So as previously mentioned, jury duty ended in the case of the People of the State of California v. Michael Chia. It was rough. I think that the most tense moments of my life were during the reading of the verdict: guilty on two counts of first degree murder, attempted murder, robbery, and conspiracy. The defendant, Michael Chia, was involved in a plan to rob a couple of drug dealers, and then kill them. Turns out the drug dealers were undercover DEA agents. Out of three DEA agents, only one survived. He even testified at the trial.
It was amazing to see so many people in a court room--silent, except for the crying as the verdicts were read. I was expecting more sound--more noise. Perhaps celebration on the part of the prosecution, the amassed DEA agents, everyone? No.
Obviously, Chia's family was upset. The defense attorney was, as well. The jury requested both attorneys meet with us afterwords, and the defense attorney looked like he was waking up to a nightmare. We asked if he was satisfied with the decision, and he said he wasn't at all. He said he was devastated.
It was rough because the defendant didn't pull the trigger. He wasn't even at the shooting. By the time of the shooting, he was probably a few miles away. But he was part of a semi-organized rip-off plan. The guy was only 20 years old when he did it. It was a retrial, too. The events (and the original trial) happened in 1988 here in Pasadena. Even though he didn't pull the trigger, and it's been 17 years, it was established he had an active role in the plan. He had, at the very least, a minor part. Defense tried establishing that he was only there to protect his friend, William Wang. Wang actually was one of the two people to shoot the DEA agents. However, Chia knew he was providing protection for Wang, and he knew the plan. Chia had several roles in the plan (including countersurveillance).
RYAN'S CRIME TIP:
If you plan on taking part in a robbery--perhaps providing a getaway car, or providing countersurveillance--DON'T use a flashy car. Mike Chia (defendant) used a little, shiny black sports car. It stood out, and was entirely easy to spot.
Read about the case here from the LA Times.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Jury Duty is OVER
Jury duty is over, and I'm now allowed to talk about the case. We came up with the verdict this afternoon.
It was a pretty rough murder trial involving drugs, conspiracy, robbery. I'm exhausted. I'll write more about it later.
It was a pretty rough murder trial involving drugs, conspiracy, robbery. I'm exhausted. I'll write more about it later.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
One Week
I've got one week left here. Bizarre. Am I packed? Not quite. Even somewhat? No. Shit.
Tonight I went and saw Constant Gardener with my friend. The preview for this was far better than the actual film. Hell, the previews before THIS movie were better than the movie itself. It was full of cliches. I could almost guess what the characters were going to say next, just because of the extensive use of cliches and unoriginal characters. It ended up being a propaganda film with the obvious message, "Big pharmacy companies are ruining the world and will kill everyone to make a cent!" Yes, the exclamation point is a part of that. It was really overcooked Hollywood buffoonery (though it was British).
I felt tremors today. I was sitting in the courtroom (jury duty) listening to one of the lawyers. I was fading off in the direction of sleepiness...eyes falling shut, difficult to pay attention, warm...And then I felt something. It felt like someone tapped the floor beneath my chair. It was a small jolt, and I felt it a few more times. I sat bolt-upright in my chair and I bugged my eyes out. I looked around the room to see if anyone was about to panic. No, not quite. But the lawyer who was talking looked at me with a strange look--one that said, "Yeah, of course I just said something important, but it's not THAT crazy." It kept happening throughout the day.
I asked the other jurors about earthquakes. You see, I think it would be reasonable that there'd be sirens--Earthquake Alarms, if you will. I figured that someone would ring these alarms--think air-raid sirens--during an earthquake. However, they said usually the point of alarms is to WARN people of an impending disaster. Earthquakes last 10 to 15 seconds, so there's really no way to warn anybody--so they say.
My brother has it worse. He's in Houston with his wife. He boarded up the windows today on their house. 70 miles inland, and we were getting nervous. However, the hurricane turned east, so it'll probably hit the Louisiana-Texas border. Galveston may be hit, and actually stands a good chance. Odd, because I wanted to move there before moving to California. I was living in Houston, and was trying to find a job that would take me close enough to be able to buy a house in Galveston. In Galveston, you can still buy a waterfront house for less than $200,000--try that in California.
