So I just got back a bit ago from my birthday dinner with Scott and Stacy.
We went to The Melting Pot, a place I’ve heard them talk about for pretty much as long as I’ve known them.
For the uninitiated, such as I had been, eating there is a rather involved affair.
First of all, you have an appetizer course, during which you dip bread and vegetables into a fondue pot full of cheeses of your choosing. You then have a salad course. Next up is the entrée during which you are brought pieces of various kinds of uncooked meat and seafood which cook yourself in a fondue pot full of a broth of your choosing.
Finally, you have your desert course during which you dip fruits and pound cake and assorted other things into, you guessed it, a fondue pot full of melted chocolate.
The whole process takes a while – we were there for almost two and a half hours – and you end up eating a lot of food.
It’s pretty damned pricy, though, so I’m glad I wasn’t paying for it.
In addition to the meal they bought me a little gift basket that came with a balloon, some coupons, and two kinds of chocolate ideal for melting and dipping (and, Scott assures me, just plain eating).
While it was good, I don’t imagine it’s a place I’ll go to very often, if ever, as it’s too much of an investment of time and money, and, like most of the world, it’s not really designed for a single person.
I imagine that it would be a good place to go on…one of those…things. A dart? A duck? A debutante?
You know, those things that I’ve heard about where people go out to eat or to see a movie when they either are having or are at least possibly considering having sex with each other. A whatchmacallit.
Those things that pretty much account for Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock actually having careers.
It’s like the fruit, or the days on a calendar.
A date. Yeah, that’s it.
I seem to vaguely recall having gone on those sometime in the dimly-remembered past, and it seems to me that this place would be good for one of them because you would get a lot of time to sit and talk, and given the ungodly cost of it all you could impress a chick with your seeming affluence.
So yeah, clearly there’s not going to be any good reason for me to go there again anytime soon.
Beyond dinner, Scott bought me a copy of that comic book database software I mentioned here before…mentioned with the intention of getting Scott to buy it for me for my birthday.
He was worried that I might end up buying it for myself and was glad that I hadn’t, but there was no danger of that happening, as I was waiting until after my birthday to give him the chance to buy it for me.
If he were a trained seal, I would have tossed him a nice fish when he gave it to me.
Good job Scott!
(And thanks.)
On my way out of the parking lot I was treated to a nice sight: short skirt, sexy boots, great legs. As I was making the turn, my headlights were at the perfect level to bring them into focus. Didn’t get a chance to see the face, but they were the kind of legs that authors of noir detective books come up with all kinds of colorful metaphors to describe, and that probably ought to be insured by Lloyd’s of London, the kind of legs that, if life were a Tex Avery cartoon, would have made me transform into a wolf and howl while my eyes bugged out and made an A-OOGAH!!! sound.
So yeah. Great legs.
I was out of milk, but didn’t want to stop at an actual store to pick any up, so since I was in that neighborhood I went to the convenience store that I frequent on workdays before heading home.
And that was my night, and that brings my birthday saga fully to a close.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Springtime For Hitler?
The humor drops off quickly after the initial shock, but that first laugh is a doozy.
Time Isn't On Anyone's Side
One of the other irritating things about eating at Fridays yesterday was that the whole time I was there 80s music was playing. Early 80s music.
It was as if the Universe was saying over and over again, “Yes, this is exactly how old you are. That young couple with the kid in the booth next to you? Probably weren’t even born yet when this song came out.”
Later on in the evening while flipping through the channels I landed on an episode of Sex in the City, and, momentarily distracted by the cuteness of Kristin Davis, the only attractive member of the cast, I wasn’t able to change the channel before Horseface McGinty (Sarah Jessica Parker) started loudly lamenting the fact that she was 35.
That was greeted with a “Screw you, Mr. Ed,” and a quick channel change.
(For the record, there was a brief window during which SJP was kind of attractive. I’d say she peaked somewhere around LA Story, and even at her best she was only ever okay. Still, the horse face comments are kind of cruel and unnecessary – which is why they’re so funny.)
Anyway, that got me to thinking something about birthdays: they shouldn’t be permanent.
I mean, they should only last as long as the day itself. You know, it’s 35 years to the day since you were born, so you’re 35 – for the day. After the day is over you go back to being 24 or whatever.
I mean, why do I have to get older. Deep down inside, I really don’t feel any different than I did when I was like 13. That seemed to be the age when all of the basic elements that make up Jon came together, and not much has really changed since then in that essential core. Sure, I’ve had a lot of experiences and learned a few things since then, but that core has remained essentially unchanged.
(And yes, that does mean that I was kind of a cranky old curmudgeon even as a kid.)
So why does the rest of me have to get older? The thought that I am 35 years old is absolutely ridiculous. I still read comic books and spend all of my time thinking about girls, for Christ’s sake.
And speaking of comic books, why can’t time work like that?
In the Marvel Universe time operates on this sort of sliding scale so that no matter what happens it’s never more than 15 years since the creation of the Fantastic Four. Everything just stays in its same place and the creation of the FF moves from 1962 to 1992 and everyone just moves with it.
I often cite Kitty Pryde as the perfect example of how time in the MU works.
