I just thought I should mention that today is Brian’s birthday.
He’s 31, which, according to my way of looking at things, is a little worse than being 30.
Not because it’s another year older – and another year closer to 40 – but because it marks the line of demarcation between being thirty and being in your thirties.
My friend “Zalfiro” scoffed at me when I presented him with this theory.
Then he turned 31. Who’s laughing now, bitch?
Of course, I have it worse, as I am now in my mid-thirties.
Anyway, the reason I’m writing up a quick entry about Brian’s birthday is that I didn’t buy him a present, so I figured I should pay some sort of tribute to the day of his birth.
The main reason I didn’t buy him a present was not that I didn’t care, or that I was too cheap, but that I didn’t know what to get him. I mean, what can I buy him that he wouldn’t just buy for himself? If he wants it, odds are he has it, so gift-giving is redundant.
In any case, I ask all Threshold readers to join me in extending birthday greetings.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Slow News Day
Last week Kathleen had stopped by to pick up a CD I’d burned for her with some software she needed and she mentioned that today would be the most likely day for being able to get together for lunch.
Those of you who read Brian’s blog, by the way, know that Kathleen has gotten the word that hers is one of the many jobs that’s going away in the upcoming layoffs. While it sucks to know that she’s losing her job, she does at least have the advantage of knowing for sure, unlike some of us.
In any case, as I was going to be heading that way to get gas and to stop at the Wal-Mart that is slightly less ghetto than the one here in Leesburg, last night I decided that I should shoot her an e-mail and see if she wanted to have lunch today.
As it came time for me to venture out I hadn’t received a response, so I decided to shoot her an IM. As soon as I signed on, though, she put her “away” message on.
I realized that it probably wasn’t intentional, but I decided to send her an indignant e-mail anyway, hoping that she’d know I was joking.
After I gassed up and was on my way to Wal-Mart, my phone rang. It was Kathleen explaining that she hadn’t seen me sign on and sounding sufficiently apologetic that I had to explain that I just found the timing kind of amusing.
In any case she was leaving work early today, so she didn’t want to take even more time to have a long lunch.
So I headed to Wal-Mart to do my shopping. Once I had what I needed it was time to pick a register. All of the self-checkout registers were in use, and experience has taught me that being behind one person in a self-checkout line is roughly equivalent to being behind fifteen people in a regular line.
I saw that there was only one person in the express lane and headed there, only to discover that she had taken the ten item limit under advisement and decided that it probably didn’t apply to her, and so she was buying half of the store’s stock of everything.
Standing there uncertain as to what my next move should be I noted that there was an open self-checkout, and so I quickly swooped down on it.
Reaching over to press “English” on the screen, I noted that it said, “Do you wish to discontinue scanning items?”
Apparently someone had started using the register, then decided to stop using it and simply walk away, leaving it in a sort of “hung” state.
After confirming multiple times that I wanted to clear out all items that had been scanned I found that I had to wait for a cashier to come in and enter a confirmation code so that everything could be voided out before I could actually scan any of my items.
Even when people aren’t able to be physically present to inconvenience me they somehow manage to find a way to get the job done.
After Wal-Mart I headed to Super Target before going home.
A while ago I decided that I needed to find something that’s at least reasonably healthy (at least compared to most of what’s in the vending machines) that I can buy in sufficient quantities that I’d have enough to snack on all day at work.
I decided that trail mix was probably the ideal solution (again, the bar is set at “healthier than what’s in the vending machines”), and had started buying this “Sam’s Choice” stuff from Wal-Mart that was good and fairly cheap.
I soon got tired of it, though, as all of the varieties just had way too many peanuts in them. I like peanuts, but if I’m going to buy a “mix,” I’d kind of like for there to be something else in the mix.
I found that, while slightly more expensive, Super Target has a better selection of mixes that aren’t quite so heavy on the peanuts, so I stopped there to pick some up for the weekend.
Once I got there I was struck, as I usually am, by how amazing it is that apparently no one around here ever has to work.
What’s further confusing is how it’s possible for there to be actual stay-at-home mom’s, with multiple children, in an area where the median cost of a home is in the neighborhood of a half a million dollars. Who are the husbands who make enough money that their income is sufficient to support a family of four here?
Further, how the hell do I get their jobs? I can tell you that if I had sufficient income to support a family in Loudoun County, I sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting it on crap like supporting a family.
Inside the store I saw a sufficient number of school-age children shopping with their moms that I had to fight the urge to grab one of the mothers and ask her why the hell her kid isn’t in school on a Wednesday afternoon.
The police have put up a flashing sign reminding drivers that school is back in session and encouraging them to exercise appropriate caution. What difference does it make that school is back in session, though, given that kids apparently never go to school anyway?
Last week when I was in line behind someone I heard her saying that at her kid’s school the teachers have four “workshops” every month.
Every month. That means that once a week school is closed and that, on non-holiday weeks, kids only go to school four days a week.
Factor in snow days – which are usually called well in advance of a flake of snow even dropping – and I guess it’s no wonder that kids are never in school.
Whenever I do out to someplace like Wal-Mart or Super Target I find myself increasingly tempted to take advantage of some of the deals on flat panel HDTVs.
I just can’t help but think how nice one would look up on my mantle and about the possibilities for rearranging my living room that would be opened up by moving the TV.
Of course, I’m held back by the realization that I would then need to buy a new home theater system to accompany it (at the very least a progressive scan DVD player), and then I would need to switch to DirecTV or Dish Network in order to get HD content, as my cable company doesn’t offer any.
Then there’s the whole “who knows how much longer I’ll have a job” thing, and so I end up coming home sans flat panel TV.