Anyway, we're pretty worried about Houston. Most businesses have closed, and there's sooo many people on the road that evacuation is no longer a choice. My sister-in-law said it took their friends that drove from Pearland to downtown Houston seven hours. That's seven hours for 30 miles. And From Houston to Austin? 128 miles. 10 hours. Yowsah!
I feel pretty bad for the Katrina victims. I can't see Houston flooding as bad as New Orleans, but many are already traumatized--already getting over the biggest disaster of their lives, and now this.
Tonight I went and saw Constant Gardener with my friend. The preview for this was far better than the actual film. Hell, the previews before THIS movie were better than the movie itself. It was full of cliches. I could almost guess what the characters were going to say next, just because of the extensive use of cliches and unoriginal characters. It ended up being a propaganda film with the obvious message, "Big pharmacy companies are ruining the world and will kill everyone to make a cent!" Yes, the exclamation point is a part of that. It was really overcooked Hollywood buffoonery (though it was British).
I felt tremors today. I was sitting in the courtroom (jury duty) listening to one of the lawyers. I was fading off in the direction of sleepiness...eyes falling shut, difficult to pay attention, warm...And then I felt something. It felt like someone tapped the floor beneath my chair. It was a small jolt, and I felt it a few more times. I sat bolt-upright in my chair and I bugged my eyes out. I looked around the room to see if anyone was about to panic. No, not quite. But the lawyer who was talking looked at me with a strange look--one that said, "Yeah, of course I just said something important, but it's not THAT crazy." It kept happening throughout the day.
I asked the other jurors about earthquakes. You see, I think it would be reasonable that there'd be sirens--Earthquake Alarms, if you will. I figured that someone would ring these alarms--think air-raid sirens--during an earthquake. However, they said usually the point of alarms is to WARN people of an impending disaster. Earthquakes last 10 to 15 seconds, so there's really no way to warn anybody--so they say.
My brother has it worse. He's in Houston with his wife. He boarded up the windows today on their house. 70 miles inland, and we were getting nervous. However, the hurricane turned east, so it'll probably hit the Louisiana-Texas border. Galveston may be hit, and actually stands a good chance. Odd, because I wanted to move there before moving to California. I was living in Houston, and was trying to find a job that would take me close enough to be able to buy a house in Galveston. In Galveston, you can still buy a waterfront house for less than $200,000--try that in California.
Anyway, we're pretty worried about Houston. Most businesses have closed, and there's sooo many people on the road that evacuation is no longer a choice. My sister-in-law said it took their friends that drove from Pearland to downtown Houston seven hours. That's seven hours for 30 miles. And From Houston to Austin? 128 miles. 10 hours. Yowsah!
I feel pretty bad for the Katrina victims. I can't see Houston flooding as bad as New Orleans, but many are already traumatized--already getting over the biggest disaster of their lives, and now this.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Too Tired
I've gotten shittier and shittier at posting to my blog. I have no excuse.
I got the sweetest laptop bag mailed to me way from Fluffy in Australia. It's super sweet. I'm loving it. It's blue with orange accent. I've seriously never seen a laptop bag like this before. Check out the web page: www.crumpler.com.au. I'm loving it. It's padded and fits my 12" iBook perfectly. Fuck the laptop bags from the Apple Store. They're overpriced and they all look the same. This is sweet. I'll put a picture up if I get my camera working again.
Jury duty continues. I can't talk about the case, though. The judge bought the jury cake today, though. That was really nice of her.
As the case continues, it appears more and more like a long, drawn out play involving all elements of theater (or theatre): there's comedy, drama, highs, lows. There's several players and the complexity of a serious plot. The judge is the director of the show and the court clerk is like the stage manager. There's an audience, but the jury is a box of critics. The players all play towards the jury. The attorneys are the stars of the shows, with supporting actors propping up their performance (the witnesses). There's many breaks, and a long intermission for lunch. And the jurors, I've noticed, have started treating it like a long drawn out story--a mini-series.
The other day, one of the attorneys made an objection to a point brought up by the other attorney. He called an objection, and fired off his reason for the objection (ie. "Objection. Vague as to time."). And then, before the judge could answer, he yelled out, "Sustained." And then, as if reaching for another reason to call an objection, yelled out another, different reason for the objection, "Uh...Facts not in evidence." There was a long silence. The judge looked at him, and we all looked around at each other confused at why the attorney had sustained his own objection. Then we laughed at him, and I kept laughing throughout the day.
