I realized today that there is nothing that I can achieve in life that is likely to garner me quite so much praise as what I receive from my dental hygienist after I show marked improvement to the health of my gums.
“Bravo,” she said, “They’re beautiful!”
Seriously, I never get as much praise for anything else I do.
Draw a picture that I put a lot of work into and am extremely proud of? Greeted by collective yawns, if even that.
Write an especially entertaining, canny, insightful, and incisive Threshold entry? Rolled eyes and a jerking off motion.
So it was quite a treat to be greeted with such gushing praise over the fact that my gums aren’t as swollen and red as they were six months ago given that the things that I actually take some amount of pride in (theoretically at least) generally receive a lukewarm response at best.
I have to admit, though, that I was a bit nonplussed by her exuberance, and I’m not sure what to make of being told that my tongue, like my gums, is beautiful.
Still, I guess you have to admire someone who can get so excited about her work.
The ironic thing is that for the past few days the thought that I had a dentist appointment today was pissing me off.
It wasn’t that I felt any sort of anxiety, and I knew that it wouldn’t take too long, but as my time off was coming to a close I found myself resenting the fact that someone else was placing a demand on what time I had remaining.
My mood didn’t improve any when I was getting ready to head off for my appointment and found that I didn’t have any water.
I did the best I could with the water in my Brita pitcher, which at least allowed me to brush my teeth. I tried this trick I’d heard about years ago on the long-since departed X Show on FX which was presented in a sequence on tips for men who have to get somewhere in a hurry and don’t have the time or the resources to properly clean up. The tip involved mixing a small amount of shampoo with water and using that to rinse your hair. It doesn’t get it properly clean, but does at leas cut down on the greasiness.
As for the rest, I made use of some wet naps and lots of deodorant.
The most irritating thing was that I couldn’t shave, as I’d had too much growth to use the electric, and not enough water to shave with a disposable.
The end result was that I looked pretty skeezy when I arrived, but that seemed to be okay, as the hygienist was distracted by my beautiful gums and tongue.
While I was sitting in the waiting area I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between the two girls working at the desk.
The kind of cute girl with the big boobs was asking the tiny and cute Asian girl what state “MS” stands for.
She said, “Is it Massa-Mass-that state I can’t pronounce?”
I told her that it was Mississippi and she thanked me, but it turns out that whatever record she was looking up was incorrectly labeled anyway, and was, in fact, in Massachusetts, or, as she said it, very slowly and with deliberation, only to be greeted with laugher from myself and the Asian girl, Mass-a-shu-chetts.
After the comedy stylings of the girl with the big boobs was over and the hygienist had stopped gushing over my gums, it was on to the actual cleaning.
The hygienist said, “I’m going to use the cavitron on you.”
Not knowing what that was, but assuming that she knew what she was talking about, I said that was fine.
She went on to add that because my gums were so nice this was my little “bonus.”
After saying this she then attacked my gums with some sort of drill-like device that was considerably more painful than the usual poking, picking, and prodding you associate with getting your teeth cleaned.
She explained that she was going below my gum line – hence the discomfort – and that this was “really good for my gums.”
Perhaps so, but when I think of getting a bonus I don’t usually think of something that hurts me and makes my gums bleed.
I was thinking more along the lines of a gift certificate or something.
(Okay, honestly I was thinking hand job, but I wasn’t honestly expecting that.)
Once the cleaning – complete with painful, bloody bonus – the dentist came in, saw that I had a broken filling, and told me to schedule an appointment for that.
After that it was off to the desk and the girl with big boobs who scheduled my next check up. I then told her about the filling and we settled on next Tuesday at 9:50 for that, but just as she was about to enter it in that slot was no longer available, as the Asian girl had managed to sneak in and schedule the woman she was talking to for that time. We picked a time a half an hour later in the day and she wrote it down on a statement which she handed to me and told me to ignore the part where it says I owe them $109 because I don’t owe them anything and she doesn’t know why it says I do.
Oh, and for anyone out there wondering why I didn’t (and haven’t) tried hitting on the cute Asian girl or the cute girl with the big boobs, the Asian girl is married (to the dentist, I think), as is the cute girl with the big boobs (though presumably not to the dentist). The hygienist is not quite so cute as the other two but is attractive, but that’s irrelevant anyway. See if you can figure out why on your own.
From there I went off to Wal-Mart, my teeth feeling clean but chalky the way they always do after a cleaning, to pick up X3 on DVD.
If I’d known when I was going to get out of the dentist’s I might have contacted Kathleen ahead of time to see if she wanted to meet for a late lunch, but once I was out I figured it was too last minute to bother contacting her.
From Wal-Mart I went on to the Dulles Town Center to stop at the “Borders Express,” formerly Waldenbooks, and pick up a copy of Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman’s new collection of short stories which was recently released.
I got there and assumed that it would be with the new releases. It wasn’t. Nor was it with any of Neil’s other books. I was just about to go so far as to – ugh – ask for assistance, when I noticed a couple of copies of it on the bottom shelf in a nondescript little display of assorted books that were arranged facing away from the storefront.
When I was paying for it I demanded of the cashier, “Why was this hidden?”
I tried to explain what I meant, but she had no idea what I was talking about and looked at me as though I were some sort of raving homeless person standing on a street corner proclaiming that the CIA has planted nanobots inside of shampoo that literally brainwash you and make you obedient to the orders of the Knights Templar, so I didn’t pursue the issue any further.
Anyway, the point is that if you’re looking to buy Fragile Things at a Borders Express you might have to search for it.
Once I got home I found that I still didn’t have water and was planning to walk down to the office to see who I needed to complain to after I ate my late lunch/early dinner, but while I was eating I heard the gurgling and spitting of air moving through my pipes as the toilet tank filled up.
So after eating it was time to shave and shower and get back to feeling at least mostly human again.
In any case, my vacation is finally over, and though I really didn’t do much I certainly spent plenty of money, and, honestly, probably had about as much fun as I would have been likely to have if I had gone somewhere.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Threshold TV Review
(This entry is full of spoilers for the latest episodes of The Venture Bros., Smallville, and Heroes. You’ve been warned.)
Scott usually writes up little post-episodes summaries/reviews of the latest episode of The Venture Bros. over at his blog, but I’m guessing that he’s too involved in his trip to Disneyworld to do that this week, and as there are elements of the latest episode that need to be mentioned, and since I was already on the topic of TV shows in the last post, I’ll fill in for him this week.
I knew it was going to be a good one from the very moment the episode opened from the POV of one of the Monarch’s henchmen, who was a new recruit, as they launched an assault on the Venture compound.
For the first time ever we get to see the implacable Swedish murder machine that is Brock Samson from the viewpoint of one of those henchman unfortunate to cross his path.
Mostly we don’t see Brock, though, as our henchman upon seeing his compatriots falling at Brock’s feet quite sensibly turns around and runs for his life.
