I just two big racoons (aka raccoon) outside walking down the street. Two. Big. Racoons (also spelled 'raccoons'). I was surprised, because we saw one. I knew it was a racoon, but my friend thought it was a cat. But then I saw a second one, and I was positive. I know a racoon when I see one. My favorite stuffed animal when I was really little was a racoon, so I think I know the difference between a cat and a racoon. Had they been stuffed racoons walking down the street, I think I would have immediately recognized them for what they were.
I had Pho (pronounced FUCK without the 'CK' sound) for dinner from Pho Superbowl in San Gabriel. It was quite delicious, and yet ultra-cheap (though expensive by pho standards, from what I understand).
I've decided to open a Pho place. Why not? It's so good. It'll be called The Pho King. When you come, you'll get the Pho King menu. We'll have beef, chicken, lamb, etc. It'll be very well known, because it'll be the best. "That's great Pho King food." We'll have a full bar. "There's a great Pho King bar," people will say. It'll spread through word of mouth. I'll be known as that Pho King guy, too, because everyone will know I'm responsible for this. "I wanted your Pho King chicken, and your Pho King beef. But I didn't order the Pho King tofu, and yet I got the Pho King tofu. What is this? I want some Pho King chicken."
Yeah, dudes. I'll be the Pho King king.
It's just over a month when I'll be back in Hawaii, but this time actually living there. Scary! I just put my notice in the mail for my apartment this afternoon (yes, I know there's no mail on Sundays, asshole). Towards the end of next week, I put the notice in on my job. That's freaky-deaky.
I admit, though, I have the Sunday Night Jitters. I haven't been in the office since August 12th. Tomorrow is August 29th. It's been over two weeks. I've actually worked only four days at the office since July 22nd. It's going to be a shit storm tomorrow. And though I plan on leaving, I hate stepping into a shit storm without waterproof boots. Voicemails--I should have at least 30. Emails? Well over 100. Mail? I'll have to measure it in pounds; I'm thinking about six to eight.
So what if it's not funny and original?
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
Wal-Mart Butterfly Effect
BACKGROUND
I've had this idea for a long time that could slowly lead to the downfall of the biggest, coldest retail organization in the United States (and now the world, I believe). Yes, Wal-Mart. Anti-union? Pro-Republican? Yes, Wal-Mart.
When I studied logistics, I learned that Wal-Mart has one of the most advanced logistics systems in the world--more advanced than the United States military's. It's complicated, and is actually one of their strategic advantages compared to the competition. It's so complex, I'd never understand it even if it wasn't an industrial secret.
However, let's go down to the store level. Shelves upon shelves of inventory. As the inventory runs low, product is automatically ordered and routed before it actually runs out. Also, consumer buying trends affect the amount and kind of item ordered. Obviously, winter coats are cyclical; they're not going to continue ordering winter coats at the same level as Spring comes along.
This is a two part plan: purchase and return.
The Plan: Purchase
All right, so their purchasing is based on buying trends. As demand for certain products increase, they may stock other complementary products (ie. demand for peanut butter increases, they may stock more bread).
So then I thought, "What if people made a concerted, organized effort to fuck with Wal-Mart?" Why not? These are the things I think about.
So what if we picked a date off the calendar and had as many people as we could go out to Wal-Mart and buy out all of one or two or three items off the shelf? Let's say everyone on a random date, say September 16, goes and purchases ALL of the Cool-Mint Listerine. I mean, not just one person. Many many people. All the inventory out front disappears, and they run to the back and get more. All of THAT is purchased, and people keep asking all day for Cool-Mint Listerine. There's huge demand for this Cool-Mint Listerine, and Wal-Mart can't figure out why. Why not the regular Listerine? Why not the store brand? Fuck, from Wal-Mart's Point of View, this is confusing, right? And if all the Listerine disappears, then there's another item that everyone concentrates their effort on. Let's say, when these Organized Consumers see the Cool-Mint Listerine is gone, they go and purchase Trojan Magnum condoms. The Trojan Magnums run out. No other kind of condom. Just the Trojan Magnums. They bring out more from the back, and those are bought up.
Interestingly enough, in theory they shouldn't have too much inventory IN the back since they're a JIT operation. They order inventory as they need it.
Wal-Mart is confused, but they order shit loads of Cool-Mint Listerine and Trojan Magnums. Their economists and management attempt to figure out where the demand for these two products are coming from. They place huge orders for Cool-Mint Listerine with Pfizer, and more condoms from Trojan. Huge orders, and perhaps modify existing contracts for more product at later dates. Wal-Mart starts purchasing options and futures contracts for latex and the chemicals in Listerine. They stock their distribution centers with Trojan Magnums and Cool-Mint Listerine.
The Plan: Return
So then, nobody has used these condoms or Cool-Mint Listerine. They've held onto them. And then on October 15th (a month after originally purchasing these), everyone returns to the store en masse to return these condoms and the Listerine. NOW, they've flooded the system. The demand for these products really existed. Now they have excess supply of Listerine and Trojan Condoms. More than that, the apparent demand on these products has affected purchasing of lubricants, home pregnancy tests, toothbrushes, and dental floss.
It's a long-term plan, though. Would this immediately cause Wal-Mart's collapse? No. But if Wal-Mart collapsed, the economy likely would, too. This is really simplistic, but with imagination, you can probably see that purchasing too much Listerine and Trojan Magnum condoms could potentially alter the economy.
Wow.
I DO have too much time on my hands.
I've had this idea for a long time that could slowly lead to the downfall of the biggest, coldest retail organization in the United States (and now the world, I believe). Yes, Wal-Mart. Anti-union? Pro-Republican? Yes, Wal-Mart.
When I studied logistics, I learned that Wal-Mart has one of the most advanced logistics systems in the world--more advanced than the United States military's. It's complicated, and is actually one of their strategic advantages compared to the competition. It's so complex, I'd never understand it even if it wasn't an industrial secret.
However, let's go down to the store level. Shelves upon shelves of inventory. As the inventory runs low, product is automatically ordered and routed before it actually runs out. Also, consumer buying trends affect the amount and kind of item ordered. Obviously, winter coats are cyclical; they're not going to continue ordering winter coats at the same level as Spring comes along.
This is a two part plan: purchase and return.
The Plan: Purchase
All right, so their purchasing is based on buying trends. As demand for certain products increase, they may stock other complementary products (ie. demand for peanut butter increases, they may stock more bread).
So then I thought, "What if people made a concerted, organized effort to fuck with Wal-Mart?" Why not? These are the things I think about.
So what if we picked a date off the calendar and had as many people as we could go out to Wal-Mart and buy out all of one or two or three items off the shelf? Let's say everyone on a random date, say September 16, goes and purchases ALL of the Cool-Mint Listerine. I mean, not just one person. Many many people. All the inventory out front disappears, and they run to the back and get more. All of THAT is purchased, and people keep asking all day for Cool-Mint Listerine. There's huge demand for this Cool-Mint Listerine, and Wal-Mart can't figure out why. Why not the regular Listerine? Why not the store brand? Fuck, from Wal-Mart's Point of View, this is confusing, right? And if all the Listerine disappears, then there's another item that everyone concentrates their effort on. Let's say, when these Organized Consumers see the Cool-Mint Listerine is gone, they go and purchase Trojan Magnum condoms. The Trojan Magnums run out. No other kind of condom. Just the Trojan Magnums. They bring out more from the back, and those are bought up.
Interestingly enough, in theory they shouldn't have too much inventory IN the back since they're a JIT operation. They order inventory as they need it.
Wal-Mart is confused, but they order shit loads of Cool-Mint Listerine and Trojan Magnums. Their economists and management attempt to figure out where the demand for these two products are coming from. They place huge orders for Cool-Mint Listerine with Pfizer, and more condoms from Trojan. Huge orders, and perhaps modify existing contracts for more product at later dates. Wal-Mart starts purchasing options and futures contracts for latex and the chemicals in Listerine. They stock their distribution centers with Trojan Magnums and Cool-Mint Listerine.
The Plan: Return
So then, nobody has used these condoms or Cool-Mint Listerine. They've held onto them. And then on October 15th (a month after originally purchasing these), everyone returns to the store en masse to return these condoms and the Listerine. NOW, they've flooded the system. The demand for these products really existed. Now they have excess supply of Listerine and Trojan Condoms. More than that, the apparent demand on these products has affected purchasing of lubricants, home pregnancy tests, toothbrushes, and dental floss.
It's a long-term plan, though. Would this immediately cause Wal-Mart's collapse? No. But if Wal-Mart collapsed, the economy likely would, too. This is really simplistic, but with imagination, you can probably see that purchasing too much Listerine and Trojan Magnum condoms could potentially alter the economy.
Wow.
I DO have too much time on my hands.