In 1979 when Kitty was introduced she was 13 and a half years old. I was 7.
Kitty is now 21 while I’m 35.
(In Kitty’s case, time did move a little oddly, though. It took nearly 10 years for her to age a year and a half, but in the next decade she managed to age about 6 years, and she is now static once more.)
On the DC side of things, time is a little trickier and often has to be totally restarted to account for things, but in general, if you’re a major character, you can look forward to having your 20s last for decades.
Then, of course, there’s The Simpsons where Bart has been 10 for almost 20 years.
*Sigh* Stupid real life.
On the non-gerontological front, I took advantage of my day off to pretend like it matters what this place looks like even though I never have company and gave it a thorough cleaning.
After that I IMed with Scott for a bit.
He advised me to bring an appetite with me to tonight’s birthday dinner.
That much I can manage. It was fortunate that he didn’t ask me to bring a sparkling wit or debonair charm, because those I would have had a little more trouble with.
It was as if the Universe was saying over and over again, “Yes, this is exactly how old you are. That young couple with the kid in the booth next to you? Probably weren’t even born yet when this song came out.”
Later on in the evening while flipping through the channels I landed on an episode of Sex in the City, and, momentarily distracted by the cuteness of Kristin Davis, the only attractive member of the cast, I wasn’t able to change the channel before Horseface McGinty (Sarah Jessica Parker) started loudly lamenting the fact that she was 35.
That was greeted with a “Screw you, Mr. Ed,” and a quick channel change.
(For the record, there was a brief window during which SJP was kind of attractive. I’d say she peaked somewhere around LA Story, and even at her best she was only ever okay. Still, the horse face comments are kind of cruel and unnecessary – which is why they’re so funny.)
Anyway, that got me to thinking something about birthdays: they shouldn’t be permanent.
I mean, they should only last as long as the day itself. You know, it’s 35 years to the day since you were born, so you’re 35 – for the day. After the day is over you go back to being 24 or whatever.
I mean, why do I have to get older. Deep down inside, I really don’t feel any different than I did when I was like 13. That seemed to be the age when all of the basic elements that make up Jon came together, and not much has really changed since then in that essential core. Sure, I’ve had a lot of experiences and learned a few things since then, but that core has remained essentially unchanged.
(And yes, that does mean that I was kind of a cranky old curmudgeon even as a kid.)
So why does the rest of me have to get older? The thought that I am 35 years old is absolutely ridiculous. I still read comic books and spend all of my time thinking about girls, for Christ’s sake.
And speaking of comic books, why can’t time work like that?
In the Marvel Universe time operates on this sort of sliding scale so that no matter what happens it’s never more than 15 years since the creation of the Fantastic Four. Everything just stays in its same place and the creation of the FF moves from 1962 to 1992 and everyone just moves with it.
I often cite Kitty Pryde as the perfect example of how time in the MU works.
In 1979 when Kitty was introduced she was 13 and a half years old. I was 7.
Kitty is now 21 while I’m 35.
(In Kitty’s case, time did move a little oddly, though. It took nearly 10 years for her to age a year and a half, but in the next decade she managed to age about 6 years, and she is now static once more.)
On the DC side of things, time is a little trickier and often has to be totally restarted to account for things, but in general, if you’re a major character, you can look forward to having your 20s last for decades.
Then, of course, there’s The Simpsons where Bart has been 10 for almost 20 years.
*Sigh* Stupid real life.
On the non-gerontological front, I took advantage of my day off to pretend like it matters what this place looks like even though I never have company and gave it a thorough cleaning.
After that I IMed with Scott for a bit.
He advised me to bring an appetite with me to tonight’s birthday dinner.
That much I can manage. It was fortunate that he didn’t ask me to bring a sparkling wit or debonair charm, because those I would have had a little more trouble with.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Birthday Excitement Winding To A Close
So after returning home and IMing with Scott and Brian for a bit, I decided to head out and get a late lunch/early dinner.
I went to the nearby Fridays, as I’ve been wanting to try those fried green beans (they were pretty good), and there was some small, retarded part of me that was thinking that maybe – just maybe – I would get a cute waitress who would flirt with me and take pity on me because I was alone on my birthday.
I knew better, of course, because I never get a cute waitress, or even an uncute waitress. I always get a guy.
Still, hope springs etc., so I went inside and tried to make a funny comment to the very cute (and very underage) hostess, but it was a misfire.
(She said, “Smoking preference?” I said, “Non-smoking.” I then added, “Of course, my actual preference would be to still smoke, but since I did quit I might as well stick with it.” Blank look and then, “So…non-smoking?” I sighed and said, “Yes, non-smoking.”)
After that she brought me to the most hidden and out of the way booth so that the other customers wouldn’t have to see the lonely pathetic guy (Birthday Bonus: There was a couple with a screaming toddler in the booth next to me.).
I sat down and waited for the inevitable greasy teenage dork waiter that I knew I would get, but was surprised instead by a balding hipster.
See? This time it was different.
Oh, wait, it was still a guy, so it really wasn’t all that different.
He kept calling me “man,” but had some sort of speech issues, so it almost sounded like he was saying “ma’am.”
