property Manager after the switch? I got the distinct impression that if they do, it won’t be her. It was just something about how she sadly shook her head when I asked about my lease, and how, of all the options available to me she seemed to be emphasizing the “get out now” option.
(By the way, though it pretty much goes without saying, she’s not single, so her hotness is largely irrelevant.)
Speaking of short skirts, the other day when I was eating at the food court in the mall there was a young woman wearing a very short skirt that sort of flared out, which gave it an appearance of being even shorter than it already was, in line ahead of me. As I was standing there waiting for my chance to pay, she dropped some of her change, and I found myself very curious as to whether, unthinking, she would simply bend over and pick it up.
Alas, she was conscious of the shortness of her skirt and the eyes of the perverts around her, so she demurely crouched down to retrieve the errant coins.
Ah well.
In any case, it’s still relatively early in the day (even for a Thursday), so if something exciting happens (Something exciting! I crack me up!), I may be back with another post, but if not, I hope you all enjoy your weekend while I “enjoy” my work week.
I had been a little concerned about the fact that I hadn’t gotten any sort of renewal letter for my apartment lease, as my current lease is up at the end of November.
So today when I dropped off my rent check, I asked about it, and, as I pretty much suspected I would be, I was told that they are no longer renting apartments because the complex is making the switch to condominiums.
I figured that was in the works, as it’s becoming an extremely common practice in these parts, I’d gotten a letter from the management saying that people would be coming in and “surveying” apartments over the next few weeks, and it’s been months since I’ve noticed anyone from the leasing office showing prospective tenants the “show room” apartment that’s next to mine.
The switch hasn’t been officially announced, but I should be receiving a letter at some point. Until we get to the point where I would absolutely have to move out (which will probably be whenever the last of their current leases expires), I can stay here at my current rate.
Alternatively, if I decide I want to duck out early, there will be no penalty for breaking my lease.
Because I’m an existing tenant, I will be offered a substantial price break if I choose to buy in, but given that I’ve seen one bedroom condos selling for upwards of a quarter of a million dollars, it’s unlikely that the price break will be sufficient to allow me to actually afford to buy my place.
So it looks like I’ll be moving at some point.
Unless I want to move somewhere well beyond BFE, there’s pretty much no way that I can afford to buy a place, and even then the odds wouldn’t favor it, so that means I’ll have to go apartment hunting.
Yuck.
I’d rather not leave Ashburn, but I don’t know that I’ll have too much choice, as rent is shooting up as rapidly as purchase prices.
When she was telling me about making the transition from apartments to condos, the Property Manager didn’t look very happy…though she did look extremely hot.
She’s always been a reasonably attractive young woman, but the last few times I’ve seen her she seems to have kicked it up a notch, particularly when I saw her a few weeks ago on what must have been her day off and she was wearing what may well be the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen.
In any case, I got the impression that this transition isn’t going to be good for her. Would they still need a Property Manager after the switch? I got the distinct impression that if they do, it won’t be her. It was just something about how she sadly shook her head when I asked about my lease, and how, of all the options available to me she seemed to be emphasizing the “get out now” option.
(By the way, though it pretty much goes without saying, she’s not single, so her hotness is largely irrelevant.)
Speaking of short skirts, the other day when I was eating at the food court in the mall there was a young woman wearing a very short skirt that sort of flared out, which gave it an appearance of being even shorter than it already was, in line ahead of me. As I was standing there waiting for my chance to pay, she dropped some of her change, and I found myself very curious as to whether, unthinking, she would simply bend over and pick it up.
Alas, she was conscious of the shortness of her skirt and the eyes of the perverts around her, so she demurely crouched down to retrieve the errant coins.
Ah well.
In any case, it’s still relatively early in the day (even for a Thursday), so if something exciting happens (Something exciting! I crack me up!), I may be back with another post, but if not, I hope you all enjoy your weekend while I “enjoy” my work week.
Are You A Man Or A Mouse?
Apparently it's beter to be a mouse.
At least, a genetically-engineered mouse that can regrow damaged organs.
This is seriously cool stuff, but I can't help but wonder if A. It's bogus or B. It's just one of those things that will fade away without ever being mentioned again (possibly because it's bogus).
At least, a genetically-engineered mouse that can regrow damaged organs.
This is seriously cool stuff, but I can't help but wonder if A. It's bogus or B. It's just one of those things that will fade away without ever being mentioned again (possibly because it's bogus).
It's Magic!
A few years ago I felt the urge to draw a picture of a little-known comic book character named Zatanna.
The picture, which I can't locate at present, turned out okay, but I've always wanted to do another, better version, and the other day I stumbled across a picture that I thought would make a good reference for a Zatanna picture, and soon got to work.
And here's the end result:
Certainly, it's better than the first one, but, like most of my work, it still leaves me a bit disappointed.
I did take some liberties with her outfit and make it a bit sexier.
I will say this about the picture, though: fishnet stockings, while extremely sexy, are a royal pain in the ass. I would imagine that wearing them is less of a hassle than trying to draw them. At least, drawing them well is more of a hassle than wearing them, which I'm not so sure I did here, so you won't find me trying on a pair anytime soon.
Anyway, enjoy the picture.
The picture, which I can't locate at present, turned out okay, but I've always wanted to do another, better version, and the other day I stumbled across a picture that I thought would make a good reference for a Zatanna picture, and soon got to work.
And here's the end result:
Certainly, it's better than the first one, but, like most of my work, it still leaves me a bit disappointed.
I did take some liberties with her outfit and make it a bit sexier.
I will say this about the picture, though: fishnet stockings, while extremely sexy, are a royal pain in the ass. I would imagine that wearing them is less of a hassle than trying to draw them. At least, drawing them well is more of a hassle than wearing them, which I'm not so sure I did here, so you won't find me trying on a pair anytime soon.