Barfy Marston's
I took a friend to Marston's in Pasadena for her birthday dinner last night. Everyone recommended it. Everyone I talked to seemed to think it was the shit.
"This place is good."
"Oh, it's great."
"You'll love it."
It started off well. Everything on the menu sounded scrumptious. She got some chicken linguine; I ordered the chicken dumplings in a soy ginger sauce with squash.
When the dumplings came, I found it odd that they looked JUST like the ones you can get at Trader Joe's in the frozen foods section for $2.49 (for an entire package). They looked the exact same--folded the same way, same color, same size, same shape. I thought, "Though they look identical, they can't taste the same." I took a bite and was very surprised. So savory, delicious, yummy...just like the ones from Trader Joe's. Goddamnit. I paid $17 to eat this shit. Not only that, but such a small portion. She had enough linguine to serve 1 1/2 to 2 people. I only had 6 really small dumplings. I would have seriously starved to death had she not taken pity and given me some noodles.
Meanwhile, my special lady friend was thrilled about this. Her dish was halfway decent. It was obvious I was jealous of her. More than the food, and the ice cream we got later, and the lovely time we had together--it was the jealousy that made her birthday. To see me look so let down at my own food, and then to look at her food, and back at mine--well, it was the high point of her evening.
Monday, I have to go back to work. FUCK! I hate work. I don't want to go back. Soon it will all be over...
"This place is good."
"Oh, it's great."
"You'll love it."
It started off well. Everything on the menu sounded scrumptious. She got some chicken linguine; I ordered the chicken dumplings in a soy ginger sauce with squash.
When the dumplings came, I found it odd that they looked JUST like the ones you can get at Trader Joe's in the frozen foods section for $2.49 (for an entire package). They looked the exact same--folded the same way, same color, same size, same shape. I thought, "Though they look identical, they can't taste the same." I took a bite and was very surprised. So savory, delicious, yummy...just like the ones from Trader Joe's. Goddamnit. I paid $17 to eat this shit. Not only that, but such a small portion. She had enough linguine to serve 1 1/2 to 2 people. I only had 6 really small dumplings. I would have seriously starved to death had she not taken pity and given me some noodles.
Meanwhile, my special lady friend was thrilled about this. Her dish was halfway decent. It was obvious I was jealous of her. More than the food, and the ice cream we got later, and the lovely time we had together--it was the jealousy that made her birthday. To see me look so let down at my own food, and then to look at her food, and back at mine--well, it was the high point of her evening.
Monday, I have to go back to work. FUCK! I hate work. I don't want to go back. Soon it will all be over...
Monday, August 22, 2005
In recess. Where's the playground?
The judge let us take a long recess. After I looked on every floor of that courthouse, I couldn't find the Goddamn playground. I then came to the following realization: recess has nothing to do with a playground anywhere in the courthouse building. That would be absurd. It must be outside somewhere.
It's obvious. Most playgrounds are outside anyway. I still have to find it, but it should be pretty fun. I love going down slides.
The courthouse actually shares a few things in common with amusement parks. In the morning, there's long lines to get in. I feel I'm going to be doing something exciting by waiting in such a long line. This morning, the line snaked around the side of the building. It was very long. I had to wait at least half an hour to get in to the ride. The ride, of course, was the elevator. I pretended I was going up in one of those rides that take you really really high and then go into a FREEFALL. Yay! Except the elevator was really slow. And it didn't go into a freefall. And the other people didn't quite want to play along. "You think this is an amusement park ride? What are you? A fuckin moron?" Assholes.
Everday, there's a dude selling newspapers. He's sort of annoying because he repeats the same things over and over, but so what? Guy has to make a living. I respect that. So there's these two guys in front of me. They know other people in the line--two women. They stop and chat to these women, thus holding up the line, and then they let them in. Great. It is 8:45, court starts at 9:00, and the line looks like it'll take another half hour. So then two more women walk up to those people in front of me, and just walk right into the line. And one of them--something's not right with her. Cussing every other word, generally hostile, and kind of nuts. An angry black woman (and if she were white, I'd say "white;" if she were Asian, I'd say, "Asian"). So she starts to get annoyed by the newspaper guy. Starts talking shit. "That motherfucker, he always here. I kick his mothafuckin ass if he walk over here." He walked by selling his newspapers and she started hassling him. Tried picking a fight with the guy. Was saying shit to him. No fight, but I felt bad for the guy.
Tried learning tennis yesterday from my friend, Adam. Pop quiz: What do the following, and now tennis, have in common?
* Bowling
* Ballet
* Synchronized swimming
* Professional mine-sweeping
* Karate
* Glass-blowing
ANSWER: I can't do it. I'll try any of the above (maybe not the ballet, since it's somewhat dangerous), and I'll keep trying it, but I get the sense I'll never do it well.
I was playing tennis like I play racquetball. In racquetball, you don't really have to worry as much about controlling where the ball goes. As long as you can hit it against the front wall during play, you're fine. But in tennis, you can't just lob the motherfucker with all your strength every time or it'll end up rocketing off out of the court like a goddamn bird with a firecracker up its ass. No, it takes finesse. I have none.
Went to the beach yesterday. That was a lot of fun. Watched Four Brothers on Friday, too, by the way. It was pretty decent, I thought.
It's obvious. Most playgrounds are outside anyway. I still have to find it, but it should be pretty fun. I love going down slides.
The courthouse actually shares a few things in common with amusement parks. In the morning, there's long lines to get in. I feel I'm going to be doing something exciting by waiting in such a long line. This morning, the line snaked around the side of the building. It was very long. I had to wait at least half an hour to get in to the ride. The ride, of course, was the elevator. I pretended I was going up in one of those rides that take you really really high and then go into a FREEFALL. Yay! Except the elevator was really slow. And it didn't go into a freefall. And the other people didn't quite want to play along. "You think this is an amusement park ride? What are you? A fuckin moron?" Assholes.
Everday, there's a dude selling newspapers. He's sort of annoying because he repeats the same things over and over, but so what? Guy has to make a living. I respect that. So there's these two guys in front of me. They know other people in the line--two women. They stop and chat to these women, thus holding up the line, and then they let them in. Great. It is 8:45, court starts at 9:00, and the line looks like it'll take another half hour. So then two more women walk up to those people in front of me, and just walk right into the line. And one of them--something's not right with her. Cussing every other word, generally hostile, and kind of nuts. An angry black woman (and if she were white, I'd say "white;" if she were Asian, I'd say, "Asian"). So she starts to get annoyed by the newspaper guy. Starts talking shit. "That motherfucker, he always here. I kick his mothafuckin ass if he walk over here." He walked by selling his newspapers and she started hassling him. Tried picking a fight with the guy. Was saying shit to him. No fight, but I felt bad for the guy.
Tried learning tennis yesterday from my friend, Adam. Pop quiz: What do the following, and now tennis, have in common?
* Bowling
* Ballet
* Synchronized swimming
* Professional mine-sweeping
* Karate
* Glass-blowing
ANSWER: I can't do it. I'll try any of the above (maybe not the ballet, since it's somewhat dangerous), and I'll keep trying it, but I get the sense I'll never do it well.
I was playing tennis like I play racquetball. In racquetball, you don't really have to worry as much about controlling where the ball goes. As long as you can hit it against the front wall during play, you're fine. But in tennis, you can't just lob the motherfucker with all your strength every time or it'll end up rocketing off out of the court like a goddamn bird with a firecracker up its ass. No, it takes finesse. I have none.
Went to the beach yesterday. That was a lot of fun. Watched Four Brothers on Friday, too, by the way. It was pretty decent, I thought.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Eat until you puke, and then eat some more
I just spent the last hour trying to get my remote control working. It didn't seem to be working right, so I started by bashing it on the ground several times. This appears to have reset the remote. I had to reprogram it for my TV and stereo stuff, but it seems to work now. And now that it's fixed, I turned on the TV and there's nothing on. So I'm wondering why I wasted any time doing this. Jesus.
Today was huge. I went to the Western Foodservice and Hospitality Expo. Check out the web site. It's a trade show exclusively for people in the restaurant and food industries; regular people off the street can't get in. Imagine the LA Convention Center FILLED with table upon table of food, drinks, coffee, liquor, beer, candy, cakes, etc., etc., etc.
How did Medinski get in? He walked up to the registration table, pointed to a random badge and said, "That's me." They looked at me funny and said, "You're Dr. Golackowitz?" With total confidence and not a trace of panic, I answered, "Yes I am."