Besides, if I had did have an HDTV and a progressive scan DVD player, my Sin City DVD would get worn out from playing the scene in which Carla Gugino gets out of bed wearing only a thong and walks around casually topless in glorious high definition over and over again.
I Can’t Believe It’s Good News Department:
I keep forgetting to provide an update, for the sake of those of you who may remember me ever mentioning it in the first place, about the IRS auditing my 2004 tax return and saying that I owed them money.
A couple of weeks ago I received a response from them after sending them documents to prove that the income from my exercise of stock options in 2004 actually was reported to them in my return and was duly taxed and so I did not owe them $700.
The form letter I got from them said that, thanks to my help, they were able to clear up the apparent discrepancy and that my case has been closed and that, as I knew all along, I did not owe them anything.
So that was good news.
Except…
Well, it’s good news that’s predicated on the looming possibility of getting really bad news.
It’s not purely good news. I mean, getting a letter from the IRS telling me that I don’t owe them money after all is good news, but that’s only because I’d previously gotten a letter from them telling me that I did.
So the good news is dependent on the potential for bad news.
It’s not like getting a letter from the IRS saying, “We at the Internal Revenue Service think that you’re a swell guy and a snappy dresser and we want to take you out for ice cream, our treat.”
That would be purely good news (though it would also make me a bit suspicious).
Honestly, how often to any of us really receive purely good news? The last time I did, I think, and when I say last time, I mean the very last time because I can’t imagine that I didn’t use up my lifetime supply of purely good news (and luck), was when I found out that I’d won $10,000.
I think that from now on the only good news I can count on is the “Good news; you’re brain tumor isn’t totally inoperable” variety.
Okay, hopefully nothing quite that extreme, but at least something like, “Good news; you’re not getting laid off…this time.”
Of course, whenever I hear the words “good news,” I can’t help but think of the Professor on Futurama, who often prefaced announcements that generally were anything but, with the words, “Good news everyone!”
Specifically, I think of him announcing to everyone that he’s developed a formula that will allow humans to survive unaided underwater and produces an extremely large round object. Fry looks at the pill that would choke a horse and says, “I can’t swallow that,” to which the Professor responds, “Good news – it’s a suppository!.”
Those of you who read Brian’s blog, by the way, know that Kathleen has gotten the word that hers is one of the many jobs that’s going away in the upcoming layoffs. While it sucks to know that she’s losing her job, she does at least have the advantage of knowing for sure, unlike some of us.
In any case, as I was going to be heading that way to get gas and to stop at the Wal-Mart that is slightly less ghetto than the one here in Leesburg, last night I decided that I should shoot her an e-mail and see if she wanted to have lunch today.
As it came time for me to venture out I hadn’t received a response, so I decided to shoot her an IM. As soon as I signed on, though, she put her “away” message on.
I realized that it probably wasn’t intentional, but I decided to send her an indignant e-mail anyway, hoping that she’d know I was joking.
After I gassed up and was on my way to Wal-Mart, my phone rang. It was Kathleen explaining that she hadn’t seen me sign on and sounding sufficiently apologetic that I had to explain that I just found the timing kind of amusing.
In any case she was leaving work early today, so she didn’t want to take even more time to have a long lunch.
So I headed to Wal-Mart to do my shopping. Once I had what I needed it was time to pick a register. All of the self-checkout registers were in use, and experience has taught me that being behind one person in a self-checkout line is roughly equivalent to being behind fifteen people in a regular line.
I saw that there was only one person in the express lane and headed there, only to discover that she had taken the ten item limit under advisement and decided that it probably didn’t apply to her, and so she was buying half of the store’s stock of everything.
Standing there uncertain as to what my next move should be I noted that there was an open self-checkout, and so I quickly swooped down on it.
Reaching over to press “English” on the screen, I noted that it said, “Do you wish to discontinue scanning items?”
Apparently someone had started using the register, then decided to stop using it and simply walk away, leaving it in a sort of “hung” state.
After confirming multiple times that I wanted to clear out all items that had been scanned I found that I had to wait for a cashier to come in and enter a confirmation code so that everything could be voided out before I could actually scan any of my items.
Even when people aren’t able to be physically present to inconvenience me they somehow manage to find a way to get the job done.
After Wal-Mart I headed to Super Target before going home.
A while ago I decided that I needed to find something that’s at least reasonably healthy (at least compared to most of what’s in the vending machines) that I can buy in sufficient quantities that I’d have enough to snack on all day at work.
I decided that trail mix was probably the ideal solution (again, the bar is set at “healthier than what’s in the vending machines”), and had started buying this “Sam’s Choice” stuff from Wal-Mart that was good and fairly cheap.
I soon got tired of it, though, as all of the varieties just had way too many peanuts in them. I like peanuts, but if I’m going to buy a “mix,” I’d kind of like for there to be something else in the mix.
I found that, while slightly more expensive, Super Target has a better selection of mixes that aren’t quite so heavy on the peanuts, so I stopped there to pick some up for the weekend.
Once I got there I was struck, as I usually am, by how amazing it is that apparently no one around here ever has to work.
What’s further confusing is how it’s possible for there to be actual stay-at-home mom’s, with multiple children, in an area where the median cost of a home is in the neighborhood of a half a million dollars. Who are the husbands who make enough money that their income is sufficient to support a family of four here?
Further, how the hell do I get their jobs? I can tell you that if I had sufficient income to support a family in Loudoun County, I sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting it on crap like supporting a family.
Inside the store I saw a sufficient number of school-age children shopping with their moms that I had to fight the urge to grab one of the mothers and ask her why the hell her kid isn’t in school on a Wednesday afternoon.