Anyway, enjoy the picture.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Very Cool
Lifted from the most recent Journal post at www.neilgaiman.com:
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
There's a first time for everything...
posted by Neil 9/28/2005 06:35:00 PM
I do not normally drink champagne with my publisher while sitting on a
step in the sun in a busy square in the middle of San Francisco, with me and my
publisher alternately not saying anything and then babbling and then not saying
anything again.
Still, it's not every day that you get told that a book you wrote has
just gone on to next week's NYT Bestseller list at Number One.
And it seemed a very appropriate sort of a thing to do.
Very cool indeed.
Hippies Should Be Easier To Deal With Than Armed Insurgents
An urgent call from nature, the charges for which I had no choice but to accept, cut short my walk this morning, so after spending a good deal of time doing not much in particular, I opted to go for another walk later in the afternoon.
Shortly after I got home I decided on what I was going to make for dinner, which was a first for the week, as I’d been living on frozen leftovers for the past few days.
I had to walk over to Safeway to grab a few things for dinner, and it was while I was looking at the various kinds of food there that I found myself salivating and realized that I’d walked more than seven miles and, at that point, the contents of my stomach consisted of a protein shake, an apple, and a bowl of cereal.
Not surprisingly, I ended up buying a few more things than I’d originally intended.
As mentioned in my detailing of Saturday’s events, there was a rather large anti-war protest going on in DC. Evidently it was followed up the next day by a (much smaller) pro-war counter-protest on Sunday, which led to a counter-counter-protest on Monday, which led to Cindy Sheehan getting arrested.
Throughout the day during the Book Festival the assembled crowd was peppered with protesters. One of them, in fact, walked past the Fiction and Fantasy Pavilion during Neil Gaiman’s talk banging rather loudly on some kind of drum. Neil actually paused to make a reference to this, saying something like, “Now that’s no way to make friends. In fact, you’re likely to lose some of the support you do have.”
When we were heading into DC, Stacy commented on how she would like to run over any protesters who got in the way, not so much because of any sort of ideological opposition, but simply because they’re annoying and they get in the way.
This much is true. The drum-beating protester in particular was an annoyance.
Further, while I do believe that there is a place (and need) for acts of civil disobedience, I’m of the opinion that most protests are a waste of time, especially with this administration.
If there’s one thing that Dubya has made perfectly clear it’s that he doesn’t care, and you can’t make him care no matter how many signs with clever sayings you hold up (Though, simply for the sake of the “Simpsons” reference, I did like the one that said “Worst. President. Ever.”), or how hard you try to ruin his vacation.
Of course, whether the protests are pointless or annoying is sort of beside the point, and, quite honestly, I have difficulty faulting people who are willing to speak out on behalf of peaceful coexistence.
That isn’t to say I agree with every anti-war sentiment expressed, and I might not agree with their methods, but the basic idea, no matter how naïve it may be, is a good one.
For the most part, things really can be distilled down to “Peace, good; war, bad.”
To my mind, it doesn’t seem foolish to believe that the world is a better place when we’re not going around killing each other.
That isn’t to suggest that war is never justified, just that it’s never good.
Personally, I don’t believe that this war is justified. I think we’re pointlessly killing people and getting people killed for nothing. Do I believe this strongly enough to take to the streets in protest? No, because, as mentioned, the people behind the war don’t care if it’s justified or not.
One major complaint I do have about protesting involves the people who do fault protesters, saying that not blindly supporting our government amounts to treason, and is un-American.
Hmm…”Boston Tea Party,” anyone? Protesting is wholly American. It’s built into our national character. We’re a country that was founded on protest.
What really gets me is when soldiers find fault with the protests by saying “We fight to make sure they have the right to protest,” with the unspoken conclusion being, “so you should respect that and not protest.”
This argument is some of the worst logic I’ve ever encountered.
If you’re fighting for someone’s right to protest and he doesn’t exercise that right, what, then, are you fighting for? It seems to me that not protesting is considerably more disrespectful.
If people die for your freedom and you take that freedom for granted by blindly submitting to the will of others, then those people died for nothing.
Beyond that, soldiers need to realize that protesting a war does not equate to finding fault with them
My brother-in-law Dean is a soldier currently serving in Iraq as part of the conflict which I’ve already stated I find unjust. Does the fact that he’s working in support of what I view to be an unjust conflict mean that I think he’s a bad person? No, I think he’s a soldier doing his job.
Most reasonable people know that soldiers don’t make the decisions, and they don’t fault them for doing their jobs (and, no matter what kind of horrible things might be done to our captured soldiers, a soldier’s job does not include taking humiliating pictures of prisoners); protests are aimed at the decision-makers.
Is the grunt in the field the one who decided to go to war, or to continue the war? Of course not.
And even if some people do direct their dissatisfaction about the war against soldiers…tough.
If you can’t take a little criticism, maybe your skin isn’t quite thick enough for a job in your chosen profession. Note that it is a “chosen” profession, as service in the armed forces remains voluntary. You made an informed decision to become a soldier and should be able to bear the consequences of that decision.
Besides, if you can’t withstand having some patchouli-stinking, hackey sack-playing hippie call you a few names, how are you going to face up to an Iraqi insurgent trying to kill you?
It’s just a thought. If you’re a soldier and don’t like me exercising my right to voice my opinion…well, I guess you can just go ahead and stop fighting for it.
Anyway, in summary, protesting: irritating and mostly pointless, but a time-honored part of the American way of life.
Dubya: doesn’t care.
Soldiers: just doing their jobs.
On a much lighter and much less political note, go here. It’s a site I enjoy a great deal and visit quite frequently. Cracks me up every time.