For about 3 and a half hours, I ate pretty much non-stop. Starting from one end, we worked our way to the other end of the convention center. I ate the following:
- Ten different kinds of cookies, including (but not limited to) chocolate caramel, chocolate chip, chocolate chip pecan, and oatmeal
- Six different kinds of cheesecakes, including (but not limited to) New York Cheesecake, caramel, rasberry chocolate, and chocolate
- Six kinds of beer, including (but not limited to) Sam Adams, Arrogant Bastard, and this wierd chili beer*
- Twelve to fifteen different kinds of ice creams, shakes, and sorbets, including (but not limited to) Extreme Moosetracks, Cotton Candy flavored (surprisingly good), green tea, chocolate/vanilla swirl, pineapple sorbet, coffee, capuccino, and mango sorbet
- Ten different kinds of liquors, including (but not limited to) courvasier, whiskey, Stolisnaya, and Kahlua
- Six kinds of coffee (most of it ranging from lousy to average)
* I tried this bizarre chili beer, and found it odd enough to share. It was beer with spicy chili flavoring added. Very strange. Very spicy. I can imagine drinking this beer if I had the strong desire for indigestion and perhaps a trip to the hospital. I got my cousin to drink it by telling him it was VERY good. He took his sample cup, sipped the whole cup in his mouth, and got this bizarre, confused look on his face. He turned around and spat it out back into his sample cup, and then called me a, "Fucking asshole." Quite a comedian he is.
I'd say my favorite item there were these Petit Fours. Jesus H Christ, I must've eaten about five of these things. Most of the items, you take a half-bite of and throw the rest away (you can imagine the volume of food I ate just by the list above), but these I ate. So good, so soft. Moist, sweet, tasty.
I only stopped eating when I took a bite of another cookie (macadamia nut white chocolate). I had this bite of cookie in my mouth and that was it. I realized with that one bite that I was completely full. If I were to eat another bite after this piece of cookie, I knew I'd throw up everywhere. Everywhere. I knew it wouldn't be pretty. Since we'd been in constant motion for the last 4 hours, it was harder to feel full than when you're just sitting there not moving. But suddenly, I realized I was full and I'd have serious problems on my hands if I were to eat another bite.
And so then, I threw in the towel.
It was so tasty. Perhaps this was the best day of my year. This and being a homewrecker qualify as two of the best things that have happened to me so far in this year of the Lord, 2005. It was a day where fruit and veggies were shunned in favor of highly processed or fatty foods. A day where pausing to digest was a sign of weakness. It was a Day of Gluttony, and I loved it.
Today was huge. I went to the Western Foodservice and Hospitality Expo. Check out the web site. It's a trade show exclusively for people in the restaurant and food industries; regular people off the street can't get in. Imagine the LA Convention Center FILLED with table upon table of food, drinks, coffee, liquor, beer, candy, cakes, etc., etc., etc.
How did Medinski get in? He walked up to the registration table, pointed to a random badge and said, "That's me." They looked at me funny and said, "You're Dr. Golackowitz?" With total confidence and not a trace of panic, I answered, "Yes I am."
For about 3 and a half hours, I ate pretty much non-stop. Starting from one end, we worked our way to the other end of the convention center. I ate the following:
- Ten different kinds of cookies, including (but not limited to) chocolate caramel, chocolate chip, chocolate chip pecan, and oatmeal
- Six different kinds of cheesecakes, including (but not limited to) New York Cheesecake, caramel, rasberry chocolate, and chocolate
- Six kinds of beer, including (but not limited to) Sam Adams, Arrogant Bastard, and this wierd chili beer*
- Twelve to fifteen different kinds of ice creams, shakes, and sorbets, including (but not limited to) Extreme Moosetracks, Cotton Candy flavored (surprisingly good), green tea, chocolate/vanilla swirl, pineapple sorbet, coffee, capuccino, and mango sorbet
- Ten different kinds of liquors, including (but not limited to) courvasier, whiskey, Stolisnaya, and Kahlua
- Six kinds of coffee (most of it ranging from lousy to average)
* I tried this bizarre chili beer, and found it odd enough to share. It was beer with spicy chili flavoring added. Very strange. Very spicy. I can imagine drinking this beer if I had the strong desire for indigestion and perhaps a trip to the hospital. I got my cousin to drink it by telling him it was VERY good. He took his sample cup, sipped the whole cup in his mouth, and got this bizarre, confused look on his face. He turned around and spat it out back into his sample cup, and then called me a, "Fucking asshole." Quite a comedian he is.
I'd say my favorite item there were these Petit Fours. Jesus H Christ, I must've eaten about five of these things. Most of the items, you take a half-bite of and throw the rest away (you can imagine the volume of food I ate just by the list above), but these I ate. So good, so soft. Moist, sweet, tasty.
I only stopped eating when I took a bite of another cookie (macadamia nut white chocolate). I had this bite of cookie in my mouth and that was it. I realized with that one bite that I was completely full. If I were to eat another bite after this piece of cookie, I knew I'd throw up everywhere. Everywhere. I knew it wouldn't be pretty. Since we'd been in constant motion for the last 4 hours, it was harder to feel full than when you're just sitting there not moving. But suddenly, I realized I was full and I'd have serious problems on my hands if I were to eat another bite.
And so then, I threw in the towel.
It was so tasty. Perhaps this was the best day of my year. This and being a homewrecker qualify as two of the best things that have happened to me so far in this year of the Lord, 2005. It was a day where fruit and veggies were shunned in favor of highly processed or fatty foods. A day where pausing to digest was a sign of weakness. It was a Day of Gluttony, and I loved it.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The difference between me and a bucket of shit is what...?
I'm still in jury duty, and will be there for awhile. All well. Suits me fine.
My boss doesn't know I'm quitting yet. That's fine. I don't care.
Ah, the beaches beckon.
I think I'm going to get a 14 inch G4 iBook. Why not? The price isn't bad. I used MacPrices.com to find some pretty good deals.
Meanwhile, I saw Pretty Persuasion last night at the Lemmlae cinema on Colorado. It was pretty decent, but seemed to start out as a comedy and then transform into a near-thriller drama. Turned a bit psychotic, I felt, but it wasn't too bad. It was funny, though. There was a part where these high school students were having an international food fair, and the Israel table got put next to the Palestine table. So the guy from the Israel table is standing flipping through pages of an Atlas talking to an Arab girl saying, "It's not here. I don't see it. Show me Palestine on a map. See? It doesn't exist. Where is it? Point it out! I want to see it!"
Things are well. No work and no play...makes Ryan a juror. Not bad, though. I've been reading a lot.
My boss doesn't know I'm quitting yet. That's fine. I don't care.
Ah, the beaches beckon.
I think I'm going to get a 14 inch G4 iBook. Why not? The price isn't bad. I used MacPrices.com to find some pretty good deals.
Meanwhile, I saw Pretty Persuasion last night at the Lemmlae cinema on Colorado. It was pretty decent, but seemed to start out as a comedy and then transform into a near-thriller drama. Turned a bit psychotic, I felt, but it wasn't too bad. It was funny, though. There was a part where these high school students were having an international food fair, and the Israel table got put next to the Palestine table. So the guy from the Israel table is standing flipping through pages of an Atlas talking to an Arab girl saying, "It's not here. I don't see it. Show me Palestine on a map. See? It doesn't exist. Where is it? Point it out! I want to see it!"
Things are well. No work and no play...makes Ryan a juror. Not bad, though. I've been reading a lot.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
VERDICT: You fuck chickens, chicken-fucker
First off, thank you Myspace readers for coming over and still looking at my blog. I refuse to continue using Myspace. It's horseshit, now.
I'm on jury duty. Why do people keep asking me what the case is about? It's like they can't function unless they know:
1) Is it criminal or civil?
2) What are the other jurists like?
3) What kind of case is it?
4) Did they do it? Are they guilty?
And when I say that the judge has specifically ordered all potential jurors to say nothing, they get offended. As if the judge has ordered me not to protect the involved parties, but to be an asshole to my friends.
Though the judge tells us every time before a recess, lunch break, or at the end of the day, "Don't talk to anyone about this case. Do not talk to other jurists regarding anything that happens here. Do not talk to the witnesses or lawyers at all. Please keep everything related to this case confidential," I guess this doesn't really apply to SOME of my friends.
Okay, you want to know the case? Fine here it is:
Flunderbog Johannsen vs. Jeffrey Brighton Smith. Mr. Smith was caught with his penis inside of one of Mr. Johannsen's chickens. That's right, he fucked a chicken. This apparently interrupted the chicken's egg-laying cycles. It was then found out that Mr Smith had fucked almost half of Mr. Johannsen's chickens. Mr. Johannsen is suing Mr. Smith for lost productivity, and is seeking monetary damages. Mr. Smith is countersuing because he got gonorrhea from fucking those chickens. Further investigation revealed that Mr. Johannsen has gonorrhea, and there's no other place they could have gotten it from.
So jury selection continues. People with chicken-fucking experience are usually dismissed from the jury. Jury selection has taken so long, because so many people have fucked chickens that they have to keep dismissing people almost as soon as they're called. Obviously, I haven't been called yet.