That doesn’t keep us from seeing Brock one last time, though, as with a quick twist of his hands our POV is rotated 180 degrees, with Brock’s face being the last thing we see as the world goes black around the edges.
But we do see something again, an indeterminate amount of time later as Dr. Venture hovers over us, hooting triumphantly.
We learn that Dr. Venture has brought the dead henchman back to life, with, predictably, horrific results. The resurrected henchman is, understandably, less than pleased and breaks free, wrapping his newly-stitched on hands around Dr. Venture’s throat, howling in incoherent rage, only to be killed by Brock once again.
Eventually, with a new, mismatched top of his head to replace the one Brock caved in with a fire extinguisher, Venturestein, as he has been dubbed, is resurrected once again.
After having been killed by him twice, Venturestein is understandably wary of Brock, who, as Hank puts it, is essentially “Venturestein’s fire,” or, to put it another way, “Brock bad!”
The unique experience of seeing one of his victims brought back to life – only to become his victim once again and be brought back to life again – engenders something of an existential crisis in Brock, who seeks guidance from necromancer and renter of the Venture compound garage, Dr. Orpheus.
In a vision quest Brock learns that he is a secret agent and an unrelenting killing machine, period. He has no business indulging in things like empathy or compassion or existential crises.
Crisis averted, Brock slaps Hank’s Batman mask onto Venturestein and the two head off in search of the one thing that V-stein remembers from his previous existence: prostitutes!
Concurrent with the story of Brock’s spiritual journey we learn that Dr. Venture has gotten a contract with the military to produce more Venturesteins, and the boys are off investigating lights in the old manufacturing wing, while Venturestein is being “socialized” in one of the boys’ “learning chambers,” learning all about the joys of enforced servitude.
The lights the boys are investigating are caused by what is possibly the most inspired aspect of the episode: a group of “mystery solvers” and their dog who travel in a van.
Of course, this being The Venture Bros., in an episode written by Ben Edlund, creator of The Tick, this is not your mom and dad’s Scooby and the gang.
Take the Scooby gang and add in elements of Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberatiion Army, the Son of Sam, and an unhealthy does of Christian fundamentalism, and you’ll have an idea of what we’re dealing with.
All I can say about it is holy freakin’ god. Some of the funniest stuff I’ve ever seen on The Venture Bros. or anywhere.
Arguably the best bit: Dr. Venture, upon reviving Venturestein the second time, taking out his life’s “to-do list” and crossing off “Beat God at His own game.”
Granted, this entry is filled with spoilers, but I haven’t even tried to explain some of the funniest or most bizarre scenes, so feel free to check out the episode (as well as other episodes) for free on The Fix over at adultswim.com.
It’s worth it.
On other TV fronts, last week saw the season premiere of Smallville. Yawn. Very uninspired overall, and a much too rapid return to the status quo even for a show that tries to get back to the status quo as quickly as possible. The introduction of Jimmy Olsen was pointless and stupid. Hinting at his existence in a previous season was bad enough. I will say that the kid playing him is a good choice, though.
The episode seemed to lack focus; no one character, not even Clark, really dominated screen time, though if I had to say that one did it was, naturally, and irritatingly, Lana.
Of course, this episode did feature some pretty sweet scenes of Lana taking some serious physical abuse, including what may possibly be the greatest scene in the history of the show: a “Kryptoian Krucifiction,” which consisted of having her hand nailed to a wall with a blunt-tipped telescoping baton that was driven through by sheer brute strength by the evil Zod, who was in possession of a super-powered Lex.
I hate to say that I was entertained by the Lana abuse. Ordinarily I would not enjoy seeing a woman being abused like that, even if it is fake, but come on, this is Lana Lang we’re talking about. I think I get a pass on this one.
Other than that, the effects were lame – one scene looked like it was using leftover CGI from The Lawnmower Man – and the set-up we were left with for future episodes wasn’t exactly compelling.
The only non-Lana maiming-related scene that was worth anything was the little hint of a spark between Clark and Lois (who was criminally under-utilized in this episode, though I do appreciate the shot of her coming up soaking wet out of the water in a bikini that was added to Erica Durance’s name in the opening credits).
Last night found me watching the second episode of Heroes, which, I was reminded, shares an executive producer with Smallville, one Jeph Loeb, who has also had done some work writing Superman in the comics world.
So far I’m still undecided about the show. There are some interesting elements to it, but the pacing is pretty slow and we’re not getting answers to some of the questions that really kind of need to be answered. Sure, you can keep the overall mystery, but could you at least tell us what the hell Ali Larter’s power is, aside from being hot? My best guess is that she has some sort of duplicate who lives in a “mirror world” who can swap places with her, leaving her unconscious over on the other side while her duplicate takes care of what needs to be done.
One of the biggest problems, though, is that most of the characters just aren’t that interesting, or especially likeable, with the exception of the nerdy Japanese guy who can “bend time and space.” Not that impressed by the junkie artist who can paint the future, or the indestructible cheerleader. The Indian scientist who’s looking for the super-powered people in an effort to continue his murdered father’s work is okay. The shadowy “man in black” guy who’s after the scientist, and is the adoptive father of the indestructible cheerleader, doesn’t really cut it as a sinister figure, though the addition of a super-powered serial killer, who may be related to the looming holocaust the artist’s paintings and the Japanese guy’s inadvertent trip to the future say is coming, is an interesting twist.
And of course Ali Larter is hot, so that much at least makes her interesting.
I do give props to the creators for throwing out a reference to the Mary Marvel Marching Society, though. I imagine Loeb was behind that.
Anyway, that’s my spoiler-filled review of some the shows I’ve been watching lately. I don’t really intend to make this a regular feature, but it felt like the thing to do after already discussing a TV show.
Scott usually writes up little post-episodes summaries/reviews of the latest episode of The Venture Bros. over at his blog, but I’m guessing that he’s too involved in his trip to Disneyworld to do that this week, and as there are elements of the latest episode that need to be mentioned, and since I was already on the topic of TV shows in the last post, I’ll fill in for him this week.
I knew it was going to be a good one from the very moment the episode opened from the POV of one of the Monarch’s henchmen, who was a new recruit, as they launched an assault on the Venture compound.
For the first time ever we get to see the implacable Swedish murder machine that is Brock Samson from the viewpoint of one of those henchman unfortunate to cross his path.
Mostly we don’t see Brock, though, as our henchman upon seeing his compatriots falling at Brock’s feet quite sensibly turns around and runs for his life.
That doesn’t keep us from seeing Brock one last time, though, as with a quick twist of his hands our POV is rotated 180 degrees, with Brock’s face being the last thing we see as the world goes black around the edges.
But we do see something again, an indeterminate amount of time later as Dr. Venture hovers over us, hooting triumphantly.
