The lord commands it...

The Lord commands you to post a comment, or you shall suffer eternal damnation.

Big-ass Cock

Today was a strangely lovely day. I was surprised. I was expected to be yelled at by my boss. After all, I took two sick days and I'm way, way behind in my work. I left shit in my desk, forgot about it, and now it sort of returned today to bite me in the ass. And yet, things didn't seem to be too bad.

My special lady friend sent me a surprise gift today at work. I heard, "Someone's looking for Ryan." I was going to duck out and run--no shit. If someone's looking for me, it's usually a fucking taxpayer. And I don't like meeting with taxpayers (READ: I don't like to do my job). I knew that they'd find me if I ran anyway, so I went to my manager's office. They were about to hunt me down.

"Ryan, there's someone out there with a gift for you."

Oh, Goddamnit. Usually that means that someone's waiting in the hall, and they're really mad. Usually, they've tried calling and calling, and nobody's called them back. In my case, I rarely return calls or answer my phone anymore. The phone HAD just rung about 3 or 4 times, and I'd ignored it (I covered my ears and turned the volume down so I couldn't hear it ring). I figured, "Damnit, whoever was trying to call me was calling to say they're here in the building."

I asked if the person seemed angry.

"Ryan, they have a gift."

"What was their name so I can go get their case file?"

I was dragged into the hall to a guy holding a gift basket. I thought it was for someone else, but he said it was for me. And they asked for me by my employee number. "Hmmm...Why did a taxpayer send me a gift basket?" But there were so many yummy looking treats: cookies, cupcakes, brownies. Mmmm-mmm, bitch! I signed for it and walked back in, and saw the package was from my very special lady friend.

And then everyone was all over me like ants on shit. "Hey, open that up. Share the wealth. Who sent you that? WHAT?! A girl sent that to you? Why?" And since it said HAPPY BIRTHDAY all over it, everyone thought it was my birthday. People started wishing me happy birthday, though my birthday isn't until January.

It was great, though, because the gift basket came with two party hats, candles, a ribbon (to tie the gift basket together), and a couple of balloons. I inflated the ballons and shoved them down the back of my shirt (the front wouldn't be PC), and put the hats on my head. I walked around chastising everyone else for being unprofessional. It was fun. This actually took up a great portion of my day.

Gas is getting very expensive. I noticed some of my coworkers are trading sex for gasoline. At least, they're trying. They seem to be walking.

I seized my coworker's desk today, and all her possessions. She wasn't at work today, so I put IRS Seized stickers on everything. She can't get it back unless I have it released. Or if she just removes the stickers. She'll probably do the lattert, and then likely will yell at me.

So, tomorrow is my last solid day of work. Thursday, I'm "sick." Friday, I put in my notice. Damn. It's all happening so fast.

PC Castration

It's been so long since I left a post. I hope you aren't angry. I shall post more now. It's just that I bought an iBook. I've converted. I've fallen victim to the Apple Switch campaign. This is a good thing, of course. But in moving to Mac from PC, it's taken some getting used to. Hence, a few days without blog posts.

I got the 12" iBook. It's sweet. All I need is a bag to carry it in. It has wireless (though I haven't a wireless router) and Bluetooth (though I have no Bluetooth-enabled devices). I'm loving this thing.

I'd like to get a Bluetooth-enabled coffeemaker. This would be great. I could adjust the settings to the coffeemaker on my PC and upload them. That'd be so sweet: I could fine tune the coffeemaker to make the perfect cup of coffee. And then I could share my settings (and view other people's settings) at a www.BLUETOOTHCOFFEEMAKER.com. That'd be so sweet.

Meanwhile, I took Thursday AND Friday off from work. I had chest pains earlier in the week and went to the doc. Luckily, the doctor said my heart's really healthy and he doesn't think it was a major thing. Today is off because it's a federal holiday, and Thursday I'll be "sick" so I can go get my car worked on. Yeah, all these sick days off might raise a red flag, but I'm putting in my notice on Friday. I just hope I can get through Tuesday and Wednesday. I'm thinking there'll be at least a few minor shitstorms. However, for the last week, I nearly was able to avoid all phone calls. I even "lost" a few phone messages.

Anyone have iChat AV? I can now actually talk into the microphone and talk to people. Awesome. Anyone want to send me their usernames? I want to hear how the funny Australians talk.

TIP OF THE DAY: My neighbor Geoff says that you can make a stronger cup of coffee by using TWO coffee filters rather than just one. Hmm. We'll have to keep that in mind. It slows down the water as it flows through the maker. The longer the water is in contact with the grounds, the stronger it gets. Fascinating. But how will it taste? Disgusting?

Happy Memorial Day!!!

IMPORTANT: A Message From the President of the United States

Hey, y'all!!