(My favorite is at the bottom of page two, though there’s a lot to be said for the whole “Japanazi” thing.)
In any case, that’s probably going to do it for this entry.
Shortly after I got home I decided on what I was going to make for dinner, which was a first for the week, as I’d been living on frozen leftovers for the past few days.
I had to walk over to Safeway to grab a few things for dinner, and it was while I was looking at the various kinds of food there that I found myself salivating and realized that I’d walked more than seven miles and, at that point, the contents of my stomach consisted of a protein shake, an apple, and a bowl of cereal.
Not surprisingly, I ended up buying a few more things than I’d originally intended.
As mentioned in my detailing of Saturday’s events, there was a rather large anti-war protest going on in DC. Evidently it was followed up the next day by a (much smaller) pro-war counter-protest on Sunday, which led to a counter-counter-protest on Monday, which led to Cindy Sheehan getting arrested.
Throughout the day during the Book Festival the assembled crowd was peppered with protesters. One of them, in fact, walked past the Fiction and Fantasy Pavilion during Neil Gaiman’s talk banging rather loudly on some kind of drum. Neil actually paused to make a reference to this, saying something like, “Now that’s no way to make friends. In fact, you’re likely to lose some of the support you do have.”
When we were heading into DC, Stacy commented on how she would like to run over any protesters who got in the way, not so much because of any sort of ideological opposition, but simply because they’re annoying and they get in the way.
This much is true. The drum-beating protester in particular was an annoyance.
Further, while I do believe that there is a place (and need) for acts of civil disobedience, I’m of the opinion that most protests are a waste of time, especially with this administration.
If there’s one thing that Dubya has made perfectly clear it’s that he doesn’t care, and you can’t make him care no matter how many signs with clever sayings you hold up (Though, simply for the sake of the “Simpsons” reference, I did like the one that said “Worst. President. Ever.”), or how hard you try to ruin his vacation.
Of course, whether the protests are pointless or annoying is sort of beside the point, and, quite honestly, I have difficulty faulting people who are willing to speak out on behalf of peaceful coexistence.
That isn’t to say I agree with every anti-war sentiment expressed, and I might not agree with their methods, but the basic idea, no matter how naïve it may be, is a good one.
For the most part, things really can be distilled down to “Peace, good; war, bad.”
To my mind, it doesn’t seem foolish to believe that the world is a better place when we’re not going around killing each other.
That isn’t to suggest that war is never justified, just that it’s never good.
Personally, I don’t believe that this war is justified. I think we’re pointlessly killing people and getting people killed for nothing. Do I believe this strongly enough to take to the streets in protest? No, because, as mentioned, the people behind the war don’t care if it’s justified or not.
One major complaint I do have about protesting involves the people who do fault protesters, saying that not blindly supporting our government amounts to treason, and is un-American.
Hmm…”Boston Tea Party,” anyone? Protesting is wholly American. It’s built into our national character. We’re a country that was founded on protest.
What really gets me is when soldiers find fault with the protests by saying “We fight to make sure they have the right to protest,” with the unspoken conclusion being, “so you should respect that and not protest.”
This argument is some of the worst logic I’ve ever encountered.
If you’re fighting for someone’s right to protest and he doesn’t exercise that right, what, then, are you fighting for? It seems to me that not protesting is considerably more disrespectful.
If people die for your freedom and you take that freedom for granted by blindly submitting to the will of others, then those people died for nothing.
Beyond that, soldiers need to realize that protesting a war does not equate to finding fault with them
My brother-in-law Dean is a soldier currently serving in Iraq as part of the conflict which I’ve already stated I find unjust. Does the fact that he’s working in support of what I view to be an unjust conflict mean that I think he’s a bad person? No, I think he’s a soldier doing his job.
Most reasonable people know that soldiers don’t make the decisions, and they don’t fault them for doing their jobs (and, no matter what kind of horrible things might be done to our captured soldiers, a soldier’s job does not include taking humiliating pictures of prisoners); protests are aimed at the decision-makers.
Is the grunt in the field the one who decided to go to war, or to continue the war? Of course not.
And even if some people do direct their dissatisfaction about the war against soldiers…tough.
If you can’t take a little criticism, maybe your skin isn’t quite thick enough for a job in your chosen profession. Note that it is a “chosen” profession, as service in the armed forces remains voluntary. You made an informed decision to become a soldier and should be able to bear the consequences of that decision.
Besides, if you can’t withstand having some patchouli-stinking, hackey sack-playing hippie call you a few names, how are you going to face up to an Iraqi insurgent trying to kill you?
It’s just a thought. If you’re a soldier and don’t like me exercising my right to voice my opinion…well, I guess you can just go ahead and stop fighting for it.
Anyway, in summary, protesting: irritating and mostly pointless, but a time-honored part of the American way of life.
Dubya: doesn’t care.
Soldiers: just doing their jobs.
On a much lighter and much less political note, go here. It’s a site I enjoy a great deal and visit quite frequently. Cracks me up every time.
(My favorite is at the bottom of page two, though there’s a lot to be said for the whole “Japanazi” thing.)
In any case, that’s probably going to do it for this entry.
HDTV: A Blessing For Some, A Curse For Others
Go here if you'd like to see a list of people who look better in HD and those who look worse (at least in the opinion of the person who compiled the list).
The Parking Lot Of Mystery
When I got up today and looked out the window it didn’t look like rain, so I went out for my (at this point only semi-usual) walk on a sunny, but pleasantly cool autumn morning.
That was about as active as I got, as once I was home I sat down and committed myself to finishing “Anansi Boys,” which I did.
