First off, happy National Gorilla Suit Day!
Secondly, I have to admit that in yesterday’s post I was a bit less than honest.
After all, for me, a day in which I get a haircut and make meat loaf is actually pretty amazingly eventful.
What makes it worse is that I also made biscuits and gravy for breakfast/lunch, which makes for a phenomenally eventful day in the life of Jon.
(By the way, someone should come up with a word for breakfast/lunch, something that demonstrates that it’s not quite breakfast, not quite lunch…hmm…br…bru…got it! Blunch! Or, if you want to get all hip hop, you could day b-lunch, like, “What’s for b-lunch, b-yotch?” Perfect. What’s that? Oh, right, “brunch.” Never mind.)
The point is that despite what I claimed, yesterday really wasn’t any less eventful than my standard non-eventful days; I just didn’t feel like writing much of a post.
I had no random complaints that I really felt like getting off my chest, no “witty” observations, no desire to write an entry mentioning Giada’s boobs or something that would lure unsuspecting people wanting to learn Carla Gugino’s bra size pointlessly here.
I really shouldn’t make fun of the boob and bra size seekers, though I do have to ask a question, which I know none of the people who could answer will, since they only stick around long enough to see that they aren’t going to find any pictures of Giada’s boobs or learn anyone’s bra size, about why people want to know bra sizes anyway.
Honestly, why do you want to know? What will you gain from the knowledge? Is it a matter of wanting your masturbatory fantasies to be as specific and accurate as possible? Are you planning on designing clothes for them?
What sort of edification do you gain from knowing a celebrity's cup size? I mean, “freaking huge” or “tiny and cute” aren’t specific enough for you? Is it like, “Hmm, I thought her boobs were big, but I couldn’t be sure just by looking at them.”
And beyond your need to know, what makes you think you’re going to find out?
For the most part, the only celebrities who provide their bra sizes are Playboy Playmates and the like. Most actresses don’t really publicize that sort of thing.
Still, I really shouldn’t be picking on the seekers of knowledge, the seekers of boobs, and the seekers of knowledge about boobs whose quests unwittingly guide them here for a 0-5 second stay.
After all, if it weren’t for the people who click on the links that pop up in search engine results even though if they looked at the text of the results they’d clearly see that they’re not going to find what they’re looking for, I would hardly have any traffic at all, just the meager handful, the B cup’s worth, if you will, of regular visitors.
Me complaining about the misguided visitors I get is like when D.R.I. would sing those songs about what a hassle it is to be famous.
Right now you’re saying, “D.R.I.? Who the hell is D.R.I.?”
To which I respond, “Exactly.”
(For the record, D.R.I., or “Dirty Rotten Imbeciles,” was a punk band that crossed over to thrash metal. Sort of like Sean Astin in Rudy, who made up for what he lacked in height with spirit, D.R.I. made up for what they lacked in talent with enthusiasm. I loved those guys, and listening to them still makes me smile. I didn’t always agree with their opinions – the song Gun Control comes to mind – but who could resist the hard, fast, and heavy sound mixed with inspired lyrics, coming together to form short, punch little ditties that seldom lasted for more than a minute?
One of my favorites is Dead in a Ditch:
Pretty young girl from the Oakland Hills
Stole her dad’s car and all her mom’s pills
Got all fucked up, drove off a cliff
Ended up dead, dead in a ditch
Just like her mother always told her she’d end up
All fucked up
Dead
Dead in a ditch
They often turned their attention to a variety issues, such as drug abuse, AIDS, child abduction, war, and pollution, but they also liked to cut loose and just have some fun every so often.
One of the other things I liked about them is their appreciation for the work of ee cummings, who is one of my favorite poets.
Anyway, that’s it for this little D.R.I. retrospective. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Threshold, already in progress.)
..to which I said, “No way. You’re the one who wanted to have hookers over in the first place, so you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with getting rid of the bodies.”
Anyway, today the only thing I have on tap is a trip back to the car dealership for Emission Inspection version 2.0.
Hopefully the 100+ miles I’ve put on is sufficient to give them what they need.