The police have put up a flashing sign reminding drivers that school is back in session and encouraging them to exercise appropriate caution. What difference does it make that school is back in session, though, given that kids apparently never go to school anyway?
Last week when I was in line behind someone I heard her saying that at her kid’s school the teachers have four “workshops” every month.
Every month. That means that once a week school is closed and that, on non-holiday weeks, kids only go to school four days a week.
Factor in snow days – which are usually called well in advance of a flake of snow even dropping – and I guess it’s no wonder that kids are never in school.
Whenever I do out to someplace like Wal-Mart or Super Target I find myself increasingly tempted to take advantage of some of the deals on flat panel HDTVs.
I just can’t help but think how nice one would look up on my mantle and about the possibilities for rearranging my living room that would be opened up by moving the TV.
Of course, I’m held back by the realization that I would then need to buy a new home theater system to accompany it (at the very least a progressive scan DVD player), and then I would need to switch to DirecTV or Dish Network in order to get HD content, as my cable company doesn’t offer any.
Then there’s the whole “who knows how much longer I’ll have a job” thing, and so I end up coming home sans flat panel TV.
Besides, if I had did have an HDTV and a progressive scan DVD player, my Sin City DVD would get worn out from playing the scene in which Carla Gugino gets out of bed wearing only a thong and walks around casually topless in glorious high definition over and over again.
I Can’t Believe It’s Good News Department:
I keep forgetting to provide an update, for the sake of those of you who may remember me ever mentioning it in the first place, about the IRS auditing my 2004 tax return and saying that I owed them money.
A couple of weeks ago I received a response from them after sending them documents to prove that the income from my exercise of stock options in 2004 actually was reported to them in my return and was duly taxed and so I did not owe them $700.
The form letter I got from them said that, thanks to my help, they were able to clear up the apparent discrepancy and that my case has been closed and that, as I knew all along, I did not owe them anything.
So that was good news.
Except…
Well, it’s good news that’s predicated on the looming possibility of getting really bad news.
It’s not purely good news. I mean, getting a letter from the IRS telling me that I don’t owe them money after all is good news, but that’s only because I’d previously gotten a letter from them telling me that I did.
So the good news is dependent on the potential for bad news.
It’s not like getting a letter from the IRS saying, “We at the Internal Revenue Service think that you’re a swell guy and a snappy dresser and we want to take you out for ice cream, our treat.”
That would be purely good news (though it would also make me a bit suspicious).
Honestly, how often to any of us really receive purely good news? The last time I did, I think, and when I say last time, I mean the very last time because I can’t imagine that I didn’t use up my lifetime supply of purely good news (and luck), was when I found out that I’d won $10,000.
I think that from now on the only good news I can count on is the “Good news; you’re brain tumor isn’t totally inoperable” variety.
Okay, hopefully nothing quite that extreme, but at least something like, “Good news; you’re not getting laid off…this time.”
Of course, whenever I hear the words “good news,” I can’t help but think of the Professor on Futurama, who often prefaced announcements that generally were anything but, with the words, “Good news everyone!”
Specifically, I think of him announcing to everyone that he’s developed a formula that will allow humans to survive unaided underwater and produces an extremely large round object. Fry looks at the pill that would choke a horse and says, “I can’t swallow that,” to which the Professor responds, “Good news – it’s a suppository!.”
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Up The Down Stairs
I don't really have much to say about this picture.
It's okay (I really impressed myself with the job I did on, of all things, the ear), but nothing spectacular or terribly interesting/unusual.
I'd wanted to do more of a background for it, a sort of futuristic cityscape, but most of the way into making the background I was reminded of the fact that I suck at things like futuristic cityscapes (and background images in general), so I went with black, which I suppose adds to the effect of the staircase being totally unsupported and just floating in the air.
For those who wonder about such things, the reference model for this picture was actress/model Molly Sims, though very little of her made it into the final product, so you'd never look at it and say, "Hey, that's Molly Sims."
It's okay (I really impressed myself with the job I did on, of all things, the ear), but nothing spectacular or terribly interesting/unusual.
I'd wanted to do more of a background for it, a sort of futuristic cityscape, but most of the way into making the background I was reminded of the fact that I suck at things like futuristic cityscapes (and background images in general), so I went with black, which I suppose adds to the effect of the staircase being totally unsupported and just floating in the air.
For those who wonder about such things, the reference model for this picture was actress/model Molly Sims, though very little of her made it into the final product, so you'd never look at it and say, "Hey, that's Molly Sims."
Botty Grable
The Japanese artist Hajime Sorayama is known for creating stunningly realistic pin-up style paintings, though he is perhaps best known for his "Sexy Robots," images of feminine robots in typical pin-up poses.
He also has a rather unfortunate tendency to turn his considerable talent toward the rendering of images of women urinating, but hey, if that's your thing...
In any case, while I am familiar with his work and am an admirer of his non-peeing works, and am particularly fond of the sexy robots, I thought I should mention that his work was not the primary inspiration for this picture, at least not directly.
For some reason I was reminded of a guy I used to work with in Tucson and I remembered a picture he'd done of a robotic cigarette girl. It was a very cool image, and I was very impressed by it at the time.
So while he may have been inspired by Sorayama - I have no way of knowing as he never said what his inspiration was and we've been out of touch for almost five years - I was inspired by him as I was thinking of ideas for pictures that are at least a little outside of the norm for me.
I'm sort of in a mood to experiment a little, and so I'm looking for different ideas, so when I thought about that robotic cigarette girl, I thought of doing this non-Sorayama robot pin-up:
I've actually got an idea for a different picture that this would be a part of, but as it's only the vaguest of ideas at this point, it's unlikely that I'll actually put the complete picture together any time soon, if ever, so I thought I'd at least post this.