I enjoyed it a great deal, and as I reclined on my bed to read in comfort feeling the contrast of the heat of the sun shining in through the glass and the coolness of the breeze blowing in through the screens, it felt like the perfect way to while away the afternoon.
And, I think, it was.
Beyond that, today was totally uneventful.
On the bed reading, though, I did notice some odd things happening outside in the parking lot.
As far as I’ve been able to determine, virtually everyone living in my apartment complex is unemployed.
Further, they’re bigger homebodies than I am.I’ve concluded this because the parking lot is nearly always full, no matter what time of day it is. From taking weekends off and hanging out at home I’ve determined that this isn’t because other people work an odd schedule like mine.
It’s just clear that nobody ever goes anywhere.
The handful of residents who do appear to have jobs work the most flexible hours I’ve ever seen.
This is how a typical employed resident’s schedule plays out.
10:00 AM: Leave for work.
11:00 AM: Come home for lunch.
1:00 PM: Return to work.
3:00 PM: Home for the day.
Except for the whole having to travel back and forth thing, it’s not a bad work day.
While the rent in my apartment complex is reasonable for the area, it’s not exactly cheap, so I’m not certain how anyone can have a job that involves working for, at most, three hours a day and afford to live here, to say nothing of how an employer can manage to stay in business with employees working those kinds of hours.
Also, I pretty much have the cheapest, crappiest car here. Most of the other cars in the lot are expensive SUVs and luxury cars. Do I live with the world’s most underworked CEOs? Are the heads of companies who aren’t driven enough to do more than work just hard enough to stay afloat and pay the rent and lease cars?
If I’m exaggerating about the schedules, it’s not by much. People are here all day long, leaving only for brief periods of time, and after about 4 PM no one leaves again.
Once they’re home, they’re home. No going out to movies, dinner, grocery shopping; nothing.
Apart from the fact that this makes it difficult for me to find a parking space near my building unless I do everything within that three hour window when people are gone, I can’t really say why this bothers me so much.
I guess it’s just because it’s baffling. I mean, I know why I’m home all of the time; I’m an anti-social weirdo with an unusual work schedule. The same can’t be true of all of my neighbors. Can it?
I mean, somebody has to work a regular full-time job, and somebody has to have some kind of social life. It’s statistically impossible that the majority of the people living here are anti-social weirdoes with unusual work schedules.
I guess it’s really two things that bother me about this whole thing: how do they afford to live here and pay for their fancy cars and why don’t they have lives?
I guess that not having lives could allow them to afford the apartments and fancy cars, though.
I don’t know. Anyway, while I was reading I got to see the lunch crowd arrive and leave, and then return for the night shortly thereafter.
I also saw a woman hanging around by her car talking to someone on a cell phone and then occasionally putting something in her trunk. She never appeared to go back inside or to meet with anyone, though she did seem as though she was waiting for someone to arrive, so I’m not sure where she was getting the things that she kept putting into her trunk.
So overall, today’s experiences just added to the mystery that is my parking lot.
I was doing some pants shopping the other day and I had something of an epiphany.
Basically, according to clothes manufacturers, people who are as short as I am are supposed to be much fatter than I am.
I’ve come to this conclusion based on how difficult it is to find pants in the correct waist/inseam combination. If I had a much bigger belly I would have to spend a lot less time sifting through the racks.
I then thought about how my family history indicates that no matter what I do I’m pretty much destined to have a heart attack sooner or later.
So this all led me to wonder why it is that I even bother with the whole exercise thing.
After all, the skinnier I get, the harder it’ll be to find pants that fit, and no effort at staying in shape and eating the right foods is likely to do much more than delay the inevitable.
Given that exercising is a pain in the ass and I hate it, I’m finding it difficult, especially after having taken a weekend off from exercising, the notion of trying to get back into an exercise routine seems kind of silly.
And not just for the reasons listed above. After all, despite the gains I’ve made in strength, with my half-assed commitment to exercising and the way I eat nothing but junk food on weekends, I haven’t exactly attain anything approximating the Olympian Ideal, or even the Olympian I’ll-settle-for-this.
To revisit a metaphor I’ve used many times, after more than a year of regular exercise, I’ve still only managed to achieve the level of the “before” picture.
Ah well.
The odds are that Friday morning I’ll be up at 4:15 once again, and will find myself lifting heavy things just to put them back down again…and then raiding the candy machine and undoing anything I might have accomplished with my Sisyphean efforts.
After all, pointless though it may be, my trips to the gym do help satisfy my masochistic streak.
That was about as active as I got, as once I was home I sat down and committed myself to finishing “Anansi Boys,” which I did.
I enjoyed it a great deal, and as I reclined on my bed to read in comfort feeling the contrast of the heat of the sun shining in through the glass and the coolness of the breeze blowing in through the screens, it felt like the perfect way to while away the afternoon.
And, I think, it was.
Beyond that, today was totally uneventful.
On the bed reading, though, I did notice some odd things happening outside in the parking lot.
As far as I’ve been able to determine, virtually everyone living in my apartment complex is unemployed.
Further, they’re bigger homebodies than I am.I’ve concluded this because the parking lot is nearly always full, no matter what time of day it is. From taking weekends off and hanging out at home I’ve determined that this isn’t because other people work an odd schedule like mine.
It’s just clear that nobody ever goes anywhere.
The handful of residents who do appear to have jobs work the most flexible hours I’ve ever seen.
This is how a typical employed resident’s schedule plays out.
10:00 AM: Leave for work.
11:00 AM: Come home for lunch.
1:00 PM: Return to work.
3:00 PM: Home for the day.
Except for the whole having to travel back and forth thing, it’s not a bad work day.