Other than that I’m waiting on a phone call that I also spent most of yesterday waiting on, before finally getting a call at the end of the day asking if it’d be okay if we postponed the call until today.
Yes, I’m being vague.
Basically, there is the possibility of me getting a part-time job. I’ll give you more details as things develop.
Anyway, I’ve been more than wordy enough today to make up for yesterday’s terseness, so I guess I’ll bring this entry to a close.
Showing posts with label national gorilla suit day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label national gorilla suit day. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Hungry vs. Tired
This morning found me getting up at 7 AM to bring my car in for an oil change and emissions inspection.
I hate the system that the service center at my car dealership uses. Basically you call in to make an “appointment,” which just means that you’ve reserved the right to wait in line on a particular morning.
Given that people seem to camp out there like nerds in line for Star Wars tickets, you can never hope to be the first in line, and when you get there you’re never really sure if you should pull off into a parking space to wait, or actually stay in the line with the other idling cars until they finally open.
Once they do open, you’re never sure if you should go in or not, because they usually send someone around to the cars to assign them a number. You can go inside and talk to them, but it seems like you’re better off getting a number put on your car’s rearview mirror first, though they don’t actually seem to work on the cars in any sort of particular order anyway, so ultimately being the first in line may not do you all that much good.
In any case, once my car was being attended to, I went off to sit in the waiting area.
Given that something I always does, I expected some sort of problem that would cost me money and leave me without a car for at least a day would pop up. After having sat there for over an hour, I was sure of it, and waited for the shoe to drop once my name was called.
The service guy said, “There’s a problem.”
I said, “There always is.”
However, this one would cost me anything extra and won’t even deprive me of my car. All it will cost me is some irritation and additional waiting.
Basically my car’s computer got reset somehow, which means that there’s no information in it that can be used for the emissions testing. This means that I have to put 50-75 miles on the car to allow it to capture data before bringing it back to get the emissions test done.
And at least with the inspection I don’t have to get it done in the morning; I can bring it in any time during the day.
Of course, I don’t drive around enough to quickly put on 75 miles before the weekend, so it’ll have to wait until next week.
Once I got home I found that I was very tired from having only gotten about 6 hours of sleep, and so, since it was only 9, I considered going back to bed.
While I’d been up, though, I’d gotten hungry, so I also considered making breakfast.
It then became a contest between hungry and tired to determine my next course of action.
After climbing into bed it seemed clear that tired had won, but while I was lying there hunger asserted itself and soon I’d made the move from the bedroom to the kitchen.
From there it was back to bed, where I only managed to half-doze for about an hour.
Once I got up I thought about going to see the movie Children of Men in order to speed up the mile-logging process.
I gave Brian a call to see if he wanted to go with me, but he said he was too swamped today, but that he could do it tomorrow, so that scrapped my plans for the afternoon.
(I’ll bet he would have cleared his calendar if I’d said I wanted to see Stomp the Yard)
And that’s been my day so far. I still may venture out into the world to get a few things, though I don’t need much, as I managed to stock up pretty well last week when I went shopping.
Oh Yeah, I Forgot One Department:
When bitching about commercials yesterday I forgot one.
It’s the commercial in which we find ourselves at some sort of party where a group of attractive(ish) women in their 30s are gathered around having a discussion about birth control, and one of them brings up this exciting new product.
Once she mentions it, one of the other chicks says, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that,” and then proceeds to completely take over the conversation, rattling off facts about the product as though she’s some sort of paid spokesperson for it.
After she finishes reciting the pharmaceutical company boilerplate, one of the friends jokingly says, “Show off,” to which the spokesmodel says, “Hey, I didn’t go to medical school for nothing.”
They all share a hearty laugh, and go back to their Sex in the City-esque repartee.
The thing that bothers me is that chick who brought up the product in the first place never gets to talk about it, and doesn’t seem bothered by the way her friend, who obviously has a compulsive need to be the center of attention and can’t wait for an opportunity to rub the fact that she went to medical school in all of their faces.
If I were the chick who got shouted down by Dr. Talksalot, I’d be all like, “Bitch, I was talking. Nobody asked for you to recite the press release you got from the pharmaceutical company along with your free samples, all right? We all know you went to medical school seeing as how you never talk about anything else.”