As an aside, Hajime Sorayama and his sexy robots figured prominently into one of my favorite episodes of The Venture Bros.
He also has a rather unfortunate tendency to turn his considerable talent toward the rendering of images of women urinating, but hey, if that's your thing...
In any case, while I am familiar with his work and am an admirer of his non-peeing works, and am particularly fond of the sexy robots, I thought I should mention that his work was not the primary inspiration for this picture, at least not directly.
For some reason I was reminded of a guy I used to work with in Tucson and I remembered a picture he'd done of a robotic cigarette girl. It was a very cool image, and I was very impressed by it at the time.
So while he may have been inspired by Sorayama - I have no way of knowing as he never said what his inspiration was and we've been out of touch for almost five years - I was inspired by him as I was thinking of ideas for pictures that are at least a little outside of the norm for me.
I'm sort of in a mood to experiment a little, and so I'm looking for different ideas, so when I thought about that robotic cigarette girl, I thought of doing this non-Sorayama robot pin-up:
I've actually got an idea for a different picture that this would be a part of, but as it's only the vaguest of ideas at this point, it's unlikely that I'll actually put the complete picture together any time soon, if ever, so I thought I'd at least post this.
As an aside, Hajime Sorayama and his sexy robots figured prominently into one of my favorite episodes of The Venture Bros.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Blah
Though I didn’t want to, I went out into the world briefly this morning only to find that it was filled even closer to overflowing with people than I had expected it to be.
It had been my intention to hold off until Tuesday to go out and do my shopping, and that’s pretty much still my intention, but while I’d had enough eggs left to make myself breakfast and enough ingredients to cobble together some sort of dinner, I didn’t have anything in the way of basic ingredients for lunch, nor did I have anything left in the way of snacks, so I decided that I would do exactly that much shopping in a quick get in, get out fashion, or, perhaps more accurately in my case, get out, get back in.
After getting home and having lunch I opted to take a two hour nap, which I awoke from feeling considerably more tired than I had when I’d climbed into bed.
While asleep I dreamed that I was back in Michigan, and though I was an adult I was preparing for a little league game that I was going to be playing in late at night.
For the record, yes, I did actually play on a little league team when I was a kid, but only for one season.
When I got up the battle that had been going on between the sun and the clouds all day had been decided in favor of the clouds and it was raining lightly.
I decided that I wanted to watch a movie, but failing to find anything that I felt like watching I opted to watch the pilot episode of Superman: The Animated Series, which roughly movie-length.
After that I read until dinner time. While I was shopping I decided that I didn’t really want to cobble anything together, so I bought chicken breasts and gravy that were already cooked and simply needed to be heated, and a tub of ready-made garlic mashed potatoes. I did steam my own broccoli and carrots to go with the chicken and potatoes, though.
With dinner out of the way I did some more reading until the season finale of The Closer, which I was pleased to learn is coming back in December, so I don’t have to wait until next summer.
It occurred to me today that I started high school 20 years ago, which made me feel old.
Hell, even college was 16 years ago.
I shudder to think just how long it’s been since little league.
Anyway, as is apparent from this entry, it’s been a “blah” sort of day, so there’s really not much point in going any further right now.
It had been my intention to hold off until Tuesday to go out and do my shopping, and that’s pretty much still my intention, but while I’d had enough eggs left to make myself breakfast and enough ingredients to cobble together some sort of dinner, I didn’t have anything in the way of basic ingredients for lunch, nor did I have anything left in the way of snacks, so I decided that I would do exactly that much shopping in a quick get in, get out fashion, or, perhaps more accurately in my case, get out, get back in.
After getting home and having lunch I opted to take a two hour nap, which I awoke from feeling considerably more tired than I had when I’d climbed into bed.
While asleep I dreamed that I was back in Michigan, and though I was an adult I was preparing for a little league game that I was going to be playing in late at night.
For the record, yes, I did actually play on a little league team when I was a kid, but only for one season.
When I got up the battle that had been going on between the sun and the clouds all day had been decided in favor of the clouds and it was raining lightly.
I decided that I wanted to watch a movie, but failing to find anything that I felt like watching I opted to watch the pilot episode of Superman: The Animated Series, which roughly movie-length.
After that I read until dinner time. While I was shopping I decided that I didn’t really want to cobble anything together, so I bought chicken breasts and gravy that were already cooked and simply needed to be heated, and a tub of ready-made garlic mashed potatoes. I did steam my own broccoli and carrots to go with the chicken and potatoes, though.
With dinner out of the way I did some more reading until the season finale of The Closer, which I was pleased to learn is coming back in December, so I don’t have to wait until next summer.
It occurred to me today that I started high school 20 years ago, which made me feel old.
Hell, even college was 16 years ago.
I shudder to think just how long it’s been since little league.
Anyway, as is apparent from this entry, it’s been a “blah” sort of day, so there’s really not much point in going any further right now.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
(Cartoon) Skeletons In The Closet
A while back someone did some illustrations of the skeletal systems of various famous cartoon characters.
Now there's a Korean art exhibit that's gone one step further, actually sculpting them.
Check it out here.
Now there's a Korean art exhibit that's gone one step further, actually sculpting them.
Check it out here.
Keep On Knocking But You Can't Come In
As mentioned in my previous post, last night I watched the premiere of Fantastic Four on Cartoon Network.
I’m not so sure that I’ll give it a second chance.
Basically, it’s up to the usual standard of Marvel animation projects of this century, which is to say that’s it’s better than most of the crap they cranked out in the early 90s, but it’s nowhere near the level of most of the DC stuff.
(In fairness, Marvel did have extremely good CGI Spider-Man series on MTV a couple of years ago, but it didn’t last long.)