While the rent in my apartment complex is reasonable for the area, it’s not exactly cheap, so I’m not certain how anyone can have a job that involves working for, at most, three hours a day and afford to live here, to say nothing of how an employer can manage to stay in business with employees working those kinds of hours.
Also, I pretty much have the cheapest, crappiest car here. Most of the other cars in the lot are expensive SUVs and luxury cars. Do I live with the world’s most underworked CEOs? Are the heads of companies who aren’t driven enough to do more than work just hard enough to stay afloat and pay the rent and lease cars?
If I’m exaggerating about the schedules, it’s not by much. People are here all day long, leaving only for brief periods of time, and after about 4 PM no one leaves again.
Once they’re home, they’re home. No going out to movies, dinner, grocery shopping; nothing.
Apart from the fact that this makes it difficult for me to find a parking space near my building unless I do everything within that three hour window when people are gone, I can’t really say why this bothers me so much.
I guess it’s just because it’s baffling. I mean, I know why I’m home all of the time; I’m an anti-social weirdo with an unusual work schedule. The same can’t be true of all of my neighbors. Can it?
I mean, somebody has to work a regular full-time job, and somebody has to have some kind of social life. It’s statistically impossible that the majority of the people living here are anti-social weirdoes with unusual work schedules.
I guess it’s really two things that bother me about this whole thing: how do they afford to live here and pay for their fancy cars and why don’t they have lives?
I guess that not having lives could allow them to afford the apartments and fancy cars, though.
I don’t know. Anyway, while I was reading I got to see the lunch crowd arrive and leave, and then return for the night shortly thereafter.
I also saw a woman hanging around by her car talking to someone on a cell phone and then occasionally putting something in her trunk. She never appeared to go back inside or to meet with anyone, though she did seem as though she was waiting for someone to arrive, so I’m not sure where she was getting the things that she kept putting into her trunk.
So overall, today’s experiences just added to the mystery that is my parking lot.
I was doing some pants shopping the other day and I had something of an epiphany.
Basically, according to clothes manufacturers, people who are as short as I am are supposed to be much fatter than I am.
I’ve come to this conclusion based on how difficult it is to find pants in the correct waist/inseam combination. If I had a much bigger belly I would have to spend a lot less time sifting through the racks.
I then thought about how my family history indicates that no matter what I do I’m pretty much destined to have a heart attack sooner or later.
So this all led me to wonder why it is that I even bother with the whole exercise thing.
After all, the skinnier I get, the harder it’ll be to find pants that fit, and no effort at staying in shape and eating the right foods is likely to do much more than delay the inevitable.
Given that exercising is a pain in the ass and I hate it, I’m finding it difficult, especially after having taken a weekend off from exercising, the notion of trying to get back into an exercise routine seems kind of silly.
And not just for the reasons listed above. After all, despite the gains I’ve made in strength, with my half-assed commitment to exercising and the way I eat nothing but junk food on weekends, I haven’t exactly attain anything approximating the Olympian Ideal, or even the Olympian I’ll-settle-for-this.
To revisit a metaphor I’ve used many times, after more than a year of regular exercise, I’ve still only managed to achieve the level of the “before” picture.
Ah well.
The odds are that Friday morning I’ll be up at 4:15 once again, and will find myself lifting heavy things just to put them back down again…and then raiding the candy machine and undoing anything I might have accomplished with my Sisyphean efforts.
After all, pointless though it may be, my trips to the gym do help satisfy my masochistic streak.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Just A Cog In The Capitalist Machine
Even though in the past I’ve actually worked in advertising (albeit somewhat peripherally – I just put the ads together and made them look pretty, I didn’t sell them or really even design most of them), I’ve never really understood how advertising can generate the kind of revenue it does.
Not for the people and companies who are actually paying for the advertising, but for the people and companies who are actually getting paid for the advertising.
It just seems like such an odd business model for making money, considering how much people hate advertising. And I have serious doubts about the actual effectiveness of advertising.
Clearly, though, it must work, as advertising sales generates huge amounts of revenue and the people paying for it obviously get their money’s worth because if they didn’t they wouldn’t be able to afford to keep advertising.
So.
Advertising. Silly. Confusing. Irritating.
Effective.
The point of this little exploration into an important aspect of capitalism?
Look up at the top of the page where it says, “Ads by Google.”
Yes, Threshold has officially become a shill for the corporate capitalist machine.
That being said, however it’s hardly as if I’ve somehow “sold out.”
For one thing, I never started out expressing any particular ideology or artistic integrity that I’m now abandoning for the sake of commercial success; this is just a blog for throwing out random complaints and observations to the world. For another, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever generate the kind of traffic I’d need to generate any actual income from the ads.
Besides, the ads themselves will be rather unobtrusive, and using Google’s contextual keyword generation system, there’s a chance there might be ads for something worthwhile.
Or not.
In any case, I just thought it was worth trying it out.
After all, I can’t see any other way to make money off of Threshold, as I certainly wouldn’t be able to charge people to read what I have to say.
At least, not what I have to say here. Sure, I’d like to think that, if I could get past my laziness, I could write things that people would be willing to pay to read, but Threshold doesn’t contain those things.
I had considered just setting up a PayPal account for donations, establishing a sort of high-tech “begging bowl.”
After all, it could serve a purpose other than merely generating money, considering that some of the great “enlightened” figures of history engaged in the mendicant lifestyle, eschewing the material world and material concerns and relying on the kindness of their fellow men to help sustain them. If begging was good enough for Buddha or St. Francis, why not me?
Of course, with my begging I wouldn’t so much be eschewing the material world as trying to find an easy way to finance buying an HDTV, so upon reflection the begging bowl idea seemed less like finding a path to enlightenment and more like, well, begging.