In any case, I ordered the green beans, which, as mentioned, were pretty good, and a chicken Caesar salad that wasn’t so good (it was grilled chicken and the chicken was a little too charred).
I thought about ordering some kind of desert, but the couple had set their toddler to toddling, and he had toddled right over by me and proceeded to let out random brain-piercingly loud animalistic bleats of some kind, so that killed that idea.
I mean it literally killed it. The sound stabbing into my brain skewered the idea right through the hear and it bled out right there in my brain pan. And with a wife and three kids at home. Poor idea, never hurt anyone in its life.
So that was fun. In fact, it was so much fun that I rushed home, locked the door and decided that I’m never ever dining out alone again.
(Until the next time.)
Oh yeah, the moving thing.
So sometime shortly after I bought my condo, because that’s how the Universe works, the developer stopped all work on converting the apartments over to condos, began extending renters’ leases, and eventually stopped even trying to sell any more units and went back to strictly renting and tried to sell the whole shooting match to some other developer – as an apartment complex, not as condos.
Obviously this was not a good thing, particularly considering that out of 318 units they only managed to sell 58.
So we owners decided to do something about it and selected a representative to talk to the developer. The result, as I found out today, is that they’ve offered to buy all 58 units back at the original purchase price.
It would be nice if we could get them to pay more, but to do so would most likely mean involving a lawyer and suing and who knows how long that would take.
So far it seems that everyone realizes this, and we will most likely accept the offer.
That means moving (unless I wanted to stay here and rent my place, which I don’t).
I don’t want to go back to renting – though conceivably I could actually get my old apartment back because they did the whole apartments to condos and back to apartments thing as well, and given that eventually my job is moving from Reston to Dulles (and hopefully not to India), that would put me much closer to work – so I’m going to have to go house-hunting again.
Fortunately this time around I’ll be armed with much better credit, a higher income, and money in the bank, so I should be able to find something bigger and better.
I’d like to get a small townhome – the higher cost would be offset by the lower cost of HOA fees compared to condo fees – but at the very least if I go into another condo I’ll be sure to go into an established development.
The other thing I’ll be doing? Hiring movers, because I am never carrying that goddamn couch up any stairs ever again.
Anyway, a bit ago my sister Kim called to wish me a happy birthday, and we chatted for a while.
I didn’t get – or expect – any cards in the mail, though I did get some back issue comics that I’d ordered from Mile High Comics. Still waiting on my bags and boards to get shipped.
And that’s been my Big! Exciting! 35th Birthday Extravaganza Extraordinaire!
Join us next year for the rebroadcast.
I went to the nearby Fridays, as I’ve been wanting to try those fried green beans (they were pretty good), and there was some small, retarded part of me that was thinking that maybe – just maybe – I would get a cute waitress who would flirt with me and take pity on me because I was alone on my birthday.
I knew better, of course, because I never get a cute waitress, or even an uncute waitress. I always get a guy.
Still, hope springs etc., so I went inside and tried to make a funny comment to the very cute (and very underage) hostess, but it was a misfire.
(She said, “Smoking preference?” I said, “Non-smoking.” I then added, “Of course, my actual preference would be to still smoke, but since I did quit I might as well stick with it.” Blank look and then, “So…non-smoking?” I sighed and said, “Yes, non-smoking.”)
After that she brought me to the most hidden and out of the way booth so that the other customers wouldn’t have to see the lonely pathetic guy (Birthday Bonus: There was a couple with a screaming toddler in the booth next to me.).
I sat down and waited for the inevitable greasy teenage dork waiter that I knew I would get, but was surprised instead by a balding hipster.
See? This time it was different.
Oh, wait, it was still a guy, so it really wasn’t all that different.
He kept calling me “man,” but had some sort of speech issues, so it almost sounded like he was saying “ma’am.”
In any case, I ordered the green beans, which, as mentioned, were pretty good, and a chicken Caesar salad that wasn’t so good (it was grilled chicken and the chicken was a little too charred).
I thought about ordering some kind of desert, but the couple had set their toddler to toddling, and he had toddled right over by me and proceeded to let out random brain-piercingly loud animalistic bleats of some kind, so that killed that idea.
I mean it literally killed it. The sound stabbing into my brain skewered the idea right through the hear and it bled out right there in my brain pan. And with a wife and three kids at home. Poor idea, never hurt anyone in its life.
So that was fun. In fact, it was so much fun that I rushed home, locked the door and decided that I’m never ever dining out alone again.
(Until the next time.)
Oh yeah, the moving thing.
So sometime shortly after I bought my condo, because that’s how the Universe works, the developer stopped all work on converting the apartments over to condos, began extending renters’ leases, and eventually stopped even trying to sell any more units and went back to strictly renting and tried to sell the whole shooting match to some other developer – as an apartment complex, not as condos.
Obviously this was not a good thing, particularly considering that out of 318 units they only managed to sell 58.
So we owners decided to do something about it and selected a representative to talk to the developer. The result, as I found out today, is that they’ve offered to buy all 58 units back at the original purchase price.
It would be nice if we could get them to pay more, but to do so would most likely mean involving a lawyer and suing and who knows how long that would take.
So far it seems that everyone realizes this, and we will most likely accept the offer.