There’s far too much of an anime influence to the look of the show, the CGI is poorly integrated with the standard animation, the music sucks, and they used stock voice actors rather than hiring regular actors, which is the route that DC animation projects normally take.
Oh, and while Sue Storm is called Invisible Woman right out of the gate (it took her over 20 years to graduate from Girl to Woman in the comics), she’s still presented like something straight out of 1963 rather than the strong, capable woman who could easily mop the floor with the rest of her team if she so chose. I mean, in this episode she actually swooned.
Ben (The Thing) was handled okay, except for the retarded idea about having him spray paint a “4” on his chest (“He’s made of rock, so, logically he’ll just spray paint the number on himself!”), but honestly, it’s kind of hard to screw his characterization up.
So yeah, overall, from my perspective, it kind of sucked.
But if you like anime – or if you’re a fan of previous Marvel animation efforts such as X-Men: Evolution – you’ll probably like this.
Of course, I shouldn’t give too much credit to DC’s animation efforts. Sure, Batman: TAS, Superman: TAS, Batman: Beyond, and Justice League were all excellen, but there have also been some missteps recently, such as Teen Titans, The Batman (which is totally unrelated to the previous Batman projects and nowhere near as good), and Krypto.
Continuing in that vein is their upcoming Legion of Super Heroes, airing Saturday mornings on the newly-formed CW Network, which is the result of the mergers of The WB and UPN.
From what I’ve seen so far LSH looks a lot more like Teen Titans than it does Justice League (even though the Legion appeared on an episode of Justice League), so I’m not holding out much hope for the quality of its storytelling.
Oh well.
I’m suspecting that sometime before Thursday I’m going to get a call informing me not to bother showing up for work on Thursday, or ever again.
Yesterday our boss told us all that before we left for the day we had to make sure that our contact information in the employee directory was up to date.
When we asked why, his response was, “Because I told you to.”
It doesn’t bode well…unless what you’re hoping that he’ll be calling us all to tell us we’ve been laid off and wants to be sure ahead of time to have the right number to call. If that’s what you’re hoping for, then yeah, it bodes extremely well.
On the other hand, at one point he asked me if I was planning on taking time off in two weeks when Scott will be taking time off so that he knew whether or not he needed to bring someone in to work overtime, so who knows?
The one good thing that would come of losing my job is not having to continue with the cross-training.
As mentioned, my desk merged with another desk, and Scott and I have to learn how to do their jobs, and they have to learn how to do our jobs.
Over the weekend, Scott was learning their stuff, which meant that I was teaching our stuff…to someone who has no interest whatsoever in learning it and who clearly thinks that what we do is pointless and retarded.
Looking at things from his perspective, I can see his point, but tough shit: he’s supposed to learn it.
Of course, the problem is that I don’t have any particular interest in teaching it to him if he doesn’t want to learn it. I’m not his keeper; if he doesn’t want to do his job, fuck him.
The new workspace did feel kind of cramped. While I have four screens in my workspace, I only have two computers, one Red Hat box and one XP box, which makes it kind of difficult to do some of my tasks very effectively, as they sort of require having three computers, two of them XP boxes.
The other problem is the TV, and the fact that I’ll be in a confined space with people watching and discussing/arguing about various sporting events.
That’s assuming, of course, that I ever have to go back.
Once again it had been my intention to sleep the day away today, but I only managed to “sleep in” until 9:30.
After eating breakfast I sat down to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I’d borrowed from Scott. I’ve finally been getting around to reading the books, and that was the one movie I hadn’t caught anywhere along the line, so I figured I’d check it out.
The books are okay, but as I find myself getting frustrated with them I remind myself that they are intended for children, though I’m reasonably certain that as I child I would have been equally frustrated by the same things that frustrate me now.
In any case, I was on the couch watching the movie and during a particularly loud scene I heard a rapping at my door.
Not having any friends who would just stop by unannounced, I knew that it was most likely some kind of missionaries peddling some kind of crazy…err, I mean, spreading the good news of their faith.
Looking out through the peephole my suspicion was confirmed. Given that Harry Potter had been in the midst of screaming at the top of his lungs as Lord Voldemort poked at his scar when they knocked, it was a safe bet that they knew someone was home, even though I had since paused the DVD.
I considered swapping out the DVD with something a little racier and then inviting them in, and if they asked me to turn it off I would point out that this is my home and that they’re the ones who came knocking on my door, and that I don’t go to their houses and ask them to watch porn so there’s no reason why they should come to mine and ask me not to.
Ultimately I decided against it because this would involve too much effort, and more importantly it would involve allowing complete strangers to come into my home, and no matter what you’re selling – religion, encyclopedias, or ultra-realistic sex dolls – that’s just not going to happen.
(I order my ultra-realistic sex dolls directly from the manufacturer over the Internet and therefore have no need to get them from door-to-door salesmen)
You’ve got a slightly better chance if you’re a hot chick, but if you’re going around to shill for your religion the odds are that you’re not going to be much fun anyway – unless you were a missionary trying to bring back temple prostitution as a form of religious expression but were going the “ountain comes to Muhammad” route with it this time around and bringing the temple to the worshippers, though that seems pretty unlikely – so you’d be left out in the cold too, sister. Come back after you’ve lapsed from your religious practices and we’ll talk.
To be fair, I realize that these people are doing what they believe is right, and I also know from Scott’s stories of his missionary days that it’s an uncomfortable position to be in and that life as a missionary isn’t a lot of fun, but the cold hard fact of the matter is that it’s not my fault that they’ve bought into a religion that is the spiritual equivalent of selling subscriptions to Grit in order to get great prizes, so why should I have to suffer for it?