This is a message from your president. I feel it is important to address the American public in this tragic time. Katrina has left thousands homeless, destroyed the city of New Orleans, and, worst of all, has all but destroyed the oil refining and transport industry.

I've decided we must reallocate resources to protect 'Merica's interests. As we move into the 20th century, we've got to recognize threats. And then we have to hunt them down and kill them.

This is why I am waging a War on Weather. Some of the nation's most dangerous meteorologists are on the Weathermen List. It's a list of 12. Rather than handing out a deck of cards, the Whitehouse will be selling boxes of condoms. Each condom will have the name and picture of the top Weathermen.

The fucked-in-the-head Democrats tell me the meteorologists are not the problem here, and we should use the $2.5 trillion I'm wanting Congress to earmark for the War on Weather for other uses. But let me tell you, I saw Adam Caskey on channel 7 (our local ABC affiliate) talking about that hurricane hitting New Orleans. He's a meteorologist, and I've been suspicious of him for some time. I got scared, because obviously he uses the Powers of Satan to send these hurricanes in. Others say the meteorologists predict the weather; I say they control the weather by harnessing the aforementioned Powers of Satan to destroy 'Mericans.

Also, I'm going to go ahead and start sending troops on bombing missions to find where these hurricanes originate. They can't just come out from thin air. We MUST stop these hurricanes before they can do any more damage. Now, it's New Orleans. Tomorrow, it could be Houston, or Miami, or Denver. You don't know how far the Powers of Satan can carry these hurricanes inland.

Tornadoes are bad, too. Just because a hurricane hit doesn't mean we should just focus on hurricanes. We've got to stop tornadoes, because if they get too close to water they can turn into hurricanes. The next initiative of the War on Weather is troop clustering throughout the United States. We'll station troops all over 'Merica--perhaps a few troops every square mile or so, so that if a tornado touches down, they can attack and bring the tornado to a halt.

For now, these are the major parts of my plan.

Thank you, God Bless you, and God Bless the United States of 'Merica. Except California. I hate California. It's so liberal. They're dummies. I hate them.

I'm fine

The chest pain thing, according to my uncle (he's a doc--represent!), is likely just an inflamed ligament in my chest.

I have a physical exam tomorrow with an internist, though. We'll see what's what.

Fight oppression by enslaving everyone.

My posts come more and more infrequent. For that, I apologize...with a big, hearty, "Go fuck yourself." I do what I want. I post when I want. You can't tell me what to do. But not to worry--I remain devoted to my blogs.

Tonight, the worry is chest pain. I first felt it on Monday night, and then again on Tuesday during the day. Part of me wants to say, "Fuck it." But then I've got good health insurance and eight days of available sick leave. I turn in my two week's notice next Friday, so I figured I was going to lose a lot of that sick leave. I was already planning on calling in sick next Thursday, too, anyway. Maybe not. Also, I'll lose my lovely federal employee health insurance once I leave my job, so I might as well use it. The chest pain--nothing serious. It's not my heart, I'm pretty sure. It seems to happen for a few minutes at a time where it hurts when I breathe in. Whatever. We'll see. It was my mom's idea to go to the doctor. I hate to go to the emergency room, but where does one go BUT the emergency room in things like this?

I feel wierd actually taking a legitimate sick day. Is it legitimate? Strangely, I was talking with a coworker today who was "sick" yesterday. She DID say she went to a doctor--her dog's vet. She ran errands, watched TV, did some housework. But she asked me, "How many of your sick days are actual sick days?" My answer was one out of three. That's sad.

Meanwhile, I can't figure if I should get a Dell laptop or an Apple iBook. The Dell is certainly cheaper. I can get a Dell with Windows XP Media Center, 512 megs of RAM, 60 gig HD, a DVD burner, bluetooth, 3 year warranty and wireless for $900. The equivalent from Apple (iBook 14" Superdrive with 3 years of AppleCare) is about $1400. Fuck it. I'll probably get the Dell.

BACK AT WORK
Being back at work sucks balls. I dislike my job. I feel worthless when I'm there--like nothing I do will have any effect on the good of society in general (the words of a true Communist?). But I'm also bored out of my mind. Bored bored bored. And also, now I'm on edge all the time because I'm afraid my manager's going to call me into her office to find out why my quality of work is so low. She gave me a "To do" list on Tuesday. It's under one of my piles of papers. I'm afraid she'll get mad that I didn't touch it. Yes, even though I'm putting in my notice next Friday.

And it's strange. When I walked back in on Monday, I'd not been in the office in over two weeks. I'd worked five days in an entire month. Some people missed me. My manager said people missed me at first, but then they realized it was really quiet and everyone got a lot of work done. That's fine. Who needs 'em?

So, plans for today (Thurdsay): a visit to the emergency room, pack some boxes, maybe go to the gym.

Word to your mother.

I'll be the fucking Pho King king

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?

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.'"

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.

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.

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.