Meanwhile, I'm on the verge of replacing my old, decrepid computer with a brand-new eMac with the Superdrive, or an iBook. I could get the Combodrive eMac for $800, an external DVD-R drive for about another $100, and the 3 year warranty for $169. Not bad, right? Free shipping, too. I wonder if they ship to Hawaii for free, or if they charge extra.
Good news!
I'm not dead, and I no longer have the odd, bitter taste in my mouth.
I'm on jury duty. Why do people keep asking me what the case is about? It's like they can't function unless they know:
1) Is it criminal or civil?
2) What are the other jurists like?
3) What kind of case is it?
4) Did they do it? Are they guilty?
And when I say that the judge has specifically ordered all potential jurors to say nothing, they get offended. As if the judge has ordered me not to protect the involved parties, but to be an asshole to my friends.
Though the judge tells us every time before a recess, lunch break, or at the end of the day, "Don't talk to anyone about this case. Do not talk to other jurists regarding anything that happens here. Do not talk to the witnesses or lawyers at all. Please keep everything related to this case confidential," I guess this doesn't really apply to SOME of my friends.
Okay, you want to know the case? Fine here it is:
Flunderbog Johannsen vs. Jeffrey Brighton Smith. Mr. Smith was caught with his penis inside of one of Mr. Johannsen's chickens. That's right, he fucked a chicken. This apparently interrupted the chicken's egg-laying cycles. It was then found out that Mr Smith had fucked almost half of Mr. Johannsen's chickens. Mr. Johannsen is suing Mr. Smith for lost productivity, and is seeking monetary damages. Mr. Smith is countersuing because he got gonorrhea from fucking those chickens. Further investigation revealed that Mr. Johannsen has gonorrhea, and there's no other place they could have gotten it from.
So jury selection continues. People with chicken-fucking experience are usually dismissed from the jury. Jury selection has taken so long, because so many people have fucked chickens that they have to keep dismissing people almost as soon as they're called. Obviously, I haven't been called yet.
Meanwhile, I'm on the verge of replacing my old, decrepid computer with a brand-new eMac with the Superdrive, or an iBook. I could get the Combodrive eMac for $800, an external DVD-R drive for about another $100, and the 3 year warranty for $169. Not bad, right? Free shipping, too. I wonder if they ship to Hawaii for free, or if they charge extra.
Good news!
I'm not dead, and I no longer have the odd, bitter taste in my mouth.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Rupert Murdoch is a cunt-faced bitch
That's right. I now officially hate Myspace. It's now inundated with advertisements. It's a subsidiary of Fox News. To support and continue using Myspace is to support the Republican war machine.
So...as mentioned, I can't complain at this juncture about my female situation. I can, actually. Perhaps I met someone, and we're trying to figure out what the hell to do with me moving to Hawaii and all. Here's some constraints:
1) I am moving to Hawaii. I cannot and will not change my mind.
2) She lives here.
3) I project my stay to be about 6 to 9 months (maybe 12)
I try to put it in simple terms. "Let's treat it like a prison term. Let's pretend I have to go to prison for 9 months. You could come visit me in prison! You wouldn't just ignore me and let me rot if I went to prison, right? Except what's better here is that I'm going voluntarily, it's Hawaii, and I won't have to be someone's bitch."
We'll see; who knows?
I told my agent about me moving to Hawaii. "Yeah, and meetings will be so much easier with you being on an island 3,000 miles away." He seems happy for me. What will we need to meet over? The sheer volume of rejection letters?
Good night, America.
So...as mentioned, I can't complain at this juncture about my female situation. I can, actually. Perhaps I met someone, and we're trying to figure out what the hell to do with me moving to Hawaii and all. Here's some constraints:
1) I am moving to Hawaii. I cannot and will not change my mind.
2) She lives here.
3) I project my stay to be about 6 to 9 months (maybe 12)
I try to put it in simple terms. "Let's treat it like a prison term. Let's pretend I have to go to prison for 9 months. You could come visit me in prison! You wouldn't just ignore me and let me rot if I went to prison, right? Except what's better here is that I'm going voluntarily, it's Hawaii, and I won't have to be someone's bitch."
We'll see; who knows?
I told my agent about me moving to Hawaii. "Yeah, and meetings will be so much easier with you being on an island 3,000 miles away." He seems happy for me. What will we need to meet over? The sheer volume of rejection letters?
Good night, America.
Friday, August 12, 2005
A Moratorium on Feeling Sorry for Myself
Today was rough. I was back at work, today, since court is in recess. Just because the court is in recess doesn't mean Ryan is.
There was a big case of Fridayitis in the courtroom. At 3:00 PM, the judge took a recess. When we came back, she was wearing a short skirt and tank top. She asked us to pretend she wasn't on the phone making her dinner reservations. As the juror selection continued, I noticed that one of the lawyers had merely replaced himself with a cardboard cutout of himself. The other, rather than asking questions or explaining the case, told us his strategy for playing Texas Hold 'Em. I learned a lot, but...it just didn't seem as somber of an environment as I thought it would be.
I mean, a couple of the jurors were in the corner making out. Other jurors took pictures of those jurors. Some had come back with an 18 pack of Natty Light (Note for the Australians: Natural Light, cheap cheap beer). At least of the four jurors were just sitting there drinking the cans of beer and throwing the empty ones at the poor court reporter.
Meanwhile, I read my book.
I'm not allowed to complain about problems with women anymore, at least for awhile. This is somewhat upsetting. It's what I do best--complaining that women don't like me. Perhaps I don't have much reason right now to complain about women not liking me. I will. Soon. I can almost promise I will soon be able to again deliver this service to you--my valued readers.
What's Wrong With Me?
This game is called What's Wrong With Me? It's where I tell you the symptoms, and you guess what's wrong. It saves going to the doctor (unless you're wrong, which you most likely will be).
All day long, I've had an odd bitter taste in my mouth (sort of like the taste of morning breath). And then this evening, I puked.
This bitter flavor has been in my mouth all fuckin' day. I've tried washing it away with coffee, chocolate, chocolate-covered coffee beans, piece of sandwich, orange, soda, yogurt--even that Chloroseptic nasty throat spray, but it still tastes bitter. What the fuck is this?
There was a big case of Fridayitis in the courtroom. At 3:00 PM, the judge took a recess. When we came back, she was wearing a short skirt and tank top. She asked us to pretend she wasn't on the phone making her dinner reservations. As the juror selection continued, I noticed that one of the lawyers had merely replaced himself with a cardboard cutout of himself. The other, rather than asking questions or explaining the case, told us his strategy for playing Texas Hold 'Em. I learned a lot, but...it just didn't seem as somber of an environment as I thought it would be.
I mean, a couple of the jurors were in the corner making out. Other jurors took pictures of those jurors. Some had come back with an 18 pack of Natty Light (Note for the Australians: Natural Light, cheap cheap beer). At least of the four jurors were just sitting there drinking the cans of beer and throwing the empty ones at the poor court reporter.
Meanwhile, I read my book.
I'm not allowed to complain about problems with women anymore, at least for awhile. This is somewhat upsetting. It's what I do best--complaining that women don't like me. Perhaps I don't have much reason right now to complain about women not liking me. I will. Soon. I can almost promise I will soon be able to again deliver this service to you--my valued readers.
What's Wrong With Me?
This game is called What's Wrong With Me? It's where I tell you the symptoms, and you guess what's wrong. It saves going to the doctor (unless you're wrong, which you most likely will be).
All day long, I've had an odd bitter taste in my mouth (sort of like the taste of morning breath). And then this evening, I puked.
This bitter flavor has been in my mouth all fuckin' day. I've tried washing it away with coffee, chocolate, chocolate-covered coffee beans, piece of sandwich, orange, soda, yogurt--even that Chloroseptic nasty throat spray, but it still tastes bitter. What the fuck is this?
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Great Wall of Cincinnati
My jury duties continue. Today was another day in court. I will be going back tomorrow, too.
And every day that I'm in court is about another week behind that I get with my work. I realized today that I have been present at the office for three of the 14 most recent work days (including tomorrow). I spent five work days in Hawaii, one at an off-site meeting, and four (including tomorrow) in court. Pretty amazing, huh? I'm a professional work evader. And we can immediately cut off one of those three days I was there for computer problems and miscellaneous fucking around. TWO DAYS IN A 14 DAY PERIOD.
Dear God. That's a lot of days off. Dear God. Hope you got the letter. I pray you can make it better around here. I don't need a big reduction in the price of beer.
But jury duty has been fun so far. I like it.
Meanwhile, my move to Hawaii slowly marches closer on the calendar. At certain times, especially when I'm with certain people (or a certain person), I feel that time moves too fast. And then, at other times, when I'm at work let's say, it seems that time has stopped.