We learn that Dr. Venture has brought the dead henchman back to life, with, predictably, horrific results. The resurrected henchman is, understandably, less than pleased and breaks free, wrapping his newly-stitched on hands around Dr. Venture’s throat, howling in incoherent rage, only to be killed by Brock once again.
Eventually, with a new, mismatched top of his head to replace the one Brock caved in with a fire extinguisher, Venturestein, as he has been dubbed, is resurrected once again.
After having been killed by him twice, Venturestein is understandably wary of Brock, who, as Hank puts it, is essentially “Venturestein’s fire,” or, to put it another way, “Brock bad!”
The unique experience of seeing one of his victims brought back to life – only to become his victim once again and be brought back to life again – engenders something of an existential crisis in Brock, who seeks guidance from necromancer and renter of the Venture compound garage, Dr. Orpheus.
In a vision quest Brock learns that he is a secret agent and an unrelenting killing machine, period. He has no business indulging in things like empathy or compassion or existential crises.
Crisis averted, Brock slaps Hank’s Batman mask onto Venturestein and the two head off in search of the one thing that V-stein remembers from his previous existence: prostitutes!
Concurrent with the story of Brock’s spiritual journey we learn that Dr. Venture has gotten a contract with the military to produce more Venturesteins, and the boys are off investigating lights in the old manufacturing wing, while Venturestein is being “socialized” in one of the boys’ “learning chambers,” learning all about the joys of enforced servitude.
The lights the boys are investigating are caused by what is possibly the most inspired aspect of the episode: a group of “mystery solvers” and their dog who travel in a van.
Of course, this being The Venture Bros., in an episode written by Ben Edlund, creator of The Tick, this is not your mom and dad’s Scooby and the gang.
Take the Scooby gang and add in elements of Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberatiion Army, the Son of Sam, and an unhealthy does of Christian fundamentalism, and you’ll have an idea of what we’re dealing with.
All I can say about it is holy freakin’ god. Some of the funniest stuff I’ve ever seen on The Venture Bros. or anywhere.
Arguably the best bit: Dr. Venture, upon reviving Venturestein the second time, taking out his life’s “to-do list” and crossing off “Beat God at His own game.”
Granted, this entry is filled with spoilers, but I haven’t even tried to explain some of the funniest or most bizarre scenes, so feel free to check out the episode (as well as other episodes) for free on The Fix over at adultswim.com.
It’s worth it.
On other TV fronts, last week saw the season premiere of Smallville. Yawn. Very uninspired overall, and a much too rapid return to the status quo even for a show that tries to get back to the status quo as quickly as possible. The introduction of Jimmy Olsen was pointless and stupid. Hinting at his existence in a previous season was bad enough. I will say that the kid playing him is a good choice, though.
The episode seemed to lack focus; no one character, not even Clark, really dominated screen time, though if I had to say that one did it was, naturally, and irritatingly, Lana.
Of course, this episode did feature some pretty sweet scenes of Lana taking some serious physical abuse, including what may possibly be the greatest scene in the history of the show: a “Kryptoian Krucifiction,” which consisted of having her hand nailed to a wall with a blunt-tipped telescoping baton that was driven through by sheer brute strength by the evil Zod, who was in possession of a super-powered Lex.
I hate to say that I was entertained by the Lana abuse. Ordinarily I would not enjoy seeing a woman being abused like that, even if it is fake, but come on, this is Lana Lang we’re talking about. I think I get a pass on this one.
Other than that, the effects were lame – one scene looked like it was using leftover CGI from The Lawnmower Man – and the set-up we were left with for future episodes wasn’t exactly compelling.
The only non-Lana maiming-related scene that was worth anything was the little hint of a spark between Clark and Lois (who was criminally under-utilized in this episode, though I do appreciate the shot of her coming up soaking wet out of the water in a bikini that was added to Erica Durance’s name in the opening credits).
Last night found me watching the second episode of Heroes, which, I was reminded, shares an executive producer with Smallville, one Jeph Loeb, who has also had done some work writing Superman in the comics world.
So far I’m still undecided about the show. There are some interesting elements to it, but the pacing is pretty slow and we’re not getting answers to some of the questions that really kind of need to be answered. Sure, you can keep the overall mystery, but could you at least tell us what the hell Ali Larter’s power is, aside from being hot? My best guess is that she has some sort of duplicate who lives in a “mirror world” who can swap places with her, leaving her unconscious over on the other side while her duplicate takes care of what needs to be done.
One of the biggest problems, though, is that most of the characters just aren’t that interesting, or especially likeable, with the exception of the nerdy Japanese guy who can “bend time and space.” Not that impressed by the junkie artist who can paint the future, or the indestructible cheerleader. The Indian scientist who’s looking for the super-powered people in an effort to continue his murdered father’s work is okay. The shadowy “man in black” guy who’s after the scientist, and is the adoptive father of the indestructible cheerleader, doesn’t really cut it as a sinister figure, though the addition of a super-powered serial killer, who may be related to the looming holocaust the artist’s paintings and the Japanese guy’s inadvertent trip to the future say is coming, is an interesting twist.
And of course Ali Larter is hot, so that much at least makes her interesting.
I do give props to the creators for throwing out a reference to the Mary Marvel Marching Society, though. I imagine Loeb was behind that.
Anyway, that’s my spoiler-filled review of some the shows I’ve been watching lately. I don’t really intend to make this a regular feature, but it felt like the thing to do after already discussing a TV show.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Wow. Just Wow.
This is beyond amazing.
The videow shows an autistic man who can accurately draw an entire city from memory after taking a single helicopter ride over it.
You can learn more about the artist, Stephen Wiltshire, and see some of his work here.
The videow shows an autistic man who can accurately draw an entire city from memory after taking a single helicopter ride over it.
You can learn more about the artist, Stephen Wiltshire, and see some of his work here.
Dexter's Crime Laboratory
I just downloaded the first episode of the new Showtime series Dexter.
No, it’s not a show about a young mad scientist, but rather tells the story of a serial killer who preys on other serial killer.
The basic idea is that as a boy he suffered some sort of trauma (which isn’t explained and he purports not to remember) before being adopted by a cop and his wife.
While still young he began exhibiting all of the classic symptoms of a future killer, such as animal torture and killing, which his adoptive father recognized and tried to help him overcome.
Ultimately the father accepted the fact that Dexter was destined to be a killer and rather than trying in vain to put a stop to his homicidal tendencies he decided to help his son channel them for “good,” using the skills his father taught him to track down killers who have escaped prosecution and/or detection and to dispense justice. Brutal, remorseless justice.
In that way he gets to gratify his urges while providing a valuable service.
That’s the theory, anyway.