Tuesday. It's already Tuesday. It feels like I JUST posted my last post yesterday. Time flies, and it needs to stop. I need to pack my apartment! Oh my God!!!
My friend, Kathryn Allen, just got published. Check out her bitchin' poem at www.thefurnacereview.com. Don't be a fuckin' asshole. Check out the poem. She's working on her MFA in creative writing in Washington. I want an MFA in creative writing...
I'm so tired. I'm always tired. That's partially why I don't post so much anymore. I'm soooo tired most of the time.
Hey, check out this sweet video. This guy is dared to drink a bottle of Ipecac (an emitic) for $500 and then puke on the ground. My brother called me and told me to watch it. I was sickened not by the video so much as the fact that my brother thought it was hilarious. He's one sick fuck. Of course, I proceeded to show the video to my parents when they came to town, my special friend, my cousin, a couple friends, and my uncle. I even told all the jurors about the video. Is HE still the sick fuck?
I got the sweetest laptop bag mailed to me way from Fluffy in Australia. It's super sweet. I'm loving it. It's blue with orange accent. I've seriously never seen a laptop bag like this before. Check out the web page: www.crumpler.com.au. I'm loving it. It's padded and fits my 12" iBook perfectly. Fuck the laptop bags from the Apple Store. They're overpriced and they all look the same. This is sweet. I'll put a picture up if I get my camera working again.
Jury duty continues. I can't talk about the case, though. The judge bought the jury cake today, though. That was really nice of her.
As the case continues, it appears more and more like a long, drawn out play involving all elements of theater (or theatre): there's comedy, drama, highs, lows. There's several players and the complexity of a serious plot. The judge is the director of the show and the court clerk is like the stage manager. There's an audience, but the jury is a box of critics. The players all play towards the jury. The attorneys are the stars of the shows, with supporting actors propping up their performance (the witnesses). There's many breaks, and a long intermission for lunch. And the jurors, I've noticed, have started treating it like a long drawn out story--a mini-series.
The other day, one of the attorneys made an objection to a point brought up by the other attorney. He called an objection, and fired off his reason for the objection (ie. "Objection. Vague as to time."). And then, before the judge could answer, he yelled out, "Sustained." And then, as if reaching for another reason to call an objection, yelled out another, different reason for the objection, "Uh...Facts not in evidence." There was a long silence. The judge looked at him, and we all looked around at each other confused at why the attorney had sustained his own objection. Then we laughed at him, and I kept laughing throughout the day.
Tuesday. It's already Tuesday. It feels like I JUST posted my last post yesterday. Time flies, and it needs to stop. I need to pack my apartment! Oh my God!!!
My friend, Kathryn Allen, just got published. Check out her bitchin' poem at www.thefurnacereview.com. Don't be a fuckin' asshole. Check out the poem. She's working on her MFA in creative writing in Washington. I want an MFA in creative writing...
I'm so tired. I'm always tired. That's partially why I don't post so much anymore. I'm soooo tired most of the time.
Hey, check out this sweet video. This guy is dared to drink a bottle of Ipecac (an emitic) for $500 and then puke on the ground. My brother called me and told me to watch it. I was sickened not by the video so much as the fact that my brother thought it was hilarious. He's one sick fuck. Of course, I proceeded to show the video to my parents when they came to town, my special friend, my cousin, a couple friends, and my uncle. I even told all the jurors about the video. Is HE still the sick fuck?
Friday, September 16, 2005
At the laundromat...
I don't know if I told you that I broke the washer at my complex the other day. There's one washer and one dryer for the complex, and apparently I broke it. That was about Wednesday or so. So I kept my soggy, unwashed laundry in my apartment until today. I wanted to culture some bacteria, and that accompanying smell was fantastic--like something clawing its way through my nostrils.
So I'm doing the laundry today at the laundromat. I brought my laptop. I'm easily amazed by Technology (that's with a capital 'T'). I'm sitting here, the thing's not plugged in, and I'm using a wireless connection. The Laundromat actually has a wireless connection, but the guy didn't know how to make it work with my laptop. However, that didn't matter because the Christian Center across the street has a strong enough signal to work on this thing. So the Christians are giving me free wireless internet. I should stop saying the Christians have contributed nothing to society, and have given me nothing. See? Wireless internet.