It's strange, though. This Hawaii stint is basically turning me into a bum. Not a hobo. Hobos are typically homeless, right? Not that there's anything particularly WRONG with being homeless. I just like indoor plumbing, cable, and a bed I don't have to share with the elements. A bum. I'll be a bum. I have to look for a part-time job.
Two college degrees, graduation with honors, and experience with the roughest, toughest collection agency in the United States. And yet I see "Would you like fries with that?" in my near future. Of course it's Hawaii, so I guess it'll probably be, "Would you like spam with that?" In case you don't know Hawaiians love spam. They apparently eat that shit all the time.
Who's going to visit me?
I talked to my brother today. My BROTHER said he may visit me. I may as well ask the Chinese to move the Great Wall of China to Cincinnati. My BROTHER is actually willing to come visit me. You don't even understand. He's a lazy fucker. This is big news.
I'd actually called him to see if he got my package I sent him. It had his birthday gifts in it. His birthday was August 5th. He said, "No."
"Oh," I said. "I didn't think it would have arrived yet. I'm on the way to the post office to mail it to you."
A couple of friends have expressed interest in coming out and staying in one of the hotels and hanging out. It'll be fun--a fucking blast, guys. Who else is coming to visit me?
And every day that I'm in court is about another week behind that I get with my work. I realized today that I have been present at the office for three of the 14 most recent work days (including tomorrow). I spent five work days in Hawaii, one at an off-site meeting, and four (including tomorrow) in court. Pretty amazing, huh? I'm a professional work evader. And we can immediately cut off one of those three days I was there for computer problems and miscellaneous fucking around. TWO DAYS IN A 14 DAY PERIOD.
Dear God. That's a lot of days off. Dear God. Hope you got the letter. I pray you can make it better around here. I don't need a big reduction in the price of beer.
But jury duty has been fun so far. I like it.
Meanwhile, my move to Hawaii slowly marches closer on the calendar. At certain times, especially when I'm with certain people (or a certain person), I feel that time moves too fast. And then, at other times, when I'm at work let's say, it seems that time has stopped.
It's strange, though. This Hawaii stint is basically turning me into a bum. Not a hobo. Hobos are typically homeless, right? Not that there's anything particularly WRONG with being homeless. I just like indoor plumbing, cable, and a bed I don't have to share with the elements. A bum. I'll be a bum. I have to look for a part-time job.
Two college degrees, graduation with honors, and experience with the roughest, toughest collection agency in the United States. And yet I see "Would you like fries with that?" in my near future. Of course it's Hawaii, so I guess it'll probably be, "Would you like spam with that?" In case you don't know Hawaiians love spam. They apparently eat that shit all the time.
Who's going to visit me?
I talked to my brother today. My BROTHER said he may visit me. I may as well ask the Chinese to move the Great Wall of China to Cincinnati. My BROTHER is actually willing to come visit me. You don't even understand. He's a lazy fucker. This is big news.
I'd actually called him to see if he got my package I sent him. It had his birthday gifts in it. His birthday was August 5th. He said, "No."
"Oh," I said. "I didn't think it would have arrived yet. I'm on the way to the post office to mail it to you."
A couple of friends have expressed interest in coming out and staying in one of the hotels and hanging out. It'll be fun--a fucking blast, guys. Who else is coming to visit me?
Monday, August 08, 2005
A Potluck With No Pot and No Luck
Today at work, we had a MEETING. It was held out of the office here in Pasadena, which was quite nice. Out-of-office meeting means I don't have to do as much work. Actually, I didn't have to do any work. It was a potluck. My stomach says that I'm unlucky, though. And there was no pot. What is this? False advertising, that's what.
I got in trouble at the meeting. I brought my coffee pot and some coffee. I ground up some good 100% Kauai coffee this morning, but also took these packs of flavored coffee I plan to never drink. Flavored coffee is strange, after all, and I figured I could unload it on my coworkers. Which I did. "Oh, this is good, Ryan." Thank you.
But I made a lot of coffee, and I made it strong. After a few cups, I was quite caffeinated. I got in trouble because I made the secretary laugh. She was eating a piece of chocolate cream pie. I rocked back and forth in my chair (from the caffeine). I stopped rocking and stared at that piece of chocolate cream pie with the greatest intensity. My eyes bulged, and I just stared at it in deep concentration. She saw this and laughed.
My manager told me to go sit in the corner, so I did. I got up and moved next to this woman in my group, Debbie; everyone waited until I sat down next to her and put my stuff down.
Debbie: an INSTIGATOR.
Everyone blames me for anything that goes wrong. Debbie knows this. She took my pen and put it on the other side of her as the manager continued with the meeting. I took her bottle of lotion, and threw it across the room. She leaned over and said, "If you don't get me my lotion, I'm going to kick yo' motherfuckin' ass." So I went and picked up her lotion. Nobody seemed to notice.
I sat back down and took Charice's pen (who sat next to me) and scribbled all over the paper Debbie was looking at. I drew graffiti and circles and dots and lines. She grabbed my copy out of my hand and drew all over it with her pen. Then she leaned over and said, "You best get your ass on out of here." I went back to my chair, and nobody seemed to notice.
Meanwhile, I (as well as all of my coworkers in my work group) got promoted today. No, don't congratulate me. I'm quitting in about a month. But still, the manager was telling us what comes with the promotion. She said, "All of you work more than your scheduled 8 hour day once in awhile, some more than others. Actually, Ryan never does, but now you can get credit for it and use it later through the use of the credit hour system." I don't deny that I work NO MORE THAN 40 hours per week. I thought it was a strange thing to say in front of everyone, even though I do plan on quitting and all. And instead of putting any more time in to get the job done right the first time, I typically quit in the middle of a task and site Union regulations, but was that appropriate for her to do that? Even though I use a lot of my "work" time to work on personal projects and cat-naps? I mean, come on--we're talking about a professional work environment here.
POSH--How Erotic
Here's one more odd thing. I got a handout today in our meeting that says I have to get recertified in all these HR/admin areas: computer security, ethics, safety, etc. But one thing I found odd was POSH, or rather Prevention of Sexual Harassment.
This is what the Government names its education program for sexual harassment. This word with so many sexual connotations and scandalous undertones. It's like the Government is subtly sexually harassing every single employee. It is, after all mandatory. That's right, mandatory Government-sanctioned sexual harassment.
I guess we'll learn about several methods to an open, happy workplace, such as:
Stop, Understand, and Communicate, in a Knowing Manner so You Can Ordinarily Culture Kindess. Yes, the SUCK MY COCK program. It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't have to; it's government work.
"And remember, the key to respecting other people--whether they be male OR female, because we're equal opportunity and equal rights here--is to tell them, 'SUCK MY COCK.' So if you get fed up because someone's being rude or disrespectful, just tell them, 'SUCK MY COCK.'"
I got in trouble at the meeting. I brought my coffee pot and some coffee. I ground up some good 100% Kauai coffee this morning, but also took these packs of flavored coffee I plan to never drink. Flavored coffee is strange, after all, and I figured I could unload it on my coworkers. Which I did. "Oh, this is good, Ryan." Thank you.
But I made a lot of coffee, and I made it strong. After a few cups, I was quite caffeinated. I got in trouble because I made the secretary laugh. She was eating a piece of chocolate cream pie. I rocked back and forth in my chair (from the caffeine). I stopped rocking and stared at that piece of chocolate cream pie with the greatest intensity. My eyes bulged, and I just stared at it in deep concentration. She saw this and laughed.
My manager told me to go sit in the corner, so I did. I got up and moved next to this woman in my group, Debbie; everyone waited until I sat down next to her and put my stuff down.
Debbie: an INSTIGATOR.
Everyone blames me for anything that goes wrong. Debbie knows this. She took my pen and put it on the other side of her as the manager continued with the meeting. I took her bottle of lotion, and threw it across the room. She leaned over and said, "If you don't get me my lotion, I'm going to kick yo' motherfuckin' ass." So I went and picked up her lotion. Nobody seemed to notice.
I sat back down and took Charice's pen (who sat next to me) and scribbled all over the paper Debbie was looking at. I drew graffiti and circles and dots and lines. She grabbed my copy out of my hand and drew all over it with her pen. Then she leaned over and said, "You best get your ass on out of here." I went back to my chair, and nobody seemed to notice.
Meanwhile, I (as well as all of my coworkers in my work group) got promoted today. No, don't congratulate me. I'm quitting in about a month. But still, the manager was telling us what comes with the promotion. She said, "All of you work more than your scheduled 8 hour day once in awhile, some more than others. Actually, Ryan never does, but now you can get credit for it and use it later through the use of the credit hour system." I don't deny that I work NO MORE THAN 40 hours per week. I thought it was a strange thing to say in front of everyone, even though I do plan on quitting and all. And instead of putting any more time in to get the job done right the first time, I typically quit in the middle of a task and site Union regulations, but was that appropriate for her to do that? Even though I use a lot of my "work" time to work on personal projects and cat-naps? I mean, come on--we're talking about a professional work environment here.