For his day job Dexter works for the police in forensics, with a specialty in blood spatter (Dexter, by the way, keeps a dab of blood from his victims between glass slides as a trophy), and tries to use his keen insights into serial killing to help advance the career of his adoptive sister who has gone into the family business and wants to move from working Vice to working Homicide.
The show started off being a little too derivative of most serial killer fiction, but became more original as the premise unfolded, and it’s genuinely interesting to watch someone who has no real understanding of human interaction fake his way through standard social settings, and do it really well.
It’s also an extremely creepy show, which is hardly surprising considering the subject matter. The creepiest scenes, however, involve Dexter investigating crime scenes and clearly becoming aroused as he admires the professionalism of the killer. At one crime scene he actually had to wipe away some drool.
Adding to the creepiness of the show is the fact that actress Jennifer Carpenter plays his sister. Carpenter was last seen in the titular role in the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose, and while she is sort of attractive in a gangly, big-headed way, I can’t look at her without thinking about how she made the simple act of counting to six one of the scariest fucking things I’ve ever seen in my life, and now that I’ve seen her today there’s like zero chance that I’ll get any damn sleep tonight.
Anyway, the show has potential, so I’ll probably check it out again.
This morning I realized that if I weren’t forcing myself to get out of bed I would probably still be lying there getting bed sores even as I write this; it’s just that comfortable.
I can tell you now that 5 am Thursday is going to suck.
After I did finally get up today I realized that I didn’t have to go anywhere today and that this is really my last chance to just totally waste the day, and so I was going to sit around and do even more nothing than usual.
I did have to make dinner, as I thawed out some chicken and needed to put it to use.
As I was just finishing with putting dinner going in the crock pot, Brian beeped me on the Nextel and put an end to my plans to totally waste the day.
He’d heard that there was some new hamburger stand in town and wanted to check it out, so I cleaned my contacts and put them in, took a shower, got dressed, and headed out to meet him.
Turns our that the place is called Hamburger Döner and sells “The Number One Fast Food in Germany,” an item called a “döner,” along with other foods served on flat bread, such as falafels.
I’ve never actually had a falafel before so I decided I’d give it a shot. Not bad, though the thing was huge. Way more than I could eat.
And from there I made my way home, watched Dexter, and now here we are.
I actually used to have a friend named Dexter. He was a VP at the college I used to work at. He stayed in an unused dorm room during the week, then traveled about 100 miles on weekends to spend time with his family. His family didn’t want to move because his son was in his senior year in high school and it didn’t seem fair to uproot him.
So, because he lacked anything better to do, most nights Dexter could be found at the same bar that I could be found in every night.
I would say that he had a pretty serious drinking problem, but he seemed to be at least slightly more functional than I was, though he also got canned from the college not too long after I did.
Hell of a nice guy though. One of my favorite things about him was that, as a VP, he was free to say things such as “That guy’s a fuckhead” about the VP that I worked for, which left me free to agree with him.
One of the more entertaining Dexter anecdotes actually involves his oldest son, who at the time was in the National Guard and was working on some joint initiative between the Guard and the DEA. He serviced Apache helicopters which were used in drug raids.
I remember Dexter relating a story to me about how the people his son worked with had recently stopped a huge shipment of weed that was on its way up to the UP from lower Michigan.
I was never a pothead, but most of my friends at that time – Dexter excepted – were major potheads, and I found this anecdote entertaining because for the week or so prior to him telling me about it I had been hearing complaints from all of my friends about how nobody seemed to have any weed. It was as if the supply had just gone, pun intended, up in smoke.
So that was funny for me. Not so much for the people jonesing for pot, though.
I just discovered that the guy playing Dexter on the new show is the gay brother from Six Feet Under. I very seldom watched the show, so I didn’t recognize him initially, though he did seem familiar.
One other thing I find troublesome about the show, by the way, is the fact that even though he’s a psychotic killer – the relative worth of his victims notwithstanding – Dexter actually has a girlfriend, portrayed by actress Julie Benz, who appeared as Darla on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and also made an appearance as herself in a very odd dream I had a while back. I don’t feel like looking up the entry I wrote about it so you’ll have to find it yourself.
That’s just the way it goes, though; harmless and only slightly creepy curmudgeons get no action while the serial killers get all the prime tail.
No, it’s not a show about a young mad scientist, but rather tells the story of a serial killer who preys on other serial killer.
The basic idea is that as a boy he suffered some sort of trauma (which isn’t explained and he purports not to remember) before being adopted by a cop and his wife.
While still young he began exhibiting all of the classic symptoms of a future killer, such as animal torture and killing, which his adoptive father recognized and tried to help him overcome.
Ultimately the father accepted the fact that Dexter was destined to be a killer and rather than trying in vain to put a stop to his homicidal tendencies he decided to help his son channel them for “good,” using the skills his father taught him to track down killers who have escaped prosecution and/or detection and to dispense justice. Brutal, remorseless justice.
In that way he gets to gratify his urges while providing a valuable service.
That’s the theory, anyway.
For his day job Dexter works for the police in forensics, with a specialty in blood spatter (Dexter, by the way, keeps a dab of blood from his victims between glass slides as a trophy), and tries to use his keen insights into serial killing to help advance the career of his adoptive sister who has gone into the family business and wants to move from working Vice to working Homicide.
The show started off being a little too derivative of most serial killer fiction, but became more original as the premise unfolded, and it’s genuinely interesting to watch someone who has no real understanding of human interaction fake his way through standard social settings, and do it really well.
It’s also an extremely creepy show, which is hardly surprising considering the subject matter. The creepiest scenes, however, involve Dexter investigating crime scenes and clearly becoming aroused as he admires the professionalism of the killer. At one crime scene he actually had to wipe away some drool.
Adding to the creepiness of the show is the fact that actress Jennifer Carpenter plays his sister. Carpenter was last seen in the titular role in the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose, and while she is sort of attractive in a gangly, big-headed way, I can’t look at her without thinking about how she made the simple act of counting to six one of the scariest fucking things I’ve ever seen in my life, and now that I’ve seen her today there’s like zero chance that I’ll get any damn sleep tonight.
Anyway, the show has potential, so I’ll probably check it out again.
This morning I realized that if I weren’t forcing myself to get out of bed I would probably still be lying there getting bed sores even as I write this; it’s just that comfortable.
I can tell you now that 5 am Thursday is going to suck.
After I did finally get up today I realized that I didn’t have to go anywhere today and that this is really my last chance to just totally waste the day, and so I was going to sit around and do even more nothing than usual.
I did have to make dinner, as I thawed out some chicken and needed to put it to use.
As I was just finishing with putting dinner going in the crock pot, Brian beeped me on the Nextel and put an end to my plans to totally waste the day.
He’d heard that there was some new hamburger stand in town and wanted to check it out, so I cleaned my contacts and put them in, took a shower, got dressed, and headed out to meet him.