Court was pretty bad today. At lunch, I rubbed my eye and my contact fell out; it's gone forever, because I lost it. The lawyers and the judge--even the other jurors--thought I was tired and about to fall asleep. I guess me experiencing severe eye pain looks like I'm about to fall asleep.
I booked my plane ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I'll be flying out later than I wanted, but all well. I saved about $170 by flying out a few days later. I figured it was worth it. Who knows, though?
Hey, you ever eat Bimbo bread? It's an actual brand of bread and bread products. Bimbo. I think it's more of a Mexican thing (as in, they seem to be bigger fans). Perhaps in Spanish, Bimbo doesn't mean floozy. In fact, that should be their ad campaign targeted to the non Spanish-speaking crowd: "Bimbo. It's not just a cheap floozy who'll give you a hand job for $5. It's good bread." Or perhaps, "Bimbo Bread. So good, yet we won't leave a rash in your nether-regions."
I remember growing up in rural Mexico. Those were happier times...I'd ride the family's donkey to school. And then I'd stop by my friend Paco's and we'd play our favorite game, Rob the American Tourist...
Soon I'll be in Hawaii. Oh my God. And then what?
Ping--my outsourced blog-writer--has been hired away from me to write copy for the Republican Party. That's a recipe for disaster. Once they introduce a shred of competence, this country will go down the toilet--haven't they LEARNED?! He offered a no-bid contract, and they immediately accepted.
So I'm doing the laundry today at the laundromat. I brought my laptop. I'm easily amazed by Technology (that's with a capital 'T'). I'm sitting here, the thing's not plugged in, and I'm using a wireless connection. The Laundromat actually has a wireless connection, but the guy didn't know how to make it work with my laptop. However, that didn't matter because the Christian Center across the street has a strong enough signal to work on this thing. So the Christians are giving me free wireless internet. I should stop saying the Christians have contributed nothing to society, and have given me nothing. See? Wireless internet.
Court was pretty bad today. At lunch, I rubbed my eye and my contact fell out; it's gone forever, because I lost it. The lawyers and the judge--even the other jurors--thought I was tired and about to fall asleep. I guess me experiencing severe eye pain looks like I'm about to fall asleep.
I booked my plane ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I'll be flying out later than I wanted, but all well. I saved about $170 by flying out a few days later. I figured it was worth it. Who knows, though?
Hey, you ever eat Bimbo bread? It's an actual brand of bread and bread products. Bimbo. I think it's more of a Mexican thing (as in, they seem to be bigger fans). Perhaps in Spanish, Bimbo doesn't mean floozy. In fact, that should be their ad campaign targeted to the non Spanish-speaking crowd: "Bimbo. It's not just a cheap floozy who'll give you a hand job for $5. It's good bread." Or perhaps, "Bimbo Bread. So good, yet we won't leave a rash in your nether-regions."
I remember growing up in rural Mexico. Those were happier times...I'd ride the family's donkey to school. And then I'd stop by my friend Paco's and we'd play our favorite game, Rob the American Tourist...
Soon I'll be in Hawaii. Oh my God. And then what?
Ping--my outsourced blog-writer--has been hired away from me to write copy for the Republican Party. That's a recipe for disaster. Once they introduce a shred of competence, this country will go down the toilet--haven't they LEARNED?! He offered a no-bid contract, and they immediately accepted.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
More of Ping's Piece
I just booked my tickets for my Big Move to Hawaii. I plan on heading out to Phoenix around the 1st or 2nd of October. My original plan was to fly to Hawaii around the 9th or so (perhaps earlier, but no later than the 11th). However, the ticket turned out to be cheapest if I fly out the night of the 14th. I'll arrive in Kona on the morning of the 15th.
I quit my job. My manager asked if I wanted to take my same job in Hawaii. After a few days of thinking about it, I decided that this was a horrible idea. Odd, isn't it? One of the biggest reasons for moving to Hawaii was to escape my job. It sucks. It's boring. I'd rather stick my nuts in a vice and crank until I pass out than to spend any more time than I have to on my job. I aspire to get a job at Home Depot.
What happened to my drive and ambition? Home Depot? Do you realize there was a time in my life (early college) when I wanted to be a nuclear engineer. There was another time I wanted to be a lawyer. And now, I'm aiming for a part time job at a large home improvement chain. What happened? Let's review:
* I've always been drug-free
* I drink infrequently
* I'm educated, and enjoy learning
* Never ate paint chips
Well? I don't know.