POSH--How Erotic
Here's one more odd thing. I got a handout today in our meeting that says I have to get recertified in all these HR/admin areas: computer security, ethics, safety, etc. But one thing I found odd was POSH, or rather Prevention of Sexual Harassment.
This is what the Government names its education program for sexual harassment. This word with so many sexual connotations and scandalous undertones. It's like the Government is subtly sexually harassing every single employee. It is, after all mandatory. That's right, mandatory Government-sanctioned sexual harassment.
I guess we'll learn about several methods to an open, happy workplace, such as:
Stop, Understand, and Communicate, in a Knowing Manner so You Can Ordinarily Culture Kindess. Yes, the SUCK MY COCK program. It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't have to; it's government work.
"And remember, the key to respecting other people--whether they be male OR female, because we're equal opportunity and equal rights here--is to tell them, 'SUCK MY COCK.' So if you get fed up because someone's being rude or disrespectful, just tell them, 'SUCK MY COCK.'"
Sunday, August 07, 2005
IMPORTANT DECISION MADE
I'm moving to Hawaii.
Yes, the land of Lincoln...wait, that's Illinois. And Hawaii became a state long after Lincoln was shot.
Nevertheless, I'm moving there. I'll be there early to mid-October.
I'll be back, though. It's not forever.
I'll be living in the Kona region on the Big Island. I hope it'll be fun. One friend tells me that I'll be miserable and bored, and that I'll totally regret moving there after a week or two. Thanks for the vote of confidence! I know you're just jealous.
Of course if I was paid assloads of money to only work five hours a week like this particular friend, I'd probably have plenty of reason in that alone to stay. Alas, I don't.
I can't see how it'll make me as miserable as my job, though. Anything that could be less miserable than my job has promise. By this rationale, skydiving without a parachute has more promise.
Yes, the land of Lincoln...wait, that's Illinois. And Hawaii became a state long after Lincoln was shot.
Nevertheless, I'm moving there. I'll be there early to mid-October.
I'll be back, though. It's not forever.
I'll be living in the Kona region on the Big Island. I hope it'll be fun. One friend tells me that I'll be miserable and bored, and that I'll totally regret moving there after a week or two. Thanks for the vote of confidence! I know you're just jealous.
Of course if I was paid assloads of money to only work five hours a week like this particular friend, I'd probably have plenty of reason in that alone to stay. Alas, I don't.
I can't see how it'll make me as miserable as my job, though. Anything that could be less miserable than my job has promise. By this rationale, skydiving without a parachute has more promise.
I'm too unoriginal to come up with a good title
Today I went to a pretty cool pool party today. The water was nice, and the food was pretty decent. And I was there, so that made it even better.
I have an unexplainable fear of pool vacuums. You know, that thing that moves slowly along the bottom of the pool pumping up leaves, dirt, and other unsavory items. Those things scare me. Through blurry eyes, they somehow always manage to look sinister.
Nobody got my They Might Be Giants reference from a couple of days ago:
"I found out she's an angel. I don't think she knows I know. I'm worried that something might happen to me if anyone ever finds out. Why, why did they send her--over anyone else? How should I react? These things happen to other people. They don't happen at all."
In fact, when you're following an angel, do you have really have to throw your body off a building?
Just because I plagiarized the lyrics, though, doesn't mean they don't have to apply.
I've decided to save money in moving to Hawaii by sneaking in in a piece of carry-on luggage...but who's going to carry me on to the plane? A cunning plan with a major obstacle. I must think this one through a bit more.
I have an unexplainable fear of pool vacuums. You know, that thing that moves slowly along the bottom of the pool pumping up leaves, dirt, and other unsavory items. Those things scare me. Through blurry eyes, they somehow always manage to look sinister.
Nobody got my They Might Be Giants reference from a couple of days ago:
"I found out she's an angel. I don't think she knows I know. I'm worried that something might happen to me if anyone ever finds out. Why, why did they send her--over anyone else? How should I react? These things happen to other people. They don't happen at all."
In fact, when you're following an angel, do you have really have to throw your body off a building?
Just because I plagiarized the lyrics, though, doesn't mean they don't have to apply.
I've decided to save money in moving to Hawaii by sneaking in in a piece of carry-on luggage...but who's going to carry me on to the plane? A cunning plan with a major obstacle. I must think this one through a bit more.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Pepsi Fuckin' Challenge
I called up one of my friends today and said, "Hey, ya' white motherfucker. How are you doing?"
He was not doing so well. He proposed to his girlfriend on Thursday night, and they broke up Friday morning. I felt horrible for him. I'd called him from Hawaii when I was there. His girlfriend got home from a long trip only a week ago, and I spoke with him on the day before. He was ecstatic she was coming home, since she'd been gone so long. It's a week later, and he sounds upside down. Everything has changed for him, it seems.
Another friend is rethinking her engagement. Everything has changed for her as well, especially since there's this other guy already trying to get her attention. That guy has no class. He calls her and always wants to see her, and generally makes life difficult for her.
Another friend is moving farther into a relationship that she's not too optimistic about.
Another friend has taken back an ex-boyfriend purely for carnal relations (so she says).
My brother's wife is pregnant (yes, by my brother, asshole). The kid will either be named Ari Herschel Medinski if it's a boy, or Eva Lilly Medinski if it's a girl. Hm. Eva Lilly--pretty name. It's very Southern belle. And Ari Herschel? The kid's future is already laid out for him: he'll be a rabbi, a mohel (go here and click on "The Rabbi" to find out what a mohel is), a jeweler, or a rapper. Where did my brother get the idea for the name Ari? From a TV show on HBO. I love my brother.
Another friend doesn't seem to appreciate or practice the one man/one woman concept, and may be confused. Perhaps it's time to intervene and help out a brotha.
Don't think I'm without any type of problems, either. I've got to learn some programming, some Chinese, the guitar, and suddenly be five to ten years older. I think I can do it.
Chinese
I can speak a little Korean. I can tell someone I'm going to kill them. I can curse at them. I can ask where the prostitutes are. I can ask how much the prostitutes are. I can say, "I don't know." Oh, and of course, I can say, "Hello." Anyang! I'm sure I could learn the same in Chinese. Will that be enough?
Programming
I could program in QBASIC when I was about 12. I'm sure I could pick it up again really fast. I took some C++ about five years ago. Could Java be that much harder? Anybody have a copy of DOS 5.5 I could borrow to brush up on my QBASIC?
Guitar
What about piano and harmonica? I can play these. I can play the air guitar really well. Does that count? It wasn't specified that I had to specifically be able to play classical, acoustic, bass, or air guitar. I was assuming any of these would work.
I like to play the drums. I think I'm getting better but I can handle criticism. I'll show you what I know and you can tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums. I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't hear the doorbell.
Five Years Older
I'm 30. Done. Not old enough. 35. Done. See? That's magic, but it works. Just don't look at my driver's license.
See? And now I'm the best. Well, I'm the best if you're into a 30-35 year old Chinese guitar-playing computer programmer.
I'll take the Pepsi Challenge any day of the week against any other 30-35 year old Chinese guitar-playing programmer. Hell, against any other guy. That's right. I'm that confident about myself.
Big Decision 2005
Hawaii, here I come. I've decided. The preliminary plan is that I'll leave LA about the third week of September, go to Phoenix and take the LSAT (yes, sorry, but I'm taking it--why not?), perhaps a quick jaunt to Albuquerque, and then it's off to Hawaii. 3, 6, 9, 12 months? Something like that. Who knows?
Maybe I'll have a reason to come back.
I will come back, though. Don't worry your pretty little head.
He was not doing so well. He proposed to his girlfriend on Thursday night, and they broke up Friday morning. I felt horrible for him. I'd called him from Hawaii when I was there. His girlfriend got home from a long trip only a week ago, and I spoke with him on the day before. He was ecstatic she was coming home, since she'd been gone so long. It's a week later, and he sounds upside down. Everything has changed for him, it seems.
Another friend is rethinking her engagement. Everything has changed for her as well, especially since there's this other guy already trying to get her attention. That guy has no class. He calls her and always wants to see her, and generally makes life difficult for her.
Another friend is moving farther into a relationship that she's not too optimistic about.
Another friend has taken back an ex-boyfriend purely for carnal relations (so she says).