That means moving (unless I wanted to stay here and rent my place, which I don’t).
I don’t want to go back to renting – though conceivably I could actually get my old apartment back because they did the whole apartments to condos and back to apartments thing as well, and given that eventually my job is moving from Reston to Dulles (and hopefully not to India), that would put me much closer to work – so I’m going to have to go house-hunting again.
Fortunately this time around I’ll be armed with much better credit, a higher income, and money in the bank, so I should be able to find something bigger and better.
I’d like to get a small townhome – the higher cost would be offset by the lower cost of HOA fees compared to condo fees – but at the very least if I go into another condo I’ll be sure to go into an established development.
The other thing I’ll be doing? Hiring movers, because I am never carrying that goddamn couch up any stairs ever again.
Anyway, a bit ago my sister Kim called to wish me a happy birthday, and we chatted for a while.
I didn’t get – or expect – any cards in the mail, though I did get some back issue comics that I’d ordered from Mile High Comics. Still waiting on my bags and boards to get shipped.
And that’s been my Big! Exciting! 35th Birthday Extravaganza Extraordinaire!
Join us next year for the rebroadcast.
Happy Birthday, Jack!
First and foremost, happy birthday to the one and only Jack T. Chick, creator of those ubiquitous pieces of evangelical Christian fire and brimstone sermons condensed into sequential art, the world famous Chick Tract.
A Chick Tract is like an old-fashioned tent revival that you can carry in your pocket and pass on to some disgusting hobo or misguided liberal and set him on the path to righteousness.
Jack is 83 years young today and has been spreading intolerance and bigotry in the guise of “old-fashioned values” via his tracts for more than 40 years.
So here’s hoping you have a good one, Jack, and I hope that as you blow out the candles on your cake you’ll remember that there’s no amount of wishing or a breeze strong enough that can but out the flames of the Lake of Fire where Catholics, Mormons, Masons, Wiccans, Homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, fans of Harry Potter, D&D enthusiast, rock musicians, and just about everyone who doesn’t adhere to your narrow, retarded view of how life should be lived will be spending their respective eternities.
After all, isn’t that vision the best birthday present of all?
Short of the Rapture, I mean.
Oh, and Jack? You say it’s your birthday? It’s my birthday, too!
Yes, that’s right, today, as most of you know, is my birthday.
What? No, you flatter me! I’m not 20, I’m 35, though I could see how you could easily make the mistake.
…
Okay, screw you; my hair started going gray when I was 21, all right?
So far to celebrate the anniversary of my birth I’ve had breakfast with Kathleen (still trying to figure out if the 20 minutes I spent in the parking lot waiting for her to arrive were meant to be my present), talking to my mother, and taking in a matinee of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters.
Apparently school is out today, because, you know, why wouldn’t it be, so I had a bunch of noisy teens to keep me company. Fortunately they weren’t too disruptive.
Not that it mattered because it’s not like the movie had any sort of plot to follow. I mean, it was Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Who expects a plot?
Still, the opening “homage” to the whole “Let’s go out to the lobby” thing was easily worth the price of admission.
From there I headed towards home trying to decide whether I wanted to stop somewhere for lunch or just go home. I picked the latter, and the Universe decide to make up for yesterday’s largesse with the green arrow by trapping me behind a dump truck for much of the drive. And not just any dump truck, a dump truck that was behind a cement truck.
It is my birthday, after all, so just an ordinary old dump truck would never do.
Thanks, Universe!
In any case, there are some things I should attend to, but I thought I’d just extend my birthday wishes to Jack, and let you know that so far I’ve spent the first day of my 35th year having a platonic breakfast with someone else’s wife and watching a cartoon with a bunch of teenagers.
Oh, and finding out that I’m probably going to be moving, but I’ll talk more about that later.
A Chick Tract is like an old-fashioned tent revival that you can carry in your pocket and pass on to some disgusting hobo or misguided liberal and set him on the path to righteousness.
Jack is 83 years young today and has been spreading intolerance and bigotry in the guise of “old-fashioned values” via his tracts for more than 40 years.
So here’s hoping you have a good one, Jack, and I hope that as you blow out the candles on your cake you’ll remember that there’s no amount of wishing or a breeze strong enough that can but out the flames of the Lake of Fire where Catholics, Mormons, Masons, Wiccans, Homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, fans of Harry Potter, D&D enthusiast, rock musicians, and just about everyone who doesn’t adhere to your narrow, retarded view of how life should be lived will be spending their respective eternities.
After all, isn’t that vision the best birthday present of all?
Short of the Rapture, I mean.
Oh, and Jack? You say it’s your birthday? It’s my birthday, too!
Yes, that’s right, today, as most of you know, is my birthday.
What? No, you flatter me! I’m not 20, I’m 35, though I could see how you could easily make the mistake.
…
Okay, screw you; my hair started going gray when I was 21, all right?
So far to celebrate the anniversary of my birth I’ve had breakfast with Kathleen (still trying to figure out if the 20 minutes I spent in the parking lot waiting for her to arrive were meant to be my present), talking to my mother, and taking in a matinee of Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters.