So, if I was going to make any money from my blogging activities, which, along with therapy, seems to be the primary appeal of blogs these days, it seemed that advertising was my only option, and if there’s one thing in life that I’m certain of, it’s that advertising will never lead anyone to the path of enlightenment.
Still, enlightenment is great, but it’s no HDTV...
As for the ads themselves, as of this writing I’m not fully in “the system,” so the ads up top aren’t “real” ads as of yet, which is to say that if you click on them I won’t get anything from it.
But when the time comes, you don’t need to feel as though you’re under any obligation to click. If you see something that interests you, great. If not, fine.
In any case, it just seemed to me that I ought to mention the latest addition to Threshold.
Today was pretty uneventful. I got up and thought about going for a walk, but after looking at the looming clouds decided that I didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught in the rain.
So instead I showered and headed out into the world to do the things that I’d actually intended to do yesterday before I got sidelined and decided to hit the other stores that I usually don’t go to.
So I went to Wal-Mart to pick up few things, then stopped and did some grocery shopping.
And that was pretty much it. I spent most of the rest of the day diving into “Anansi Boys,” and finding that so far I’m enjoying it immensely.
And of course somewhere along the line I sold out my blog and became a puppet of our heartless economic overlords.
I did, of course, watch the crazy, hot Italian chick this afternoon, and I have to say that it felt strange to watch her knowing that I’d actually spoken to her and had her speak to me.
It’s kind of sad to say, but even with having gotten to see Neil Gaiman and hear him do a reading, and get him to sign three books for me, talking to Giada was almost the highlight of my day at the Book Festival.
Almost.
On that note, I believe it’s time for this soulless, capitalist pig to sign off…
Not for the people and companies who are actually paying for the advertising, but for the people and companies who are actually getting paid for the advertising.
It just seems like such an odd business model for making money, considering how much people hate advertising. And I have serious doubts about the actual effectiveness of advertising.
Clearly, though, it must work, as advertising sales generates huge amounts of revenue and the people paying for it obviously get their money’s worth because if they didn’t they wouldn’t be able to afford to keep advertising.
So.
Advertising. Silly. Confusing. Irritating.
Effective.
The point of this little exploration into an important aspect of capitalism?
Look up at the top of the page where it says, “Ads by Google.”
Yes, Threshold has officially become a shill for the corporate capitalist machine.
That being said, however it’s hardly as if I’ve somehow “sold out.”
For one thing, I never started out expressing any particular ideology or artistic integrity that I’m now abandoning for the sake of commercial success; this is just a blog for throwing out random complaints and observations to the world. For another, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever generate the kind of traffic I’d need to generate any actual income from the ads.
Besides, the ads themselves will be rather unobtrusive, and using Google’s contextual keyword generation system, there’s a chance there might be ads for something worthwhile.
Or not.
In any case, I just thought it was worth trying it out.
After all, I can’t see any other way to make money off of Threshold, as I certainly wouldn’t be able to charge people to read what I have to say.
At least, not what I have to say here. Sure, I’d like to think that, if I could get past my laziness, I could write things that people would be willing to pay to read, but Threshold doesn’t contain those things.
I had considered just setting up a PayPal account for donations, establishing a sort of high-tech “begging bowl.”
After all, it could serve a purpose other than merely generating money, considering that some of the great “enlightened” figures of history engaged in the mendicant lifestyle, eschewing the material world and material concerns and relying on the kindness of their fellow men to help sustain them. If begging was good enough for Buddha or St. Francis, why not me?
Of course, with my begging I wouldn’t so much be eschewing the material world as trying to find an easy way to finance buying an HDTV, so upon reflection the begging bowl idea seemed less like finding a path to enlightenment and more like, well, begging.
So, if I was going to make any money from my blogging activities, which, along with therapy, seems to be the primary appeal of blogs these days, it seemed that advertising was my only option, and if there’s one thing in life that I’m certain of, it’s that advertising will never lead anyone to the path of enlightenment.
Still, enlightenment is great, but it’s no HDTV...
As for the ads themselves, as of this writing I’m not fully in “the system,” so the ads up top aren’t “real” ads as of yet, which is to say that if you click on them I won’t get anything from it.
But when the time comes, you don’t need to feel as though you’re under any obligation to click. If you see something that interests you, great. If not, fine.
In any case, it just seemed to me that I ought to mention the latest addition to Threshold.
Today was pretty uneventful. I got up and thought about going for a walk, but after looking at the looming clouds decided that I didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught in the rain.
So instead I showered and headed out into the world to do the things that I’d actually intended to do yesterday before I got sidelined and decided to hit the other stores that I usually don’t go to.
So I went to Wal-Mart to pick up few things, then stopped and did some grocery shopping.
And that was pretty much it. I spent most of the rest of the day diving into “Anansi Boys,” and finding that so far I’m enjoying it immensely.
And of course somewhere along the line I sold out my blog and became a puppet of our heartless economic overlords.
I did, of course, watch the crazy, hot Italian chick this afternoon, and I have to say that it felt strange to watch her knowing that I’d actually spoken to her and had her speak to me.
It’s kind of sad to say, but even with having gotten to see Neil Gaiman and hear him do a reading, and get him to sign three books for me, talking to Giada was almost the highlight of my day at the Book Festival.
Almost.
On that note, I believe it’s time for this soulless, capitalist pig to sign off…
More Mostly Crappy Pictures
When looking at most of the pictures I take, it's difficult to believe that photography was one of the duties of a job I used to have...until you realize that I got fired from that job.
I'll admit it; I'm a shitty photographer.
Lousy composition, lighting, positioning: it pretty much all sucks.
Another problem is that I miss opportunities to take interesting shots because it just doesn't occur to me to take a picture.