In any case, that’s it for this particular edition of pointlessness.
(Oh yeah, and be sure to click on the National Gorilla Suit Day banner over on the right. Thanks to Neil Gaiman for bringing this important holiday to my attention over on his blog.)
I hate the system that the service center at my car dealership uses. Basically you call in to make an “appointment,” which just means that you’ve reserved the right to wait in line on a particular morning.
Given that people seem to camp out there like nerds in line for Star Wars tickets, you can never hope to be the first in line, and when you get there you’re never really sure if you should pull off into a parking space to wait, or actually stay in the line with the other idling cars until they finally open.
Once they do open, you’re never sure if you should go in or not, because they usually send someone around to the cars to assign them a number. You can go inside and talk to them, but it seems like you’re better off getting a number put on your car’s rearview mirror first, though they don’t actually seem to work on the cars in any sort of particular order anyway, so ultimately being the first in line may not do you all that much good.
In any case, once my car was being attended to, I went off to sit in the waiting area.
Given that something I always does, I expected some sort of problem that would cost me money and leave me without a car for at least a day would pop up. After having sat there for over an hour, I was sure of it, and waited for the shoe to drop once my name was called.
The service guy said, “There’s a problem.”
I said, “There always is.”
However, this one would cost me anything extra and won’t even deprive me of my car. All it will cost me is some irritation and additional waiting.
Basically my car’s computer got reset somehow, which means that there’s no information in it that can be used for the emissions testing. This means that I have to put 50-75 miles on the car to allow it to capture data before bringing it back to get the emissions test done.
And at least with the inspection I don’t have to get it done in the morning; I can bring it in any time during the day.
Of course, I don’t drive around enough to quickly put on 75 miles before the weekend, so it’ll have to wait until next week.
Once I got home I found that I was very tired from having only gotten about 6 hours of sleep, and so, since it was only 9, I considered going back to bed.
While I’d been up, though, I’d gotten hungry, so I also considered making breakfast.
It then became a contest between hungry and tired to determine my next course of action.
After climbing into bed it seemed clear that tired had won, but while I was lying there hunger asserted itself and soon I’d made the move from the bedroom to the kitchen.
From there it was back to bed, where I only managed to half-doze for about an hour.
Once I got up I thought about going to see the movie Children of Men in order to speed up the mile-logging process.
I gave Brian a call to see if he wanted to go with me, but he said he was too swamped today, but that he could do it tomorrow, so that scrapped my plans for the afternoon.
(I’ll bet he would have cleared his calendar if I’d said I wanted to see Stomp the Yard)
And that’s been my day so far. I still may venture out into the world to get a few things, though I don’t need much, as I managed to stock up pretty well last week when I went shopping.
Oh Yeah, I Forgot One Department:
When bitching about commercials yesterday I forgot one.
It’s the commercial in which we find ourselves at some sort of party where a group of attractive(ish) women in their 30s are gathered around having a discussion about birth control, and one of them brings up this exciting new product.
Once she mentions it, one of the other chicks says, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that,” and then proceeds to completely take over the conversation, rattling off facts about the product as though she’s some sort of paid spokesperson for it.
After she finishes reciting the pharmaceutical company boilerplate, one of the friends jokingly says, “Show off,” to which the spokesmodel says, “Hey, I didn’t go to medical school for nothing.”
They all share a hearty laugh, and go back to their Sex in the City-esque repartee.
The thing that bothers me is that chick who brought up the product in the first place never gets to talk about it, and doesn’t seem bothered by the way her friend, who obviously has a compulsive need to be the center of attention and can’t wait for an opportunity to rub the fact that she went to medical school in all of their faces.
If I were the chick who got shouted down by Dr. Talksalot, I’d be all like, “Bitch, I was talking. Nobody asked for you to recite the press release you got from the pharmaceutical company along with your free samples, all right? We all know you went to medical school seeing as how you never talk about anything else.”
In any case, that’s it for this particular edition of pointlessness.
(Oh yeah, and be sure to click on the National Gorilla Suit Day banner over on the right. Thanks to Neil Gaiman for bringing this important holiday to my attention over on his blog.)
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