Apparently school is out today, because, you know, why wouldn’t it be, so I had a bunch of noisy teens to keep me company. Fortunately they weren’t too disruptive.
Not that it mattered because it’s not like the movie had any sort of plot to follow. I mean, it was Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Who expects a plot?
Still, the opening “homage” to the whole “Let’s go out to the lobby” thing was easily worth the price of admission.
From there I headed towards home trying to decide whether I wanted to stop somewhere for lunch or just go home. I picked the latter, and the Universe decide to make up for yesterday’s largesse with the green arrow by trapping me behind a dump truck for much of the drive. And not just any dump truck, a dump truck that was behind a cement truck.
It is my birthday, after all, so just an ordinary old dump truck would never do.
Thanks, Universe!
In any case, there are some things I should attend to, but I thought I’d just extend my birthday wishes to Jack, and let you know that so far I’ve spent the first day of my 35th year having a platonic breakfast with someone else’s wife and watching a cartoon with a bunch of teenagers.
Oh, and finding out that I’m probably going to be moving, but I’ll talk more about that later.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Umm...No I Can't
When I saw this I couldn't help but be reminded of that joke about the guy who asks the doctor, in reference to his recovery from an illness/injury, "Will I be able to play the piano?"
The doctor says, "Of course!"
The man responds, "Well I couldn't before."
The doctor says, "Of course!"
The man responds, "Well I couldn't before."
The Adventures Of Jon And The Very Long Day
So I put in my one day of work today.
And what a day.
First off, Scott was out because he’s taking a Perl training class this week. He’d thought it was only Tuesday and Wednesday, so he was surprised on Tuesday when he found out that it was Tuesday-Friday.
(The Tuesday-Wednesday class is next week, and he and I are taking it together. It’s an intro to Flash.)
Simon showed up – and as close to on-time as seems to be possible for him – but he brought with him a case of Pink Eye, which, in an environment of shared resources (keyboards, phones, stripper poles, etc.) is not a welcome guest, so our boss sent him home.
That would have left just me to man every station, but fortunately we have a system that automatically e-mails people to let them know about OT slots when someone is going to be off (assuming the manager enters it into the calendar correctly, which our boss did), to which someone had responded, so I had some help.
He’ll also be in tomorrow, which is good, because if Simon is still out that means that no one from our shift will actually be there.
Of course, I’m letting the fact that this isn’t my problem be one of my birthday presents and am not worrying about it.
(As an aside, Brian called to ask if Scott is going to be in tomorrow. I said no, and as it dawned on him that he might very well be the one who has to help fill in for us, he said a lot of swear words that I won’t repeat, although I will say that one of them rhymed with gun of a witch and sounded exactly like son of a bitch.)
Even so, it proved to be an irritating day full of minor annoyances and various weird shit that made things even more annoying.
And it was long.
It didn’t help matters any that I didn’t get to eat lunch until almost 2.
Still, once it was over I drove out of there like a bat out of hell, and when I got to the last major intersection I got an early birthday present from the Universe in the form of actually hitting it when the arrow was green. In over a year of taking that route home that’s only happened one other time. Pretty much every other time I get there just after the arrow turned off and have to sit through a full cycle of those long-ass lights.
And then I was home where I eventually settled in to watch – and laugh at – new episodes of My Name is Earl and The Office.
Kathleen called (immediately after which Brian called to have the aforementioned conversation) to plan for a “birthday breakfast” tomorrow, as it would be too much of a hassle for her to go to work, come back to Leesburg for lunch, and then drive back to work.
So as a birthday present I get to wake up early on my day off! Hooray!
Honestly, though, it will be nice to see Kathleen, as I haven’t since back in December when she burst in to my place in a flurry of activity, leaving behind a living thing (the fish) in her wake.
On Saturday Scott and Stacy are taking me out for dinner because, as Stacy said, I’m a “good guy.” When I grunted, she said, “Well, we like you,” to which I responded, “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
Stacy had IMed me at work today to apologize for not de-hairing the couch on Sunday. I told her that it wasn’t a big deal, but she insisted it was, so I told her that I forgave her.
Joke’s on her; I didn’t forgive shit!
(Mostly because I didn’t feel there was anything to be forgiven, to paraphrase Andy – I mean Drew – from tonight’s Office.)
Anyway, now I’m here writing this.
And you’re there, reading it.
And what a day.
First off, Scott was out because he’s taking a Perl training class this week. He’d thought it was only Tuesday and Wednesday, so he was surprised on Tuesday when he found out that it was Tuesday-Friday.
(The Tuesday-Wednesday class is next week, and he and I are taking it together. It’s an intro to Flash.)
Simon showed up – and as close to on-time as seems to be possible for him – but he brought with him a case of Pink Eye, which, in an environment of shared resources (keyboards, phones, stripper poles, etc.) is not a welcome guest, so our boss sent him home.
That would have left just me to man every station, but fortunately we have a system that automatically e-mails people to let them know about OT slots when someone is going to be off (assuming the manager enters it into the calendar correctly, which our boss did), to which someone had responded, so I had some help.
He’ll also be in tomorrow, which is good, because if Simon is still out that means that no one from our shift will actually be there.
Of course, I’m letting the fact that this isn’t my problem be one of my birthday presents and am not worrying about it.