Turns our that the place is called Hamburger Döner and sells “The Number One Fast Food in Germany,” an item called a “döner,” along with other foods served on flat bread, such as falafels.
I’ve never actually had a falafel before so I decided I’d give it a shot. Not bad, though the thing was huge. Way more than I could eat.
And from there I made my way home, watched Dexter, and now here we are.
I actually used to have a friend named Dexter. He was a VP at the college I used to work at. He stayed in an unused dorm room during the week, then traveled about 100 miles on weekends to spend time with his family. His family didn’t want to move because his son was in his senior year in high school and it didn’t seem fair to uproot him.
So, because he lacked anything better to do, most nights Dexter could be found at the same bar that I could be found in every night.
I would say that he had a pretty serious drinking problem, but he seemed to be at least slightly more functional than I was, though he also got canned from the college not too long after I did.
Hell of a nice guy though. One of my favorite things about him was that, as a VP, he was free to say things such as “That guy’s a fuckhead” about the VP that I worked for, which left me free to agree with him.
One of the more entertaining Dexter anecdotes actually involves his oldest son, who at the time was in the National Guard and was working on some joint initiative between the Guard and the DEA. He serviced Apache helicopters which were used in drug raids.
I remember Dexter relating a story to me about how the people his son worked with had recently stopped a huge shipment of weed that was on its way up to the UP from lower Michigan.
I was never a pothead, but most of my friends at that time – Dexter excepted – were major potheads, and I found this anecdote entertaining because for the week or so prior to him telling me about it I had been hearing complaints from all of my friends about how nobody seemed to have any weed. It was as if the supply had just gone, pun intended, up in smoke.
So that was funny for me. Not so much for the people jonesing for pot, though.
I just discovered that the guy playing Dexter on the new show is the gay brother from Six Feet Under. I very seldom watched the show, so I didn’t recognize him initially, though he did seem familiar.
One other thing I find troublesome about the show, by the way, is the fact that even though he’s a psychotic killer – the relative worth of his victims notwithstanding – Dexter actually has a girlfriend, portrayed by actress Julie Benz, who appeared as Darla on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and also made an appearance as herself in a very odd dream I had a while back. I don’t feel like looking up the entry I wrote about it so you’ll have to find it yourself.
That’s just the way it goes, though; harmless and only slightly creepy curmudgeons get no action while the serial killers get all the prime tail.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Lessons Learned...And Re-Learned
As I've been rapidly slouching towards middle age, in addition to getting grayer (after a longer-than usual period of not shaving, I discovered the other day that there's gray in my beard), I'm becoming increasingly forgetful.
Of course while that is troublesome, the more irritating problem is my willful forgetfulness, those moments when I find myself doing something that I know I shouldn't be doing, as it's something about which I learned my lesson years ago, and the end result of which is that I end up learning my lesson again.
Then again, if I keep doing the same things over and over again, can I really be said to have learned my lesson in the first place?
The point of this is that I know that drawing fishnet material is a pain in the ass. I know this from experience.
It's a particular pain in the ass if you're trying to draw it right, and while I may not ultimately do so very often, in general I at least start out wanting to do things right. I mean, I don't sit down to draw a picture thinking, "I'm going to do a half-assed job on this."
Again, whether or not I actually do isn't the issue.
Still, when I looked at this picture I found myself not thinking about the lessons I've learned about what a pain in the ass it can be to draw fishnet material and instead found myself thinking, "It probably won't be so bad this time around. I mean, it certainly won't lead me to scream obscenities at my monitor and want to throw my graphics pad stylus at the wall hard enough to embed it into the drywall."
I also thought that in the end it wouldn't look half-assed.
What's that they say about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?
*Sigh*
In any case, this is the end result of my many hours spent swearing at my computer and cursing my inability to learn:
There was much about this picture (of actress and Playboy model Lisa Boyle) that I liked and that made me think it was worth taking the fishnet challenge.
The main thing I liked was the unusual perspective and the effect that it has on focus, bringing her head and upper body into sharp focus while giving her lower body and the background a soft focus. I also liked the expression on her face and the fact that there seemed to be multi-colored lights shining on her body, giving a different tint to different sections.
Of course, those aspects that I liked were forgotten as soon as I started on the goddamn fishnet.
The other problem with this picture was that it was having the "one damned thing after another effect." For example, after I finished the fishnet - if not entirely to my satisfaction - her hair proved to be a pain in the ass. After I finished the hair it was the time spent trying (and failing) to get a chiseled effect with my signature, making it look as though it had been carved into the sidewalk.
*Sigh*
Overall I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out (I really like the face and how I caught the expression, and I think I pulled off the perspective pretty well), but it was a lot of painful, irritating work, and the fishnet will probably haunt my dreams.
Of course while that is troublesome, the more irritating problem is my willful forgetfulness, those moments when I find myself doing something that I know I shouldn't be doing, as it's something about which I learned my lesson years ago, and the end result of which is that I end up learning my lesson again.
Then again, if I keep doing the same things over and over again, can I really be said to have learned my lesson in the first place?
The point of this is that I know that drawing fishnet material is a pain in the ass. I know this from experience.
It's a particular pain in the ass if you're trying to draw it right, and while I may not ultimately do so very often, in general I at least start out wanting to do things right. I mean, I don't sit down to draw a picture thinking, "I'm going to do a half-assed job on this."
Again, whether or not I actually do isn't the issue.
Still, when I looked at this picture I found myself not thinking about the lessons I've learned about what a pain in the ass it can be to draw fishnet material and instead found myself thinking, "It probably won't be so bad this time around. I mean, it certainly won't lead me to scream obscenities at my monitor and want to throw my graphics pad stylus at the wall hard enough to embed it into the drywall."
I also thought that in the end it wouldn't look half-assed.
What's that they say about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?
*Sigh*
In any case, this is the end result of my many hours spent swearing at my computer and cursing my inability to learn:
There was much about this picture (of actress and Playboy model Lisa Boyle) that I liked and that made me think it was worth taking the fishnet challenge.
The main thing I liked was the unusual perspective and the effect that it has on focus, bringing her head and upper body into sharp focus while giving her lower body and the background a soft focus. I also liked the expression on her face and the fact that there seemed to be multi-colored lights shining on her body, giving a different tint to different sections.
Of course, those aspects that I liked were forgotten as soon as I started on the goddamn fishnet.
The other problem with this picture was that it was having the "one damned thing after another effect." For example, after I finished the fishnet - if not entirely to my satisfaction - her hair proved to be a pain in the ass. After I finished the hair it was the time spent trying (and failing) to get a chiseled effect with my signature, making it look as though it had been carved into the sidewalk.
*Sigh*
Overall I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out (I really like the face and how I caught the expression, and I think I pulled off the perspective pretty well), but it was a lot of painful, irritating work, and the fishnet will probably haunt my dreams.