For the record, I don’t think they were Mormons, as they looked a little old and their shirts weren’t white, but in any case I just ignored them until they went away, then went back to watching the movie.
And that was my morning and early afternoon.
The rest of the afternoon and my evening are likely to be less exciting, excepting, of course, the half an hour spent watching the new episode of The Venture Bros. tonight.
I’m not so sure that I’ll give it a second chance.
Basically, it’s up to the usual standard of Marvel animation projects of this century, which is to say that’s it’s better than most of the crap they cranked out in the early 90s, but it’s nowhere near the level of most of the DC stuff.
(In fairness, Marvel did have extremely good CGI Spider-Man series on MTV a couple of years ago, but it didn’t last long.)
There’s far too much of an anime influence to the look of the show, the CGI is poorly integrated with the standard animation, the music sucks, and they used stock voice actors rather than hiring regular actors, which is the route that DC animation projects normally take.
Oh, and while Sue Storm is called Invisible Woman right out of the gate (it took her over 20 years to graduate from Girl to Woman in the comics), she’s still presented like something straight out of 1963 rather than the strong, capable woman who could easily mop the floor with the rest of her team if she so chose. I mean, in this episode she actually swooned.
Ben (The Thing) was handled okay, except for the retarded idea about having him spray paint a “4” on his chest (“He’s made of rock, so, logically he’ll just spray paint the number on himself!”), but honestly, it’s kind of hard to screw his characterization up.
So yeah, overall, from my perspective, it kind of sucked.
But if you like anime – or if you’re a fan of previous Marvel animation efforts such as X-Men: Evolution – you’ll probably like this.
Of course, I shouldn’t give too much credit to DC’s animation efforts. Sure, Batman: TAS, Superman: TAS, Batman: Beyond, and Justice League were all excellen, but there have also been some missteps recently, such as Teen Titans, The Batman (which is totally unrelated to the previous Batman projects and nowhere near as good), and Krypto.
Continuing in that vein is their upcoming Legion of Super Heroes, airing Saturday mornings on the newly-formed CW Network, which is the result of the mergers of The WB and UPN.
From what I’ve seen so far LSH looks a lot more like Teen Titans than it does Justice League (even though the Legion appeared on an episode of Justice League), so I’m not holding out much hope for the quality of its storytelling.
Oh well.
I’m suspecting that sometime before Thursday I’m going to get a call informing me not to bother showing up for work on Thursday, or ever again.
Yesterday our boss told us all that before we left for the day we had to make sure that our contact information in the employee directory was up to date.
When we asked why, his response was, “Because I told you to.”
It doesn’t bode well…unless what you’re hoping that he’ll be calling us all to tell us we’ve been laid off and wants to be sure ahead of time to have the right number to call. If that’s what you’re hoping for, then yeah, it bodes extremely well.
On the other hand, at one point he asked me if I was planning on taking time off in two weeks when Scott will be taking time off so that he knew whether or not he needed to bring someone in to work overtime, so who knows?
The one good thing that would come of losing my job is not having to continue with the cross-training.
As mentioned, my desk merged with another desk, and Scott and I have to learn how to do their jobs, and they have to learn how to do our jobs.
Over the weekend, Scott was learning their stuff, which meant that I was teaching our stuff…to someone who has no interest whatsoever in learning it and who clearly thinks that what we do is pointless and retarded.
Looking at things from his perspective, I can see his point, but tough shit: he’s supposed to learn it.
Of course, the problem is that I don’t have any particular interest in teaching it to him if he doesn’t want to learn it. I’m not his keeper; if he doesn’t want to do his job, fuck him.
The new workspace did feel kind of cramped. While I have four screens in my workspace, I only have two computers, one Red Hat box and one XP box, which makes it kind of difficult to do some of my tasks very effectively, as they sort of require having three computers, two of them XP boxes.
The other problem is the TV, and the fact that I’ll be in a confined space with people watching and discussing/arguing about various sporting events.
That’s assuming, of course, that I ever have to go back.
Once again it had been my intention to sleep the day away today, but I only managed to “sleep in” until 9:30.
After eating breakfast I sat down to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which I’d borrowed from Scott. I’ve finally been getting around to reading the books, and that was the one movie I hadn’t caught anywhere along the line, so I figured I’d check it out.
The books are okay, but as I find myself getting frustrated with them I remind myself that they are intended for children, though I’m reasonably certain that as I child I would have been equally frustrated by the same things that frustrate me now.
In any case, I was on the couch watching the movie and during a particularly loud scene I heard a rapping at my door.
Not having any friends who would just stop by unannounced, I knew that it was most likely some kind of missionaries peddling some kind of crazy…err, I mean, spreading the good news of their faith.
Looking out through the peephole my suspicion was confirmed. Given that Harry Potter had been in the midst of screaming at the top of his lungs as Lord Voldemort poked at his scar when they knocked, it was a safe bet that they knew someone was home, even though I had since paused the DVD.
I considered swapping out the DVD with something a little racier and then inviting them in, and if they asked me to turn it off I would point out that this is my home and that they’re the ones who came knocking on my door, and that I don’t go to their houses and ask them to watch porn so there’s no reason why they should come to mine and ask me not to.
Ultimately I decided against it because this would involve too much effort, and more importantly it would involve allowing complete strangers to come into my home, and no matter what you’re selling – religion, encyclopedias, or ultra-realistic sex dolls – that’s just not going to happen.