(As an aside, Brian called to ask if Scott is going to be in tomorrow. I said no, and as it dawned on him that he might very well be the one who has to help fill in for us, he said a lot of swear words that I won’t repeat, although I will say that one of them rhymed with gun of a witch and sounded exactly like son of a bitch.)
Even so, it proved to be an irritating day full of minor annoyances and various weird shit that made things even more annoying.
And it was long.
It didn’t help matters any that I didn’t get to eat lunch until almost 2.
Still, once it was over I drove out of there like a bat out of hell, and when I got to the last major intersection I got an early birthday present from the Universe in the form of actually hitting it when the arrow was green. In over a year of taking that route home that’s only happened one other time. Pretty much every other time I get there just after the arrow turned off and have to sit through a full cycle of those long-ass lights.
And then I was home where I eventually settled in to watch – and laugh at – new episodes of My Name is Earl and The Office.
Kathleen called (immediately after which Brian called to have the aforementioned conversation) to plan for a “birthday breakfast” tomorrow, as it would be too much of a hassle for her to go to work, come back to Leesburg for lunch, and then drive back to work.
So as a birthday present I get to wake up early on my day off! Hooray!
Honestly, though, it will be nice to see Kathleen, as I haven’t since back in December when she burst in to my place in a flurry of activity, leaving behind a living thing (the fish) in her wake.
On Saturday Scott and Stacy are taking me out for dinner because, as Stacy said, I’m a “good guy.” When I grunted, she said, “Well, we like you,” to which I responded, “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”
Stacy had IMed me at work today to apologize for not de-hairing the couch on Sunday. I told her that it wasn’t a big deal, but she insisted it was, so I told her that I forgave her.
Joke’s on her; I didn’t forgive shit!
(Mostly because I didn’t feel there was anything to be forgiven, to paraphrase Andy – I mean Drew – from tonight’s Office.)
Anyway, now I’m here writing this.
And you’re there, reading it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Alternative Uses For The "Citizen Kane Of Comic Books"
A bit ago I mentioned that I got my Absolute Edition of Watchmen, and I also mentioned that it's big.
How big? Well, you could easily squish rodents or small dogs with it, as well as putting it to a host of other non-literary uses that big, heavy objects are good for.
Such as bludgeoning children...
...or little people*
*Nothing against children or little people, it's just that the book is heavy, so it would take a lot more effort to lift it up high enough to bludgeon an adult of even average height, so if you have to bludgeon someone with it you might as well go with someone close to the ground.
Now, I need to make it clear that I'm "not" advocating any of these uses (you wouldn't want to damage it or get blood on it, after all, though real blood might be a nice touch to accompany the blood spatter illustration that is the seminal image from the book), I'm just attempting to illustrate a point about the book's size.
What I do advocate is actually reading it, because if you did, you would see that in addition to being oversized, Absolute Watchmen has been printed on much better stock than any previous collection, the color has been redone digitally, making it much more crisp and vibrant and just helps make it look more polished (though there is such a thing as gilding the lily), and it includes script samples and the original proposal written up by Alan Moore (back when he was still hoping to use the then recently-acquired Charlton characters such as Captain Atom and Blue Beetle), and some original character designs by Dave Gibbons.
So yeah, big and heavy enough to use for pest disposal or to discipline your children and/or recalcitrant little people, but also good to read.
How big? Well, you could easily squish rodents or small dogs with it, as well as putting it to a host of other non-literary uses that big, heavy objects are good for.
Such as bludgeoning children...
...or little people*
*Nothing against children or little people, it's just that the book is heavy, so it would take a lot more effort to lift it up high enough to bludgeon an adult of even average height, so if you have to bludgeon someone with it you might as well go with someone close to the ground.
Now, I need to make it clear that I'm "not" advocating any of these uses (you wouldn't want to damage it or get blood on it, after all, though real blood might be a nice touch to accompany the blood spatter illustration that is the seminal image from the book), I'm just attempting to illustrate a point about the book's size.
What I do advocate is actually reading it, because if you did, you would see that in addition to being oversized, Absolute Watchmen has been printed on much better stock than any previous collection, the color has been redone digitally, making it much more crisp and vibrant and just helps make it look more polished (though there is such a thing as gilding the lily), and it includes script samples and the original proposal written up by Alan Moore (back when he was still hoping to use the then recently-acquired Charlton characters such as Captain Atom and Blue Beetle), and some original character designs by Dave Gibbons.
So yeah, big and heavy enough to use for pest disposal or to discipline your children and/or recalcitrant little people, but also good to read.
I Don't Care What Other People Think
...unless they agree with me.
Recently, Popoholic had a poll asking who should play the part of Ava Lord, the titular (in more ways than one) dame in the movie adaptation of the Sin City story A Dame To Kill For.
It was originally rumored that Angelina Jolie was going to fill the role. I thought it was perfect casting, but then she was rumored to have moved on to other projects, such as the adaptation of another comic book property, Wanted, which she is currently filming.