Dressed For The Occasion
I realized a bit ago that, outside of work, I really don’t wear my clothes very much, or at least not for very long.
No, I’m not saying that I’m a nudist (an amusing anecdote about that is just ahead), but rather that I have my “around the house clothes” and my “outside clothes,” and that I tend to spend most of my time in the former.
That’s hardly surprising considering where I spend most of my time, but it was just one of those things that always there and then suddenly you notice it for the first time.
Anyway, take today as an example of the brevity with which I remain properly dressed.
After sitting around for a while and talking to my mother, I took a shower at around 11:30 or so, after which I got dressed in proper “outside clothes,” which is to say socks, jeans, and a T-shirt, and headed out the door. By this time it was about 11:50.
I went out into the world and did my thing (grocery shopping) and was home by around 12:30, at which point I put away my groceries and ate lunch.
I stayed dressed throughout this period because I was going to haul some garbage out after lunch, but after that was accomplished, off went the shoes and socks, the jeans were replaced with shorts, and I switched into a lighter, looser T-shirt.
At that point it was about 1:05.
So I wore my clothes for about an hour and fifteen minutes before switching to lounge wear, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was going to haul garbage outside it wouldn’t have even been an hour.
Given that I’m unlikely to go anywhere for the rest of the day, that’s all the wear my outside clothes are going to get.
What I wonder is that, considering that I wasn’t out exerting myself and getting sweaty, and, miraculously, I didn’t spill anything on myself in that hour and fifteen minutes, do my clothes really qualify as dirty?
Do I toss them in the hamper or just put them back in the drawer?
It seems kind of silly to add to the laundry pile unnecessarily, but on the other hand, I did wear them out and about.
Oh well.
As for the nudism thing, don’t worry; I’m not about to tell you anything that will cause you to have horrified imaginings.
The other day I was IMing with Kathleen and telling her about my new purchases, and, jokingly, citing them as evidence that I know how to party like a rock star.
She responded, “Not unless you vacuum naked or something.”
I said, “How do you know I don’t?”
She provide and extremely well-reasoned response, stating that, knowing me, if I were to vacuum naked I would undoubtedly, and inevitably, have some sort of comic mishap, which, despite the embarrassment, I would feel compelled to write about here, and, as she has not read any accounts of naked vacuuming-related misadventures, the logical conclusion is that I do not, in fact, vacuum naked.
You can’t fault her logic.
Also, imagining Jon in some sort of slapstick naked cleaning misadventure made for big laughs for both of us, and I’m sure it will do the same for the rest of you.
The fact of the matter is that such a scenario is just one of the many reasons why I spend as little time in the nude as possible, and I’m sure the universe appreciates it.
It Doesn’t Ad Up Department:
Every so often I see an ad on TV that’s actually pretty entertaining. It doesn’t make me any more inclined to buy the product/service advertised, but it at least amuses me.
The latest was some sort or insurance ad featuring a guy walking down a street on an extremely steep hill (apparently in San Francisco from the looks of it), then stumbling and falling, rolling downhill with an inexorable momentum, gathering debris and other people as he rolls in a snowball effect.
Here’s the actual commercial:
It’s pretty entertaining to watch, though it doesn’t make me want to buy insurance.
Of course, commercials that piss me off do tend to make me disinclined to purchase the products or services advertised.
In some cases, though, I wouldn’t be doing so anyway, such as with the godawful commercial for the NFL Network featuring football players singing and dancing about rebroadcasts of football games. Here’s a tip: if they could sing and dance, they probably wouldn’t be playing football. Jackasses.
I find it kind of interesting that Volkswagen has a new version of their “sudden impact” commercials which feature someone actually complaining about the commercials. Overall it gives off kind of a “screw you” vibe, as if to say “we will crash cars right in your fucking faces as much as we want and don’t care how much you bitch about it.”
Personally I don’t have much of an opinion about the ads either way. Sure, it was shocking the first time, but after that? Not so much.
The commercial that pisses me off the most, though, is one that, thankfully, I haven’t seen for a while.
Which commercial is it, you ask? The Special K commercial that features a bunch of women sitting at an outdoor café having breakfast and commenting on how good their friend, who’s approaching to join them, is looking. They all ask her what her secret is and she explains that she’s been eating breakfast and touting the benefits of Special K. Naturally they all jump on the Special K bandwagon because they want to be as thin as their friend.
The thing is, they already are as thin as their friend. Each and every one of them is exactly as tall and model-thin as the other, so there’s no earthly reason for them to go on a diet to try to look as good as their friend.
The other problem I have is that the women all have the kind of tall slender frames that can’t be obtained through diet and exercise. These women were born this way and are pretty much going to look this way no matter what they eat. Substituting two meals with Special K every day isn’t going to give you a body like these women have; you either have it or you don’t.
And why is it that none of these supposedly close friends has actually seen the chick at all in the time between when she was still a fat ass pig and now that she’s turned into a Molly Sims look-alike?
I’m actually nearly finished with that picture I started the other day and which has been pissing me off, so I suppose I should get back to work on it.
No, I’m not saying that I’m a nudist (an amusing anecdote about that is just ahead), but rather that I have my “around the house clothes” and my “outside clothes,” and that I tend to spend most of my time in the former.
That’s hardly surprising considering where I spend most of my time, but it was just one of those things that always there and then suddenly you notice it for the first time.
Anyway, take today as an example of the brevity with which I remain properly dressed.
After sitting around for a while and talking to my mother, I took a shower at around 11:30 or so, after which I got dressed in proper “outside clothes,” which is to say socks, jeans, and a T-shirt, and headed out the door. By this time it was about 11:50.
I went out into the world and did my thing (grocery shopping) and was home by around 12:30, at which point I put away my groceries and ate lunch.
I stayed dressed throughout this period because I was going to haul some garbage out after lunch, but after that was accomplished, off went the shoes and socks, the jeans were replaced with shorts, and I switched into a lighter, looser T-shirt.
At that point it was about 1:05.
So I wore my clothes for about an hour and fifteen minutes before switching to lounge wear, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was going to haul garbage outside it wouldn’t have even been an hour.
Given that I’m unlikely to go anywhere for the rest of the day, that’s all the wear my outside clothes are going to get.
What I wonder is that, considering that I wasn’t out exerting myself and getting sweaty, and, miraculously, I didn’t spill anything on myself in that hour and fifteen minutes, do my clothes really qualify as dirty?
Do I toss them in the hamper or just put them back in the drawer?
It seems kind of silly to add to the laundry pile unnecessarily, but on the other hand, I did wear them out and about.
Oh well.
As for the nudism thing, don’t worry; I’m not about to tell you anything that will cause you to have horrified imaginings.
The other day I was IMing with Kathleen and telling her about my new purchases, and, jokingly, citing them as evidence that I know how to party like a rock star.