(I order my ultra-realistic sex dolls directly from the manufacturer over the Internet and therefore have no need to get them from door-to-door salesmen)
You’ve got a slightly better chance if you’re a hot chick, but if you’re going around to shill for your religion the odds are that you’re not going to be much fun anyway – unless you were a missionary trying to bring back temple prostitution as a form of religious expression but were going the “ountain comes to Muhammad” route with it this time around and bringing the temple to the worshippers, though that seems pretty unlikely – so you’d be left out in the cold too, sister. Come back after you’ve lapsed from your religious practices and we’ll talk.
To be fair, I realize that these people are doing what they believe is right, and I also know from Scott’s stories of his missionary days that it’s an uncomfortable position to be in and that life as a missionary isn’t a lot of fun, but the cold hard fact of the matter is that it’s not my fault that they’ve bought into a religion that is the spiritual equivalent of selling subscriptions to Grit in order to get great prizes, so why should I have to suffer for it?
For the record, I don’t think they were Mormons, as they looked a little old and their shirts weren’t white, but in any case I just ignored them until they went away, then went back to watching the movie.
And that was my morning and early afternoon.
The rest of the afternoon and my evening are likely to be less exciting, excepting, of course, the half an hour spent watching the new episode of The Venture Bros. tonight.
A Trip Down Metal Memory Lane
Shortly after I got home tonight I began watching a show on VH1 about the history of Metal.
It went on for 4 hours, and, except for a brief interlude during which I checked out the premiere of Cartoon Network’s new Fantastic Four series (more on that in another post), I watched the whole thing.
For the most part it was just rehashing of stuff that VH1 rehashes with a new special exactly like this one every couple of months, but there were some good bits thrown in by various Metal veterans.
Naturally it primarily focused on the pussy Glam/Hair/Bubble Gum Metal bands like Poison and all the rest of their ilk, and my interest waned for most of that, but I stuck with it anyway. The most interesting parts were the beginning, which focused on Black Sabbath, and then some of the bits towards the middle that focused on Motorhead, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and, eventually, Metallica (back when Metallica was cool).
Apparently they’re airing another, similar documentary next Saturday, which I’ll most likely watch as well, even though it will be a rehash of things that have been rehashed over and over again, as recently as tonight.
Apart from various bon mots by people like Dave Mustaine of Megadeth, who’s always good for saying something entirely contrary to what everyone else is saying, there were a couple of other highlights in the 4 hours.
For example, when Nina Blackwood, one of the original MTV VJs appeared on screen, twenty-five years older then she was in those days, my reaction was to exclaim, “Gah! The hell is that?”
She looked like some crazy cat-lady minus the cats. I couldn’t look at her straight on; I had to look at her reflection in the mirror on my wall, in much the same way that Perseus approached Medusa by looking at her reflection in a highly-polished shield, for fear that I would be turned to stone.
I shudder to think of what’s happened to Martha Quinn.
When Jani Lane of Warrant suggested that he should shoot himself in the face for writing Cherry Pie, I wasn’t especially inclined to disagree.
When some guy said that Angus Young of AC/DC “represents the eternal child in all of us,” I said, “And you represent being a total fucking asshole.”
Speaking of the random “some guys” that they had commenting on the history of Metal – many of them rock journalists or club owners – there was one in particular who stood out.
He sort of reminded me of this Kids in the Hall sketch that was a documentary about some forgotten Vaudeville performer known as “The Escapist.” It featured interviews with various people, including someone played by Kid Kevin McDonald, a big fan of a TV show “The Escapist” had starred in, who was credited on-screen as “A 37 Year Old Virgin.”
In the case of the guy on the Metal documentary, I think that would have been more fitting than “Journalist/Author.”
Anyway, watching the show brought back memories of sitting up on Saturday nights watching Headbanger’s Ball, sitting through the endless parade of Cinderella and Ratt videos just for that one gem from Suicidal Tendencies, or, even more rarely, D.R.I.
When they were talking about Ozzfest, it brought back hazy recollections that led me to simply shake my head and say, “So fucking drunk” as I thought about my two tours (’98 and ’99).
My Ozzfest Memories Department:
Crowd surfing and getting passed into an empty space and feeling fingers clutching at me in vain as people tried to keep me aloft and hearing someone say “Sorry, dude,” right before I hit the ground. Hard.
Standing exactly where 50,000 other people were trying to stand, holding on long enough to make eye contact with Dave Mustaine, and then just letting go and letting the crowd push me back to a safe distance. It felt rather a lot like being a zit that was being popped.
Running up and bouncing off of a giant inflatable condom wrapper and being told to, “Fucking stop it!”
Staring around in dismay as all but a handful of people left after Megadeth finished performing on the main stage. Didn’t they know that Motorhead was performing on the second stage?
Running for my life as everyone came back to see Tool afterwards.
Being pulled up and down by rabid Limp Bizkit fans who were doing exactly what they were told as the band, which I’d never heard of previously, performed a cover of “Jump Around.”
Getting my picture taken sitting on a motorcycle as a girl in a thong and tank top with “Ozzy” painted on her ass sat in my lap, lifted her shirt, and pressed her boobs in my face.
(I still have that picture)
Taking a nap on thre ground while Godsmack performed.
Being violently shaken awake from said nap by a concerned girl who thought I was dead, jumping up in a state of extreme confusion and yelling “What the fu-?” while my friend Eric watched and laughed.
The expression on Eric’s face when, while walking through the parking lot before we went in he saw something on the ground, picked it up, and realized that it was an eighth of an ounce of pot.
The best goddamn gyro I’ve ever eaten in my life…made so outstandingly delicious by smoking some of said pot found in the parking lot before eating it.
Eric responding to something a very cute girl with a very nice rack had said, which I couldn’t hear, as we were passing in opposite directions, then hearing her say to him, “I wasn’t talking to you,” before she turned to me, grabbed my chin, pulled me in close, and said, in a breathy whisper, “I was talking to you, baby,” before we were separated by the crowd, leading me to cry out in vain, “But what were you saying?”