The court case is going alright. It's possibly almost over, but I'm not holding my breath. When I get bored, I play Hangman with the juror next to me. I guessed 'California' with just seeing the I's and the A's, but couldn't figure November. She couldn't guess three of my words: Panama Canal, tuberculosis, and jury duty. I figured she'd be able to get 'jury duty.'
Meanwhile, I'm working on a CD with my neighbor. I did vocals, he did guitar. I won't go into too much detail, but it took like an hour just to do two songs. What the heck? All well, you've got to spend time to make platinum, right?
Right.
PING'S PIECE
I like computer when allowing to use by me. Other times not write blog make shoe. Shoe I make for American devils. Kill the devils of America. Fear of swimming pool orange juice. But I love swim of pool. When allow to eat of food horse and styrofoam. I use foot of dead horse pillow sleeping on. Smell of nose is not of nice good smell. But pillow. Chain to wall computer next to me I blog write. Food if do good. King Devil of world Ryan he is. Ask by village idiot stupid why I do blog. I NEW idiot of village. He laugh. Kick to testacles of idiot of village. I kick.
I quit my job. My manager asked if I wanted to take my same job in Hawaii. After a few days of thinking about it, I decided that this was a horrible idea. Odd, isn't it? One of the biggest reasons for moving to Hawaii was to escape my job. It sucks. It's boring. I'd rather stick my nuts in a vice and crank until I pass out than to spend any more time than I have to on my job. I aspire to get a job at Home Depot.
What happened to my drive and ambition? Home Depot? Do you realize there was a time in my life (early college) when I wanted to be a nuclear engineer. There was another time I wanted to be a lawyer. And now, I'm aiming for a part time job at a large home improvement chain. What happened? Let's review:
* I've always been drug-free
* I drink infrequently
* I'm educated, and enjoy learning
* Never ate paint chips
Well? I don't know.
The court case is going alright. It's possibly almost over, but I'm not holding my breath. When I get bored, I play Hangman with the juror next to me. I guessed 'California' with just seeing the I's and the A's, but couldn't figure November. She couldn't guess three of my words: Panama Canal, tuberculosis, and jury duty. I figured she'd be able to get 'jury duty.'
Meanwhile, I'm working on a CD with my neighbor. I did vocals, he did guitar. I won't go into too much detail, but it took like an hour just to do two songs. What the heck? All well, you've got to spend time to make platinum, right?
Right.
PING'S PIECE
I like computer when allowing to use by me. Other times not write blog make shoe. Shoe I make for American devils. Kill the devils of America. Fear of swimming pool orange juice. But I love swim of pool. When allow to eat of food horse and styrofoam. I use foot of dead horse pillow sleeping on. Smell of nose is not of nice good smell. But pillow. Chain to wall computer next to me I blog write. Food if do good. King Devil of world Ryan he is. Ask by village idiot stupid why I do blog. I NEW idiot of village. He laugh. Kick to testacles of idiot of village. I kick.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
I'm a shithead.
Yeah, I don't post so often anymore. I'm considering outsourcing my blog production. I'm going to get a kid in a Third World country to write the bulk of my posts. I'll write SOME of each blog post from now on.
First, I'll tell you I quit my job. I put in my two week's notice. My manager cried because she's sad to see me go. Many of my coworkers were aware of my sentiments, so it wasn't too much of a shock to most of them. Some of them it was.
My brother just sold his lawnmower and weed trimmer on eBay. USED. Not new. And in the pictures, they didn't even look that nice. He told me he listed them, and I howled with laughter. I told him he was too fucking lazy to push them out to the garbage can, so he took pictures and put them on eBay. On each post, he put, "For local pick-up ONLY." So what I did, I went on and started bidding on the mower and the weed trimmer. I wanted to bid like five bucks, win the auction, and then NOT pick them up. THEN, he'd have to repost the items. On top of that, I wouldn't pay him. Because I'm a dick. My mother would tell me to, and maybe I would end up paying him, but it'd be worth it. I mean, Maternal Payment Enforcement. That'd be funny. That, of course, was my plan when the bidding was still below ten bucks. I thought I'd win with my $6 bid on each. The mower ended up selling for $60. The fucking USED weed trimmer? $97. He sold these used lawn items--obviously not new, and the mower in need of repair (plain to see in the pictures) for a combined $157. What is wrong with this world?