She responded, “Not unless you vacuum naked or something.”
I said, “How do you know I don’t?”
She provide and extremely well-reasoned response, stating that, knowing me, if I were to vacuum naked I would undoubtedly, and inevitably, have some sort of comic mishap, which, despite the embarrassment, I would feel compelled to write about here, and, as she has not read any accounts of naked vacuuming-related misadventures, the logical conclusion is that I do not, in fact, vacuum naked.
You can’t fault her logic.
Also, imagining Jon in some sort of slapstick naked cleaning misadventure made for big laughs for both of us, and I’m sure it will do the same for the rest of you.
The fact of the matter is that such a scenario is just one of the many reasons why I spend as little time in the nude as possible, and I’m sure the universe appreciates it.
It Doesn’t Ad Up Department:
Every so often I see an ad on TV that’s actually pretty entertaining. It doesn’t make me any more inclined to buy the product/service advertised, but it at least amuses me.
The latest was some sort or insurance ad featuring a guy walking down a street on an extremely steep hill (apparently in San Francisco from the looks of it), then stumbling and falling, rolling downhill with an inexorable momentum, gathering debris and other people as he rolls in a snowball effect.
Here’s the actual commercial:
It’s pretty entertaining to watch, though it doesn’t make me want to buy insurance.
Of course, commercials that piss me off do tend to make me disinclined to purchase the products or services advertised.
In some cases, though, I wouldn’t be doing so anyway, such as with the godawful commercial for the NFL Network featuring football players singing and dancing about rebroadcasts of football games. Here’s a tip: if they could sing and dance, they probably wouldn’t be playing football. Jackasses.
I find it kind of interesting that Volkswagen has a new version of their “sudden impact” commercials which feature someone actually complaining about the commercials. Overall it gives off kind of a “screw you” vibe, as if to say “we will crash cars right in your fucking faces as much as we want and don’t care how much you bitch about it.”
Personally I don’t have much of an opinion about the ads either way. Sure, it was shocking the first time, but after that? Not so much.
The commercial that pisses me off the most, though, is one that, thankfully, I haven’t seen for a while.
Which commercial is it, you ask? The Special K commercial that features a bunch of women sitting at an outdoor café having breakfast and commenting on how good their friend, who’s approaching to join them, is looking. They all ask her what her secret is and she explains that she’s been eating breakfast and touting the benefits of Special K. Naturally they all jump on the Special K bandwagon because they want to be as thin as their friend.
The thing is, they already are as thin as their friend. Each and every one of them is exactly as tall and model-thin as the other, so there’s no earthly reason for them to go on a diet to try to look as good as their friend.
The other problem I have is that the women all have the kind of tall slender frames that can’t be obtained through diet and exercise. These women were born this way and are pretty much going to look this way no matter what they eat. Substituting two meals with Special K every day isn’t going to give you a body like these women have; you either have it or you don’t.
And why is it that none of these supposedly close friends has actually seen the chick at all in the time between when she was still a fat ass pig and now that she’s turned into a Molly Sims look-alike?
I’m actually nearly finished with that picture I started the other day and which has been pissing me off, so I suppose I should get back to work on it.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Thanks For Calling To Remind Me That I Suck
After spending more than the usual amount of time sitting around doing nothing this morning and into the early afternoon I finally got motivated enough to head out into the world to have lunch and to make a trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond.
I’ve been slowly chipping away at the whole organizational thing, and today’s effort involved picking up some sliding wire rack shelving dealies for my cabinets.
Once there I decided that, like most things there, the sliding wire rack shelving dealies they had were mostly too expensive, though I did pick up one for storing pot and pan lids. Finding a place for my lids has been the biggest headache, so it came in handy.
I also bought a door wedge to keep my bedroom door open, as it tends to slam shut if there’s a strong breeze when the window is open.
I figured the wedge would be at least slightly more visually appealing that the bunched up old pair of swim trunks that I had jammed under the door.
Once I got home and opened the package, I slid the wedge under the door.
All the way under the door.
It went right through without ever touching the bottom of the door.
After a period of trial and error, however, I found a point in which the gap between the door and the carpet was smaller than the wedge and was able to toss the trunks.
On my drive out to BB&B I found myself stuck behind slow-moving traffic and not feeling like engaging in the eternal and pointless struggle, I sighed, gritted my teeth, and resigned myself to it, as that seemed to be the way traffic was flowing.
However, after a few minutes of crawling along I noticed that there wasn’t really any traffic beyond the Audi in front of me. The nearest car ahead of it was way the hell down the road.
So I said, “Screw this,” hopped into the other lane, and left the Audi far behind me.
Eventually, even at its snail’s pace, the Audi caught back up to me at the next red light, though once the light turned green it again receded far into the distance.
I went merrily (for me) on my way, not giving the Audi another thought. In fact, there was another car on the road that had caught my attention.
I’m not much of a car person (Actually, the more accurate statement is that I’m not much of a “fill in the blank” person. Not a dog/cat/bird person, not a morning person, not a night person, etc. In fact, it’s probably easiest to just say I’m not a “person.”), but I do appreciate the look of certain cars, and among the cars I appreciate the look of are vintage Corvettes, such as the 1959 Vette I saw today.
Didn’t care for the color (a sort of teal), but it was very well-maintained.
In any case, as I was driving along and sparing the Vette a glance, I noticed that the Audi, which had been chugging along behind me at a grandmotherly pace, was gunning it over in the far lane and suddenly zipping in and out of traffic in a way that was actually pretty reckless.
I’m not sure what was up with the transformation. Maybe the drive was bipolar and the manic stage just kicked it.
On my way back home I was reminded of the fact that not matter how shitty traffic is there’s always someone who’s willing to go out of his way to make it shittier.
As I was in light at a red light I was delayed by some jackass who had gotten into a right turn only lane and realized that he didn’t want to turn and awkwardly tried to get back into the left lane, causing a slowdown when the light turned green as he straightened his car out and finally got the ass end out of the right lane.
A bit down the road as I turned into my exit’s lane he cut me off, then brought me to a halt right at the exit as once again he realized that he was in the wrong fucking lane and needed to try to get back into the other lane.
*Sigh*
The other day my phone rang and after the usual bafflement that the sound of my phone ringing when I know my mother isn’t calling me, I answered it to discover that it was “Sprint now together with Nextel” trying to “reward me” for being a “valued customer” by bothering me home to offer to sell me something. Gee, thanks Sprint now together with Nextel!
The girl powered through her script before I could cut her off, explaining that I was eligible to buy another phone at an extremely low cost so that I could share it with someone.
When she paused to take a breath I said, “I have absolutely no one that I would need to share a phone with.”