(BTW, Wanted was a great comic. I have my problems with Mark Millar *cough*CivilWar*cough* excuse me *cough*Ultimatesisneveron-time *cough* but Wanted was one of the best, most bad-ass stories I've encountered in a long, long time. The movie, based on what I've read about it, promises to be not so much in the way of good. On a side note, Angelina plays a character who was black in the comic. When people complained about white characters being played by black actors in the movie versions, they were accused of being racist. Will the same apply to anyone who complains about the color change here?)
Anyway, with Angelina possibly out of the picture, a replacement Ava had to be found, and the next actress rumored to be up for the part was Rachel Weisz.
A fine and lovely actress, but as I contended in another post, not quite right for the part.
I suggested that, in lieu of Angelina, Scarlett Johansson would be ideal for the part.
And people argued with me.
But lo and behold, the results of the Popoholic poll, which placed Angelina as the frontrunner, as she should be, were thus:
Scarlett Johansson came in second with twenty-eight percent of the voters thinking a raven-haired Johansson should get the role. Rose McGowan came in third place, and Rachel Weisz, who was recently rumoured to be the front-runner for the role, came in fourth with the fewest number of votes. Personally, I don’t see her in the role at all.
So in your face, people who disagreed with me!
I would put Ms. Weisz ahead of Rose McGowan, though, but now that McGowan is allegedly sleeping with director Robert Rodriguez, that might improve her odds.
Of course, if the poll had gone differently, that wouldn't have proven anything, but since it (mostly) went the way I thought it should, it proves that I was right.
You can see the full results of the poll here.
Oh, and for the record, I want to reiterate that in movie adaptations of Sin City stories featuring the character of Delia, the part should be played by Monica Keena (whose cup size, impressive though it may be, I don't know).
Recently, Popoholic had a poll asking who should play the part of Ava Lord, the titular (in more ways than one) dame in the movie adaptation of the Sin City story A Dame To Kill For.
It was originally rumored that Angelina Jolie was going to fill the role. I thought it was perfect casting, but then she was rumored to have moved on to other projects, such as the adaptation of another comic book property, Wanted, which she is currently filming.
(BTW, Wanted was a great comic. I have my problems with Mark Millar *cough*CivilWar*cough* excuse me *cough*Ultimatesisneveron-time *cough* but Wanted was one of the best, most bad-ass stories I've encountered in a long, long time. The movie, based on what I've read about it, promises to be not so much in the way of good. On a side note, Angelina plays a character who was black in the comic. When people complained about white characters being played by black actors in the movie versions, they were accused of being racist. Will the same apply to anyone who complains about the color change here?)
Anyway, with Angelina possibly out of the picture, a replacement Ava had to be found, and the next actress rumored to be up for the part was Rachel Weisz.
A fine and lovely actress, but as I contended in another post, not quite right for the part.
I suggested that, in lieu of Angelina, Scarlett Johansson would be ideal for the part.
And people argued with me.
But lo and behold, the results of the Popoholic poll, which placed Angelina as the frontrunner, as she should be, were thus:
Scarlett Johansson came in second with twenty-eight percent of the voters thinking a raven-haired Johansson should get the role. Rose McGowan came in third place, and Rachel Weisz, who was recently rumoured to be the front-runner for the role, came in fourth with the fewest number of votes. Personally, I don’t see her in the role at all.
So in your face, people who disagreed with me!
I would put Ms. Weisz ahead of Rose McGowan, though, but now that McGowan is allegedly sleeping with director Robert Rodriguez, that might improve her odds.
Of course, if the poll had gone differently, that wouldn't have proven anything, but since it (mostly) went the way I thought it should, it proves that I was right.
You can see the full results of the poll here.
Oh, and for the record, I want to reiterate that in movie adaptations of Sin City stories featuring the character of Delia, the part should be played by Monica Keena (whose cup size, impressive though it may be, I don't know).
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Giving In To The Worse Angel Of My Nature
Okay, so I guess I’ve been away a while.
Fortunately you haven’t missed much.
For Easter I was offered (and accepted) an invitation to dinner from Scott and Stacy.
As I said to Scott, “Well, Jesus came out of His tomb, so I suppose the least I can do is come out of my condo.”
I ended up staying quite a bit longer than was comfortable, as their dog’s hair had started to get to me right away, mostly irritating my eyes, but eventually leading me to itch and sneeze, and when I got home I took some Benadryl, which managed to overpower all of the caffeine I’d had (not sure why I drank so many Cokes), and caused me to turn in early, even though I’d gone to bed relatively early on Saturday night and had slept in until nearly 10 that morning.
Of course, I woke up several times throughout the night after having weird and oddly disturbing dreams that seemed to be related in some fashion to the movie Grindhouse. Not sure what that was about, but I do know that I was kind of creeped out whenever I woke up, and I was starting to expect some deformed girl to show up and kill me with a “nife.”
Monday I woke up and had to decide whether or not I was going to go shopping, and ultimately opted for “not.”
Of course, I had to go out later in the day, as there was a training session at work at 3.
I wasn’t sure what route I was going to take on the way home, and didn’t know what I was going to do for dinner, but then, in a moment of inspiration, I had the answer to both questions.
Which brings me to this.
You know you’ve thought about doing it.
Everyone has, just admit it.