Seeing a reunited Sabbath perform, though I don’t so much remember that as I just know that it happened, just as I know that it was amazing, and that if I hadn’t been so totally wasted that I have only the vaguest recollections of it happening, it would rank up there with my top ten memories of all time.
And finally, I remember waking up the day after Ozzfest ’98 to see Eric standing in the doorway saying, “Don’t move a muscle.” I asked, “Why not?” He responded, “Because it will suck.”
And he was right.
It went on for 4 hours, and, except for a brief interlude during which I checked out the premiere of Cartoon Network’s new Fantastic Four series (more on that in another post), I watched the whole thing.
For the most part it was just rehashing of stuff that VH1 rehashes with a new special exactly like this one every couple of months, but there were some good bits thrown in by various Metal veterans.
Naturally it primarily focused on the pussy Glam/Hair/Bubble Gum Metal bands like Poison and all the rest of their ilk, and my interest waned for most of that, but I stuck with it anyway. The most interesting parts were the beginning, which focused on Black Sabbath, and then some of the bits towards the middle that focused on Motorhead, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and, eventually, Metallica (back when Metallica was cool).
Apparently they’re airing another, similar documentary next Saturday, which I’ll most likely watch as well, even though it will be a rehash of things that have been rehashed over and over again, as recently as tonight.
Apart from various bon mots by people like Dave Mustaine of Megadeth, who’s always good for saying something entirely contrary to what everyone else is saying, there were a couple of other highlights in the 4 hours.
For example, when Nina Blackwood, one of the original MTV VJs appeared on screen, twenty-five years older then she was in those days, my reaction was to exclaim, “Gah! The hell is that?”
She looked like some crazy cat-lady minus the cats. I couldn’t look at her straight on; I had to look at her reflection in the mirror on my wall, in much the same way that Perseus approached Medusa by looking at her reflection in a highly-polished shield, for fear that I would be turned to stone.
I shudder to think of what’s happened to Martha Quinn.
When Jani Lane of Warrant suggested that he should shoot himself in the face for writing Cherry Pie, I wasn’t especially inclined to disagree.
When some guy said that Angus Young of AC/DC “represents the eternal child in all of us,” I said, “And you represent being a total fucking asshole.”
Speaking of the random “some guys” that they had commenting on the history of Metal – many of them rock journalists or club owners – there was one in particular who stood out.
He sort of reminded me of this Kids in the Hall sketch that was a documentary about some forgotten Vaudeville performer known as “The Escapist.” It featured interviews with various people, including someone played by Kid Kevin McDonald, a big fan of a TV show “The Escapist” had starred in, who was credited on-screen as “A 37 Year Old Virgin.”
In the case of the guy on the Metal documentary, I think that would have been more fitting than “Journalist/Author.”
Anyway, watching the show brought back memories of sitting up on Saturday nights watching Headbanger’s Ball, sitting through the endless parade of Cinderella and Ratt videos just for that one gem from Suicidal Tendencies, or, even more rarely, D.R.I.
When they were talking about Ozzfest, it brought back hazy recollections that led me to simply shake my head and say, “So fucking drunk” as I thought about my two tours (’98 and ’99).
My Ozzfest Memories Department:
Crowd surfing and getting passed into an empty space and feeling fingers clutching at me in vain as people tried to keep me aloft and hearing someone say “Sorry, dude,” right before I hit the ground. Hard.
Standing exactly where 50,000 other people were trying to stand, holding on long enough to make eye contact with Dave Mustaine, and then just letting go and letting the crowd push me back to a safe distance. It felt rather a lot like being a zit that was being popped.
Running up and bouncing off of a giant inflatable condom wrapper and being told to, “Fucking stop it!”
Staring around in dismay as all but a handful of people left after Megadeth finished performing on the main stage. Didn’t they know that Motorhead was performing on the second stage?
Running for my life as everyone came back to see Tool afterwards.
Being pulled up and down by rabid Limp Bizkit fans who were doing exactly what they were told as the band, which I’d never heard of previously, performed a cover of “Jump Around.”
Getting my picture taken sitting on a motorcycle as a girl in a thong and tank top with “Ozzy” painted on her ass sat in my lap, lifted her shirt, and pressed her boobs in my face.
(I still have that picture)
Taking a nap on thre ground while Godsmack performed.
Being violently shaken awake from said nap by a concerned girl who thought I was dead, jumping up in a state of extreme confusion and yelling “What the fu-?” while my friend Eric watched and laughed.
The expression on Eric’s face when, while walking through the parking lot before we went in he saw something on the ground, picked it up, and realized that it was an eighth of an ounce of pot.
The best goddamn gyro I’ve ever eaten in my life…made so outstandingly delicious by smoking some of said pot found in the parking lot before eating it.
Eric responding to something a very cute girl with a very nice rack had said, which I couldn’t hear, as we were passing in opposite directions, then hearing her say to him, “I wasn’t talking to you,” before she turned to me, grabbed my chin, pulled me in close, and said, in a breathy whisper, “I was talking to you, baby,” before we were separated by the crowd, leading me to cry out in vain, “But what were you saying?”
Seeing a reunited Sabbath perform, though I don’t so much remember that as I just know that it happened, just as I know that it was amazing, and that if I hadn’t been so totally wasted that I have only the vaguest recollections of it happening, it would rank up there with my top ten memories of all time.
And finally, I remember waking up the day after Ozzfest ’98 to see Eric standing in the doorway saying, “Don’t move a muscle.” I asked, “Why not?” He responded, “Because it will suck.”
And he was right.
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