My brother's wife is pregnant (yes, by my brother, asshole). The kid will either be named Ari Herschel Medinski if it's a boy, or Eva Lilly Medinski if it's a girl. Hm. Eva Lilly--pretty name. It's very Southern belle. And Ari Herschel? The kid's future is already laid out for him: he'll be a rabbi, a mohel (go here and click on "The Rabbi" to find out what a mohel is), a jeweler, or a rapper. Where did my brother get the idea for the name Ari? From a TV show on HBO. I love my brother.
Another friend doesn't seem to appreciate or practice the one man/one woman concept, and may be confused. Perhaps it's time to intervene and help out a brotha.
Don't think I'm without any type of problems, either. I've got to learn some programming, some Chinese, the guitar, and suddenly be five to ten years older. I think I can do it.
Chinese
I can speak a little Korean. I can tell someone I'm going to kill them. I can curse at them. I can ask where the prostitutes are. I can ask how much the prostitutes are. I can say, "I don't know." Oh, and of course, I can say, "Hello." Anyang! I'm sure I could learn the same in Chinese. Will that be enough?
Programming
I could program in QBASIC when I was about 12. I'm sure I could pick it up again really fast. I took some C++ about five years ago. Could Java be that much harder? Anybody have a copy of DOS 5.5 I could borrow to brush up on my QBASIC?
Guitar
What about piano and harmonica? I can play these. I can play the air guitar really well. Does that count? It wasn't specified that I had to specifically be able to play classical, acoustic, bass, or air guitar. I was assuming any of these would work.
I like to play the drums. I think I'm getting better but I can handle criticism. I'll show you what I know and you can tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums. I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't hear the doorbell.
Five Years Older
I'm 30. Done. Not old enough. 35. Done. See? That's magic, but it works. Just don't look at my driver's license.
See? And now I'm the best. Well, I'm the best if you're into a 30-35 year old Chinese guitar-playing computer programmer.
I'll take the Pepsi Challenge any day of the week against any other 30-35 year old Chinese guitar-playing programmer. Hell, against any other guy. That's right. I'm that confident about myself.
Big Decision 2005
Hawaii, here I come. I've decided. The preliminary plan is that I'll leave LA about the third week of September, go to Phoenix and take the LSAT (yes, sorry, but I'm taking it--why not?), perhaps a quick jaunt to Albuquerque, and then it's off to Hawaii. 3, 6, 9, 12 months? Something like that. Who knows?
Maybe I'll have a reason to come back.
I will come back, though. Don't worry your pretty little head.
The Jurist on the Sand
Together on the sand,
We walked hand in hand
On the beachfront, she smiled at me
As she tightly held my hand...
There's your plagiarism of the day. Which song? Which album? And why these lyrics in particular?
Yesterday, I got called to serve my community--nay, my country. I was a part of the Democratic system. It's what separates us from the Third World. Trial by jury, innocent until proven guilty...Plus, I didn't have to go to work yesterday. It was great. I got there at 8 AM and stood in the hall with about 150 other people. Then we went into the juror lounge. They had chairs, TVs, magazines, computers, books. So I picked up a book and started reading. At about 9:45, they gave us a 40 minute break. I went across the street to the library and checked out Hey Rube, a compilation of some of Hunter S. Thompson's sports writings for ESPN. I read most of that, and on our two hour lunch break, I went and checked out Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk. I sat and read--no interruptions--until about 4, when I was finally called for jury selection.
The judge told us the expected length of the trail, and asked for the people with no scheduling conflicts to stand up. I was one of about 8 people out of about 70 who stood up. The judge said to be back late Tuesday morning. All day Tuesday--no work that day, either.
And Monday is a screwaround day for work, because we're having an off-site group meeting. It's going to be a potluck, too, so it's not like I'll really have to do anything.
It was a good day yesterday. I found out she's an angel. I don't think she knows I know. I'm worried that something might happen to me if anyone ever finds out.
Why, why did they send her--over anyone else? How should I react? These things happen to other people. They don't happen at all.
I'd say it was a great day yesterday. But then, it wasn't at the same time. Bittersweet.
I'll leave you all on a happy thought: I'm going to a better place. A happier place. That's right, I'm going to Costco. I'm going to eat me some samples.
We walked hand in hand
On the beachfront, she smiled at me
As she tightly held my hand...
There's your plagiarism of the day. Which song? Which album? And why these lyrics in particular?
Yesterday, I got called to serve my community--nay, my country. I was a part of the Democratic system. It's what separates us from the Third World. Trial by jury, innocent until proven guilty...Plus, I didn't have to go to work yesterday. It was great. I got there at 8 AM and stood in the hall with about 150 other people. Then we went into the juror lounge. They had chairs, TVs, magazines, computers, books. So I picked up a book and started reading. At about 9:45, they gave us a 40 minute break. I went across the street to the library and checked out Hey Rube, a compilation of some of Hunter S. Thompson's sports writings for ESPN. I read most of that, and on our two hour lunch break, I went and checked out Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk. I sat and read--no interruptions--until about 4, when I was finally called for jury selection.
The judge told us the expected length of the trail, and asked for the people with no scheduling conflicts to stand up. I was one of about 8 people out of about 70 who stood up. The judge said to be back late Tuesday morning. All day Tuesday--no work that day, either.
And Monday is a screwaround day for work, because we're having an off-site group meeting. It's going to be a potluck, too, so it's not like I'll really have to do anything.
It was a good day yesterday. I found out she's an angel. I don't think she knows I know. I'm worried that something might happen to me if anyone ever finds out.
Why, why did they send her--over anyone else? How should I react? These things happen to other people. They don't happen at all.
I'd say it was a great day yesterday. But then, it wasn't at the same time. Bittersweet.
I'll leave you all on a happy thought: I'm going to a better place. A happier place. That's right, I'm going to Costco. I'm going to eat me some samples.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
The Gods of Juries Have Looked Down and Smiled Unto Me
Yes, I got called for jury duty.
Most people say, "Awww fuck. Jury duty."
I say, "Great smoking Moses! I am truly a lucky man!"
As mentioned in the past, I prefer a lot of things to working: dental work, physical therapy, MRIs. Now I can add jury duty to that list. Yay!
All this work I've got stacked up at the office. It piles up like the snows of hell pile up faster than you could ever imagine shoveling it away. I'm so far behind, I'd say I'd be in danger of losing my job if I were in the private sector.
However, since I'm a government employee, I get my promotion and raise on Monday. No shit.
Oh, but it's bad, and my manager has taken notice. However, I think she has decided not to care because with the promotion comes a reassignment to another manager. This sort of sucks. Yeah, there'll be a hefty pay increase (for the month that I work there before quitting), but I'll have to sit farther away from the window (for the month that I work there before quitting).
GOVERNMENT WASTE AND THE 5 HOUR BREAK
This morning was all right. It was a long day over all, but they all are. Yesterday, we were basically told that if we don't back up everything on our laptops at work, it'll all be destroyed with this BIG software update for one of the government's proprietary programs.
Fantastic. So everyone starts backing up their files to some space on a hard drive on a remote server--the I-drive (you know, where c: is the hard drive, d: is a local partition, e: is the CD-R/DVD, i: is the remote drive). The I-drive filled up because nobody was zipping up all their files, because nobody told us to. So after spending 3 hours trying to back it up, someone came running around handing out slips of fucking paper with a command code. After three tries and another 2 hours, I got it to work. And then, I called to make sure it worked, and the guy said that it didn't really matter whether we backed up all our shit; nothing is expected to happen so that we lose any of our files. Meanwhile, I got to sit back and take a 5 hour break.
All well. Your taxes pay my paychecks. That's cool.
Most people say, "Awww fuck. Jury duty."
I say, "Great smoking Moses! I am truly a lucky man!"
As mentioned in the past, I prefer a lot of things to working: dental work, physical therapy, MRIs. Now I can add jury duty to that list. Yay!
All this work I've got stacked up at the office. It piles up like the snows of hell pile up faster than you could ever imagine shoveling it away. I'm so far behind, I'd say I'd be in danger of losing my job if I were in the private sector.
However, since I'm a government employee, I get my promotion and raise on Monday. No shit.
Oh, but it's bad, and my manager has taken notice. However, I think she has decided not to care because with the promotion comes a reassignment to another manager. This sort of sucks. Yeah, there'll be a hefty pay increase (for the month that I work there before quitting), but I'll have to sit farther away from the window (for the month that I work there before quitting).
GOVERNMENT WASTE AND THE 5 HOUR BREAK
This morning was all right. It was a long day over all, but they all are. Yesterday, we were basically told that if we don't back up everything on our laptops at work, it'll all be destroyed with this BIG software update for one of the government's proprietary programs.