Like the teenage girl in line to get books signed by Neil Gaiman on Saturday who had snagged a folding chair from the Fiction and Fantasy Pavilion after Neil finished talking, and whiled away her time in line sitting down and knitting. She would pick up her chair and scoot it forward, whenever the line moved, then sit back down and return to her craft.
That was an interesting sight, and not only did I take a mental note of it, I actually pointed it out to Scott and Stacy.
But where's the picture? It would have made a good picture, but did it occur to me to take one?
Ah well.
In any case, here are some of the remaining (crappy) pictures I took on Saturday.
Nice Hair:
Here we see Stacy holding her and Scott's youngest (not counting the one Stacy's got in the oven, at any rate), Zoe. Lots of people complimented Stacy on her hair throughout the day. Why purple? Why not?
Too Shy:
Here we see Scott holding Vicki, who's being too bashful to have her picture taken, even though just moments before she was boldly lording the fact that she had a cape over me, as I was utterly capeless. Still, you can see the mischievous glint in her eyes, despite her supposed bashfulness.
At least he has most of his head:
The only shot I took of Scott getting his books signed in which he actually retains the majority of his head.
I'll admit it; I'm a shitty photographer.
Lousy composition, lighting, positioning: it pretty much all sucks.
Another problem is that I miss opportunities to take interesting shots because it just doesn't occur to me to take a picture.
Like the teenage girl in line to get books signed by Neil Gaiman on Saturday who had snagged a folding chair from the Fiction and Fantasy Pavilion after Neil finished talking, and whiled away her time in line sitting down and knitting. She would pick up her chair and scoot it forward, whenever the line moved, then sit back down and return to her craft.
That was an interesting sight, and not only did I take a mental note of it, I actually pointed it out to Scott and Stacy.
But where's the picture? It would have made a good picture, but did it occur to me to take one?
Ah well.
In any case, here are some of the remaining (crappy) pictures I took on Saturday.
Nice Hair:
Here we see Stacy holding her and Scott's youngest (not counting the one Stacy's got in the oven, at any rate), Zoe. Lots of people complimented Stacy on her hair throughout the day. Why purple? Why not?
Too Shy:
Here we see Scott holding Vicki, who's being too bashful to have her picture taken, even though just moments before she was boldly lording the fact that she had a cape over me, as I was utterly capeless. Still, you can see the mischievous glint in her eyes, despite her supposed bashfulness.
At least he has most of his head:
The only shot I took of Scott getting his books signed in which he actually retains the majority of his head.
Interview With Neil Gaiman And Joss Whedon
Time.com has an odd over-the-phone interview with Gaiman and Whedon posted here.
Someone who had been in DC for the protest during the Book Festival took this shot of the line for Neil's book signing, which gives you some idea of how many people were there. As you can see, the line wrapped around a couple of times.
Neil's estimation is that he signed for about 800 people that day.
Also, for those of you interested, "Mirrormask," the movie written by Neil and directed by his friend and "Sandman" cover artist Dave McKean, is only getting a limited release. Go here to see a listing of theaters that will be showing it.
Someone who had been in DC for the protest during the Book Festival took this shot of the line for Neil's book signing, which gives you some idea of how many people were there. As you can see, the line wrapped around a couple of times.
Neil's estimation is that he signed for about 800 people that day.
Also, for those of you interested, "Mirrormask," the movie written by Neil and directed by his friend and "Sandman" cover artist Dave McKean, is only getting a limited release. Go here to see a listing of theaters that will be showing it.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
My Day To Waste
I didn't do much with my day off, though that's hardly surprising.
I actually slept in until almost 10, which is pretty amazing (especially compared to getting up at 4:15 in the morning if I'd been working), and from there I didn't progress very far.
Eventually, though, I felt as though I really ought to do something, so I decided to head out to some of the stores that, for whatever reason, I usually only go to when I take a day off, like Circuit City and Target.
It became clear very quickly that going out into the world was a pointless venture, which I pretty much already knew before I left.
Of course, that's the problem of my contradictory nature. In a general sense, I don't like people. Among their inumerable other faults, they're obnoxious, they drive too slow, and invariably, whether on the road or in a store, they're in my way. So given that the world is full of people, avoiding going out into it seems sensible.
And yet, I am a person, which means that contact with other people is pretty much essential to my existence. So even though I'm repulsed by people, I'm drawn to them as well.
Let me just say that it all annoys the hell out of me.
But the point is that this conflict leads to a kind of restlessness that eventually drives me to go out into the world, yet try to avoid contact with people while I'm there.
Or something.
All I know is that I could have just stayed at home and done some writing or drawing, or exercising, or something, but for whatever reason I felt like I had to go out and do something so that I wouldn't be wasting my day at home.
And yet, going out, ultimately, was a bigger waste of time.
Oh well. It was my day off, and I could waste it however I saw fit, or didn't see fit, as the case may be...
Despite going to the stores less visited, I didn't actually buy anything. They only thing I did do while I was out was get lunch in the food court at the mall. Every once in a while I get a yen for the bourbon chicken that you can only find in mall food courts, so I had that.
While I was eating, "Zalfiro" called me, though I didn't hear my phone ringing in my pocket.
I heard the voicemail alert once I got out to my car, though, and called him back.
It's funny that he called, as I had been thinking about calling him, but I wasn't sure if he'd be home or not.
After talking to him I took a nap.
And that was my exciting day off.
A while ago Brian called to ask me if I was having a heart attack.
I assured him that I wasn't, and he confirmed, as I suspected, that he'd heard on his scanner that someone in my building was. I didn't notice any kind of emergency personnel outside, though.
Anyway, now it's almost time for "Family Guy," so I'll wrap this up.
There was a lot more I wanted to write about today, but I was too busy wasting my day to do it.