All right, as promised I'll now turn it over to Ping. He lives in the small country of Xiejgihlkdkjgeristan. Their main industry is seeking out foreign aid from other wealtheir Third World countries. Their biggest export is hunger. He just learned English a few days ago, so it's a bit rough.
PING'S PIECE
I Ping am boy small. 12 years old. Dad caught riding bull king Onion Man. Now sell sex self to man until blog write today. This is happy fun! When began write food chained to waste excrement not fun. America people evil demon people Ray Romano. When girl pregnant I sell to market large pig abortion trade. This is happy fun! In factory people whipping cream. Naughty! Not happy fun. Coldness showers until wake up. In my country the fondness of horse pie yell sleeping orange. You feel too? American you create evil of world? We trade kidney and lung and three fingers foot right for clean water gallon to drink of. This is happy fun! We run to water swim. Swim! I love!
First, I'll tell you I quit my job. I put in my two week's notice. My manager cried because she's sad to see me go. Many of my coworkers were aware of my sentiments, so it wasn't too much of a shock to most of them. Some of them it was.
My brother just sold his lawnmower and weed trimmer on eBay. USED. Not new. And in the pictures, they didn't even look that nice. He told me he listed them, and I howled with laughter. I told him he was too fucking lazy to push them out to the garbage can, so he took pictures and put them on eBay. On each post, he put, "For local pick-up ONLY." So what I did, I went on and started bidding on the mower and the weed trimmer. I wanted to bid like five bucks, win the auction, and then NOT pick them up. THEN, he'd have to repost the items. On top of that, I wouldn't pay him. Because I'm a dick. My mother would tell me to, and maybe I would end up paying him, but it'd be worth it. I mean, Maternal Payment Enforcement. That'd be funny. That, of course, was my plan when the bidding was still below ten bucks. I thought I'd win with my $6 bid on each. The mower ended up selling for $60. The fucking USED weed trimmer? $97. He sold these used lawn items--obviously not new, and the mower in need of repair (plain to see in the pictures) for a combined $157. What is wrong with this world?
All right, as promised I'll now turn it over to Ping. He lives in the small country of Xiejgihlkdkjgeristan. Their main industry is seeking out foreign aid from other wealtheir Third World countries. Their biggest export is hunger. He just learned English a few days ago, so it's a bit rough.
PING'S PIECE
I Ping am boy small. 12 years old. Dad caught riding bull king Onion Man. Now sell sex self to man until blog write today. This is happy fun! When began write food chained to waste excrement not fun. America people evil demon people Ray Romano. When girl pregnant I sell to market large pig abortion trade. This is happy fun! In factory people whipping cream. Naughty! Not happy fun. Coldness showers until wake up. In my country the fondness of horse pie yell sleeping orange. You feel too? American you create evil of world? We trade kidney and lung and three fingers foot right for clean water gallon to drink of. This is happy fun! We run to water swim. Swim! I love!
Thursday, September 08, 2005
The Wheels are in Motion...
Tomorrow is a big day at work: I put in my two weeks notice. Today I was "sick" so I could go get my car looked at in Santa Monica.
It was such a beautiful day. I mean, don't think I don't feel guilty when I call in "sick." So I went to the doctor's office and asked for something--some sort of unnecessary treatment so I could at least have done SOMETHING involving medicine. I paid the woman behind the counter ten bucks to do something, so she drew some blood for me. She insisted she had no medical training, and was simply the receptionist. Blood is blood, though. She got it out, so that's what matters. I suppose it serves no medical purpose for it to have dripped all over the floor, but so what? I can honestly tell my boss that I did something medical-related.
Not that it matters. As I said, tomorrow I put in my two weeks notice. I spent today in Santa Monica. Saab of Santa Monica says my car needs a new turbocharger. "Wait, wait. You're saying my car needs a NEW turbocharger? WHY?!"
"Wear and tear," the guy said. "They sometimes just wear out. It's covered under warranty (and California emissions laws)."
"How could it wear out? Did I drive it wrong?"
"No," he said. "I mean, it DOES have 61,000 miles (almost 100,000 km). Sometimes, the turbo lasts forever. Sometimes they wear out."