You’ve always wanted to do it but you’ve been afraid to try – what if you got caught? What would your parents say? Or the neighbors?
Still, the thought is always there, nagging at you like a little devil on your shoulder telling you to do it, while that ineffectual angel cautions you not to.
So yeah, I did it, but don’t you dare judge me. You’re no different; you just don’t have the courage to even admit that you want to do it, let alone actually do it.
Not like me. I had the courage to say, “By god, I’m going to do it! I’m going to order an entire family-sized bucket of KFC chicken for myself.”
And I did.
I drove up through Ashburn, stopped at the Taco Bell/KFC, ordered a 10-piece bucket of chicken (with 4 biscuits and two family-sized sides), and made my way home where I proceeded to stuff my face.
Obviously I didn’t eat it all in one sitting (I still have several pieces of chicken left, as well as some coleslaw), but even so, I did end up eating a lot of food.
Today I went out and did a bit of grocery shopping, though not much. I figure I don’t really need much, as I’m only working one day, so I don’t have to worry about cooking so that I have leftovers for lunch at work (though I haven’t been doing much of that in recent weeks anyway), and on Friday Scott and Stacy want to take me out for dinner for my birthday.
When they mentioned that to me on Sunday my response was underwhelming, and led to a “well, we’re not going to twist your arm “ comment, but it’s not the being take out part that’s sapping my enthusiasm, it’s the birthday part.
I never really look forward to my birthday, but somehow it seems worse this year.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of a “milestone” age, or maybe it’s just hat I miss my dad, and Betts, or maybe all of the above plus all of the usual nonsense and some other random crap that I’m not even consciously aware of.
So yeah, I’m not likely to build up a lot of enthusiasm for “celebrating” my birthday this year, but I do appreciate the fact that there are people who care enough to want to do something to acknowledge it, so I apologize for seeming to be an unappreciative ass than usual.
Anyway, aren’t you glad that I’m finally filling you in on what’s been going on since the last time I posted?
Fortunately you haven’t missed much.
For Easter I was offered (and accepted) an invitation to dinner from Scott and Stacy.
As I said to Scott, “Well, Jesus came out of His tomb, so I suppose the least I can do is come out of my condo.”
I ended up staying quite a bit longer than was comfortable, as their dog’s hair had started to get to me right away, mostly irritating my eyes, but eventually leading me to itch and sneeze, and when I got home I took some Benadryl, which managed to overpower all of the caffeine I’d had (not sure why I drank so many Cokes), and caused me to turn in early, even though I’d gone to bed relatively early on Saturday night and had slept in until nearly 10 that morning.
Of course, I woke up several times throughout the night after having weird and oddly disturbing dreams that seemed to be related in some fashion to the movie Grindhouse. Not sure what that was about, but I do know that I was kind of creeped out whenever I woke up, and I was starting to expect some deformed girl to show up and kill me with a “nife.”
Monday I woke up and had to decide whether or not I was going to go shopping, and ultimately opted for “not.”
Of course, I had to go out later in the day, as there was a training session at work at 3.
I wasn’t sure what route I was going to take on the way home, and didn’t know what I was going to do for dinner, but then, in a moment of inspiration, I had the answer to both questions.
Which brings me to this.
You know you’ve thought about doing it.
Everyone has, just admit it.
You’ve always wanted to do it but you’ve been afraid to try – what if you got caught? What would your parents say? Or the neighbors?
Still, the thought is always there, nagging at you like a little devil on your shoulder telling you to do it, while that ineffectual angel cautions you not to.
So yeah, I did it, but don’t you dare judge me. You’re no different; you just don’t have the courage to even admit that you want to do it, let alone actually do it.
Not like me. I had the courage to say, “By god, I’m going to do it! I’m going to order an entire family-sized bucket of KFC chicken for myself.”
And I did.
I drove up through Ashburn, stopped at the Taco Bell/KFC, ordered a 10-piece bucket of chicken (with 4 biscuits and two family-sized sides), and made my way home where I proceeded to stuff my face.
Obviously I didn’t eat it all in one sitting (I still have several pieces of chicken left, as well as some coleslaw), but even so, I did end up eating a lot of food.
Today I went out and did a bit of grocery shopping, though not much. I figure I don’t really need much, as I’m only working one day, so I don’t have to worry about cooking so that I have leftovers for lunch at work (though I haven’t been doing much of that in recent weeks anyway), and on Friday Scott and Stacy want to take me out for dinner for my birthday.
When they mentioned that to me on Sunday my response was underwhelming, and led to a “well, we’re not going to twist your arm “ comment, but it’s not the being take out part that’s sapping my enthusiasm, it’s the birthday part.
I never really look forward to my birthday, but somehow it seems worse this year.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of a “milestone” age, or maybe it’s just hat I miss my dad, and Betts, or maybe all of the above plus all of the usual nonsense and some other random crap that I’m not even consciously aware of.
So yeah, I’m not likely to build up a lot of enthusiasm for “celebrating” my birthday this year, but I do appreciate the fact that there are people who care enough to want to do something to acknowledge it, so I apologize for seeming to be an unappreciative ass than usual.
Anyway, aren’t you glad that I’m finally filling you in on what’s been going on since the last time I posted?
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