Oh well, it's not like I don't have four more days in which to do it.
And, honestly, how likely is it that I'll waste all four?
Don't answer that.
I actually slept in until almost 10, which is pretty amazing (especially compared to getting up at 4:15 in the morning if I'd been working), and from there I didn't progress very far.
Eventually, though, I felt as though I really ought to do something, so I decided to head out to some of the stores that, for whatever reason, I usually only go to when I take a day off, like Circuit City and Target.
It became clear very quickly that going out into the world was a pointless venture, which I pretty much already knew before I left.
Of course, that's the problem of my contradictory nature. In a general sense, I don't like people. Among their inumerable other faults, they're obnoxious, they drive too slow, and invariably, whether on the road or in a store, they're in my way. So given that the world is full of people, avoiding going out into it seems sensible.
And yet, I am a person, which means that contact with other people is pretty much essential to my existence. So even though I'm repulsed by people, I'm drawn to them as well.
Let me just say that it all annoys the hell out of me.
But the point is that this conflict leads to a kind of restlessness that eventually drives me to go out into the world, yet try to avoid contact with people while I'm there.
Or something.
All I know is that I could have just stayed at home and done some writing or drawing, or exercising, or something, but for whatever reason I felt like I had to go out and do something so that I wouldn't be wasting my day at home.
And yet, going out, ultimately, was a bigger waste of time.
Oh well. It was my day off, and I could waste it however I saw fit, or didn't see fit, as the case may be...
Despite going to the stores less visited, I didn't actually buy anything. They only thing I did do while I was out was get lunch in the food court at the mall. Every once in a while I get a yen for the bourbon chicken that you can only find in mall food courts, so I had that.
While I was eating, "Zalfiro" called me, though I didn't hear my phone ringing in my pocket.
I heard the voicemail alert once I got out to my car, though, and called him back.
It's funny that he called, as I had been thinking about calling him, but I wasn't sure if he'd be home or not.
After talking to him I took a nap.
And that was my exciting day off.
A while ago Brian called to ask me if I was having a heart attack.
I assured him that I wasn't, and he confirmed, as I suspected, that he'd heard on his scanner that someone in my building was. I didn't notice any kind of emergency personnel outside, though.
Anyway, now it's almost time for "Family Guy," so I'll wrap this up.
There was a lot more I wanted to write about today, but I was too busy wasting my day to do it.
Oh well, it's not like I don't have four more days in which to do it.
And, honestly, how likely is it that I'll waste all four?
Don't answer that.
The Day In (Crappy) Pictures
It's Called a Zoom Lens...look into it:
Here we see Neil Gaiman being kind enough to demonstrate that I need to get a camera that has an optical zoom.
I'm so hot (and crazy) I can't be photographed clearly:
Giada evidently wasn't aware that Neil had already demonstrated my need for a camera with an optical zoom.
Corsets...not for everyone:
Another source of disappointment for the day was that I saw nothing in the way of hot Goth chicks anywhere around Gaiman. It made no sense. I mean, this is Neil Gaiman. His vision of Death, as presented in Sandman, is the ultimate hot Goth chick. But no, as far as the eye could see, nary a hot Goth chick. All we had was...this. Here's a tip, honey; there's only so much a corset can do with the raw material it has to work with...
Fat and dorky-looking...what a catch!
Here I am getting "Season of Mists" signed by Neil. Damn, I am one great big hunk of dork.
Very cool:
Here's a shot of the sketch Neil did for me inside of "Season of Mists." As a note of interest, "Mists" is the first "Sandman" book I ever read, and is what got me hooked on Gaiman. So I guess you could call it the "gateway graphic novel."
When Neil Met Vicki:
Here we see Scott and Stacy's daughter Vicki shying away from Neil's attempts to be friendly. Along with everything else he's written, Neil has written a few children's books, and has three kids of his own.
Making your trip authentic:
And finally, no trip to DC would be complete without some kind of protest. Apparently the protestors didn't stay confined to their interment camp...err, I mean, "free speech zone." Of course, it's not like there was any danger to the President. This is Washington, DC, after all, not Crawford, TX, so the odds are he wasn't even around...
Here we see Neil Gaiman being kind enough to demonstrate that I need to get a camera that has an optical zoom.
I'm so hot (and crazy) I can't be photographed clearly:
Giada evidently wasn't aware that Neil had already demonstrated my need for a camera with an optical zoom.
Corsets...not for everyone:
Another source of disappointment for the day was that I saw nothing in the way of hot Goth chicks anywhere around Gaiman. It made no sense. I mean, this is Neil Gaiman. His vision of Death, as presented in Sandman, is the ultimate hot Goth chick. But no, as far as the eye could see, nary a hot Goth chick. All we had was...this. Here's a tip, honey; there's only so much a corset can do with the raw material it has to work with...
Fat and dorky-looking...what a catch!
Here I am getting "Season of Mists" signed by Neil. Damn, I am one great big hunk of dork.
Very cool:
Here's a shot of the sketch Neil did for me inside of "Season of Mists." As a note of interest, "Mists" is the first "Sandman" book I ever read, and is what got me hooked on Gaiman. So I guess you could call it the "gateway graphic novel."
When Neil Met Vicki:
Here we see Scott and Stacy's daughter Vicki shying away from Neil's attempts to be friendly. Along with everything else he's written, Neil has written a few children's books, and has three kids of his own.
Making your trip authentic:
And finally, no trip to DC would be complete without some kind of protest. Apparently the protestors didn't stay confined to their interment camp...err, I mean, "free speech zone." Of course, it's not like there was any danger to the President. This is Washington, DC, after all, not Crawford, TX, so the odds are he wasn't even around...
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