That put an end to her spiel, but it occurred to me that I should have continued on, saying something like, “And thank you very much for the reminder. I just love having people call me up at home to draw attention to the fact that I’m a lonely, loveless loser who not only has no one to share a phone with, but has no one to share anything with. Yeah, I need the phone calls because it’s not like I’m reminded of that fact by every movie, TV show, and fucking commercial that I see! So thanks, Sprint now together with Nextel, thanks a lot!”
Brian suggested a different tack, saying something along the lines of, “I don’t have anyone to share a phone with…unless maybe you might be interested,” and then going on from there.
Either way, it was a missed opportunity to mess with some anonymous schlub who’s stuck with a shitty job.
Speaking of jobs, shitty or otherwise, and in this case “otherwise,” I’m officially off of my actual vacation time and back onto my regular time off, with Thursday’s return to work fast-approaching.
It’s going to be a boring weekend, as this time around Scott is off, though unlike some people he actually has plans for his vacation (trip to Disneyworld with the wife and kids).
He’s off the following weekend as well, so it’ll have been like a month since we last saw each other by the time we’re both back on the desk.
(Assuming we ever are: layoffs still loom on the horizon)
I still have three weeks’ of vacation remaining and I have to used at least two or them or else lose them, as I can only roll over one week to next year.
Not sure when or how I’m going to use them. I might just take a day here and there. Like take every Thursday off or something.
We’ll see, I guess.
In any case, any time I do take off is likely to be put to even less exciting use than this time off, as I’m unlikely to do anything like buy a bed or a vacuum the way I did during this non-stop thrill ride of a vacation.
*Sigh*
I’ve been slowly chipping away at the whole organizational thing, and today’s effort involved picking up some sliding wire rack shelving dealies for my cabinets.
Once there I decided that, like most things there, the sliding wire rack shelving dealies they had were mostly too expensive, though I did pick up one for storing pot and pan lids. Finding a place for my lids has been the biggest headache, so it came in handy.
I also bought a door wedge to keep my bedroom door open, as it tends to slam shut if there’s a strong breeze when the window is open.
I figured the wedge would be at least slightly more visually appealing that the bunched up old pair of swim trunks that I had jammed under the door.
Once I got home and opened the package, I slid the wedge under the door.
All the way under the door.
It went right through without ever touching the bottom of the door.
After a period of trial and error, however, I found a point in which the gap between the door and the carpet was smaller than the wedge and was able to toss the trunks.
On my drive out to BB&B I found myself stuck behind slow-moving traffic and not feeling like engaging in the eternal and pointless struggle, I sighed, gritted my teeth, and resigned myself to it, as that seemed to be the way traffic was flowing.
However, after a few minutes of crawling along I noticed that there wasn’t really any traffic beyond the Audi in front of me. The nearest car ahead of it was way the hell down the road.
So I said, “Screw this,” hopped into the other lane, and left the Audi far behind me.
Eventually, even at its snail’s pace, the Audi caught back up to me at the next red light, though once the light turned green it again receded far into the distance.
I went merrily (for me) on my way, not giving the Audi another thought. In fact, there was another car on the road that had caught my attention.
I’m not much of a car person (Actually, the more accurate statement is that I’m not much of a “fill in the blank” person. Not a dog/cat/bird person, not a morning person, not a night person, etc. In fact, it’s probably easiest to just say I’m not a “person.”), but I do appreciate the look of certain cars, and among the cars I appreciate the look of are vintage Corvettes, such as the 1959 Vette I saw today.
Didn’t care for the color (a sort of teal), but it was very well-maintained.
In any case, as I was driving along and sparing the Vette a glance, I noticed that the Audi, which had been chugging along behind me at a grandmotherly pace, was gunning it over in the far lane and suddenly zipping in and out of traffic in a way that was actually pretty reckless.
I’m not sure what was up with the transformation. Maybe the drive was bipolar and the manic stage just kicked it.
On my way back home I was reminded of the fact that not matter how shitty traffic is there’s always someone who’s willing to go out of his way to make it shittier.
As I was in light at a red light I was delayed by some jackass who had gotten into a right turn only lane and realized that he didn’t want to turn and awkwardly tried to get back into the left lane, causing a slowdown when the light turned green as he straightened his car out and finally got the ass end out of the right lane.
A bit down the road as I turned into my exit’s lane he cut me off, then brought me to a halt right at the exit as once again he realized that he was in the wrong fucking lane and needed to try to get back into the other lane.
*Sigh*
The other day my phone rang and after the usual bafflement that the sound of my phone ringing when I know my mother isn’t calling me, I answered it to discover that it was “Sprint now together with Nextel” trying to “reward me” for being a “valued customer” by bothering me home to offer to sell me something. Gee, thanks Sprint now together with Nextel!
The girl powered through her script before I could cut her off, explaining that I was eligible to buy another phone at an extremely low cost so that I could share it with someone.
When she paused to take a breath I said, “I have absolutely no one that I would need to share a phone with.”
That put an end to her spiel, but it occurred to me that I should have continued on, saying something like, “And thank you very much for the reminder. I just love having people call me up at home to draw attention to the fact that I’m a lonely, loveless loser who not only has no one to share a phone with, but has no one to share anything with. Yeah, I need the phone calls because it’s not like I’m reminded of that fact by every movie, TV show, and fucking commercial that I see! So thanks, Sprint now together with Nextel, thanks a lot!”
Brian suggested a different tack, saying something along the lines of, “I don’t have anyone to share a phone with…unless maybe you might be interested,” and then going on from there.
Either way, it was a missed opportunity to mess with some anonymous schlub who’s stuck with a shitty job.
Speaking of jobs, shitty or otherwise, and in this case “otherwise,” I’m officially off of my actual vacation time and back onto my regular time off, with Thursday’s return to work fast-approaching.
It’s going to be a boring weekend, as this time around Scott is off, though unlike some people he actually has plans for his vacation (trip to Disneyworld with the wife and kids).
He’s off the following weekend as well, so it’ll have been like a month since we last saw each other by the time we’re both back on the desk.
(Assuming we ever are: layoffs still loom on the horizon)
I still have three weeks’ of vacation remaining and I have to used at least two or them or else lose them, as I can only roll over one week to next year.
Not sure when or how I’m going to use them. I might just take a day here and there. Like take every Thursday off or something.
We’ll see, I guess.
In any case, any time I do take off is likely to be put to even less exciting use than this time off, as I’m unlikely to do anything like buy a bed or a vacuum the way I did during this non-stop thrill ride of a vacation.
*Sigh*
Uhh...?
Kevin passed along this link from The Files of the WTF Department:
My biggest problem with this video is that I don't get closure on the story. How does it all end? Will there be a sequel? Or prequels that help explain what was up with what that robber was wearing?
My biggest problem with this video is that I don't get closure on the story. How does it all end? Will there be a sequel? Or prequels that help explain what was up with what that robber was wearing?
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