Fantastic. So everyone starts backing up their files to some space on a hard drive on a remote server--the I-drive (you know, where c: is the hard drive, d: is a local partition, e: is the CD-R/DVD, i: is the remote drive). The I-drive filled up because nobody was zipping up all their files, because nobody told us to. So after spending 3 hours trying to back it up, someone came running around handing out slips of fucking paper with a command code. After three tries and another 2 hours, I got it to work. And then, I called to make sure it worked, and the guy said that it didn't really matter whether we backed up all our shit; nothing is expected to happen so that we lose any of our files. Meanwhile, I got to sit back and take a 5 hour break.
All well. Your taxes pay my paychecks. That's cool.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
What about my fucking jury duty?
Today was my first day back at work.
It was a spirit-crushing, eye-opening day.
Nothing had changed. I feel that a year-long vacation wouldn't remove the stress and hatred of my job that I feel.
Meanwhile, it seems that some people actually missed me. One of my counterparts in the other group told me he went to my manager everyday and asked, "Where's Ryan?" She would answer that I was on vacation, and to get the hell out of her office.
I brought back a bunch of candy. My manager is allergic to nuts. All of the candy had nuts in them. Not the chocolate-covered coffee beans. She doesn't like chocolate-covered coffee beans, though.
THE RED GLOWING LIGHT! That little bastard. I'd like to meet the shitface that invented the RED GLOWING LIGHT. Obviously, I mean the voicemail light. If I ignore it, it doesn't go away. It seems to glow brighter--burning into my brain...AGGHH!! And then I start wondering, "How many messages do I have? 1? 5? 7?" No. I had ten. Ten messages.
What part of, "I will be unable to answer or return calls while I am out of the office. If you have an emergency, call the manager at blah blah blah," sounds like, "I'm not here, but you're my TOP PRIORITY. Leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I possibly can. I'll interrupt my vacation for you!"?
Fuuuuuck that. And fuuuuuuuuuuck them.
I've been scheduled to be on-call for jury duty. Each day this week I've called, and they haven't called me in. Damn it! I want to be called! I want to serve my community. I want to fulfill my civic duty. I want a day or two off from work to fuck around.
And one more thing. You are fantastic and nothing is wrong with you.
It was a spirit-crushing, eye-opening day.
Nothing had changed. I feel that a year-long vacation wouldn't remove the stress and hatred of my job that I feel.
Meanwhile, it seems that some people actually missed me. One of my counterparts in the other group told me he went to my manager everyday and asked, "Where's Ryan?" She would answer that I was on vacation, and to get the hell out of her office.
I brought back a bunch of candy. My manager is allergic to nuts. All of the candy had nuts in them. Not the chocolate-covered coffee beans. She doesn't like chocolate-covered coffee beans, though.
THE RED GLOWING LIGHT! That little bastard. I'd like to meet the shitface that invented the RED GLOWING LIGHT. Obviously, I mean the voicemail light. If I ignore it, it doesn't go away. It seems to glow brighter--burning into my brain...AGGHH!! And then I start wondering, "How many messages do I have? 1? 5? 7?" No. I had ten. Ten messages.
What part of, "I will be unable to answer or return calls while I am out of the office. If you have an emergency, call the manager at blah blah blah," sounds like, "I'm not here, but you're my TOP PRIORITY. Leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I possibly can. I'll interrupt my vacation for you!"?
Fuuuuuck that. And fuuuuuuuuuuck them.
I've been scheduled to be on-call for jury duty. Each day this week I've called, and they haven't called me in. Damn it! I want to be called! I want to serve my community. I want to fulfill my civic duty. I want a day or two off from work to fuck around.
And one more thing. You are fantastic and nothing is wrong with you.
Monday, August 01, 2005
A Subtle Subtext
Why try parking in a parking spot that already has a car parked there? Even the handicap spot--you don't park there, because the sign says that it's reserved for those with a handicap. You can't wait there and assume that at some point, the sign will fall down and you can pull into that space.
Why did Three's Company last 1977 to 1984, but Three's a Crowd last for only eight episodes?!
Why ADD hot dogs to macaroni and cheese? It's macaroni and cheese! There should be no third ingredient. And you can't replace the macaroni with hot dogs, and still enjoy the hot dogs and cheese in the same manner. This spells disaster. That's why the hot dogs are served on a separate plate.
It's green eggs and ham! Not green eggs, ham, and a bowl of cereal. Dr. Seuss didn't do that, because it wouldn't be right with a bowl of cereal in ADDITION to the green eggs and ham. He's a doctor; he obviously knew what he was doing.
Why did Three's Company last 1977 to 1984, but Three's a Crowd last for only eight episodes?!
Why ADD hot dogs to macaroni and cheese? It's macaroni and cheese! There should be no third ingredient. And you can't replace the macaroni with hot dogs, and still enjoy the hot dogs and cheese in the same manner. This spells disaster. That's why the hot dogs are served on a separate plate.
It's green eggs and ham! Not green eggs, ham, and a bowl of cereal. Dr. Seuss didn't do that, because it wouldn't be right with a bowl of cereal in ADDITION to the green eggs and ham. He's a doctor; he obviously knew what he was doing.
Volcanoes
I saw a place in Hawaii where this one neighborhood had been completely destroyed by lava. This volcano had erupted and hot fuckin' lava had rolled over this subdivision full of new houses. Most of the houses were completely destroyed.
Wouldn't that be odd if this was a widespread thing? You know, maybe not just volcanoes, but disappearing neighborhoods.
I mean, on the 6 o'clock news, we'd hear, "East Pasadena has completely disappeared. Evidently, there was an eruption of lava from within the Von's grocery store that destroyed the neighborhood. It's gone, so if you live there--you now have no home. Von's is asking its customers to pay with cash only until they get their credit card machines working again." Poof.
Oh, Hawaii, I miss you already. You gave me a tan. Maybe you gave me melanoma, you trickster you.
But that flattened lava neighborhood was cool. From the helicoptor, you could see that the entire neighborhood hadn't been destroyed. There were these islands where the lava had flowed around. So in the middle of a huge lava field, there's suddenly a couple of houses just sitting there. Sort of makes you wonder what the hell anyone was thinking to decide, "Yeah, I'll buy this house right in the shadow of an active volcano."
I was told that the owners of these houses wouldn't get insurance money if the lava destroyed their homes, so they surrounded their homes with cans of gasoline. Once the lava proceeded far enough...KABOOM! Insurance checks galore. I guess that's not arson. I guess it's considered accidental to leave cans of gasoline outside around your house, and then some lava comes wondering along and accidentally blows your house up.
Most of the unflattened houses are vacant. But at least one was occupied by a guy named James. The helicoptor pilot said that James had lived in his house since 1972 (11 years before the 1983 eruption). James stayed, even though his his is surrounded on all sides by now-cool lava. His neighbors' houses were destroyed, as were the roads to his house. Now he has to take an hour-long motorcycle ride to get in and out. Fucked up, right?
That'd be cool, though. The Fuller Brush Man, Mormons, door-to-door evangelical Christians, and the guy that leaves those stupid door-hang advertisements for local pizza restaurants--all a thing of the past. Nobody'd come to the front door.
Wouldn't that be odd if this was a widespread thing? You know, maybe not just volcanoes, but disappearing neighborhoods.
I mean, on the 6 o'clock news, we'd hear, "East Pasadena has completely disappeared. Evidently, there was an eruption of lava from within the Von's grocery store that destroyed the neighborhood. It's gone, so if you live there--you now have no home. Von's is asking its customers to pay with cash only until they get their credit card machines working again." Poof.
Oh, Hawaii, I miss you already. You gave me a tan. Maybe you gave me melanoma, you trickster you.
But that flattened lava neighborhood was cool. From the helicoptor, you could see that the entire neighborhood hadn't been destroyed. There were these islands where the lava had flowed around. So in the middle of a huge lava field, there's suddenly a couple of houses just sitting there. Sort of makes you wonder what the hell anyone was thinking to decide, "Yeah, I'll buy this house right in the shadow of an active volcano."
I was told that the owners of these houses wouldn't get insurance money if the lava destroyed their homes, so they surrounded their homes with cans of gasoline. Once the lava proceeded far enough...KABOOM! Insurance checks galore. I guess that's not arson. I guess it's considered accidental to leave cans of gasoline outside around your house, and then some lava comes wondering along and accidentally blows your house up.
Most of the unflattened houses are vacant. But at least one was occupied by a guy named James. The helicoptor pilot said that James had lived in his house since 1972 (11 years before the 1983 eruption). James stayed, even though his his is surrounded on all sides by now-cool lava. His neighbors' houses were destroyed, as were the roads to his house. Now he has to take an hour-long motorcycle ride to get in and out. Fucked up, right?
That'd be cool, though. The Fuller Brush Man, Mormons, door-to-door evangelical Christians, and the guy that leaves those stupid door-hang advertisements for local pizza restaurants--all a thing of the past. Nobody'd come to the front door.
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