Well shit. This is news to me. I thought a car with 61,000 miles was just getting broken in. Hell's bells, I didn't think something like this was supposed to go until about 150,000 miles. But I don't have to pay for it, so they can twin turbocharge it for all I car.
Meanwhile, on a car related note, I saw a Bugatti Veyrton as I left Trader Joe's today. That's an insane car. As far as I know, it's the most expensive production car on the market. That's right, somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,300,000 (about a million euros). That's a house in Pasadena, or a small subdivision in Katy, Texas. As it drove by me, it had a sound like nothing I'd ever heard before. I believe it was the aural equivalent of mixing a fleet of Kawasaki Ninjas, a high-speed blender, a Lear jet, and elephant testacles. Wow. It was something that has to be heard.
How Do I Quit?
I'm trying to figure out how to write my two week's notice letter. I'm trying to choose from among the following:
Option 1
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Went out. I'll be back in five minutes. If not five minutes, then probably never.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 2
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Two weeks sure may seem like a long time, unless you pay me two weeks wages and let me leave right now.
Sincerely,
The Noisiest Asshole in Existence"
Option 3
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I haven't done any work in three and a half months. I spend my days playing with myself and stealing office supplies. I am giving you this--my two weeks fucking notice--before you fire me."
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 4
"Dear Ms. Penderpoophead,
I'm going to take this chance to not only give you my two weeks notice, but to tell you I plan on using your office as my own personal bathroom.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 5
(On corporate letterhead of some other company)
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I got another job. I've been working there for four months. I'm surprised you didn't notice the change in my job performance. I thought I already quit, but I kept getting paychecks. Please continue sending the paychecks, but don't keep asking me about my progress on various cases.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
It was such a beautiful day. I mean, don't think I don't feel guilty when I call in "sick." So I went to the doctor's office and asked for something--some sort of unnecessary treatment so I could at least have done SOMETHING involving medicine. I paid the woman behind the counter ten bucks to do something, so she drew some blood for me. She insisted she had no medical training, and was simply the receptionist. Blood is blood, though. She got it out, so that's what matters. I suppose it serves no medical purpose for it to have dripped all over the floor, but so what? I can honestly tell my boss that I did something medical-related.
Not that it matters. As I said, tomorrow I put in my two weeks notice. I spent today in Santa Monica. Saab of Santa Monica says my car needs a new turbocharger. "Wait, wait. You're saying my car needs a NEW turbocharger? WHY?!"
"Wear and tear," the guy said. "They sometimes just wear out. It's covered under warranty (and California emissions laws)."
"How could it wear out? Did I drive it wrong?"
"No," he said. "I mean, it DOES have 61,000 miles (almost 100,000 km). Sometimes, the turbo lasts forever. Sometimes they wear out."
Well shit. This is news to me. I thought a car with 61,000 miles was just getting broken in. Hell's bells, I didn't think something like this was supposed to go until about 150,000 miles. But I don't have to pay for it, so they can twin turbocharge it for all I car.
Meanwhile, on a car related note, I saw a Bugatti Veyrton as I left Trader Joe's today. That's an insane car. As far as I know, it's the most expensive production car on the market. That's right, somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,300,000 (about a million euros). That's a house in Pasadena, or a small subdivision in Katy, Texas. As it drove by me, it had a sound like nothing I'd ever heard before. I believe it was the aural equivalent of mixing a fleet of Kawasaki Ninjas, a high-speed blender, a Lear jet, and elephant testacles. Wow. It was something that has to be heard.
How Do I Quit?
I'm trying to figure out how to write my two week's notice letter. I'm trying to choose from among the following:
Option 1
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Went out. I'll be back in five minutes. If not five minutes, then probably never.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 2
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
Two weeks sure may seem like a long time, unless you pay me two weeks wages and let me leave right now.
Sincerely,
The Noisiest Asshole in Existence"
Option 3
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I haven't done any work in three and a half months. I spend my days playing with myself and stealing office supplies. I am giving you this--my two weeks fucking notice--before you fire me."
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 4
"Dear Ms. Penderpoophead,
I'm going to take this chance to not only give you my two weeks notice, but to tell you I plan on using your office as my own personal bathroom.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Option 5
(On corporate letterhead of some other company)
"Dear Ms. Penderginski,
I got another job. I've been working there for four months. I'm surprised you didn't notice the change in my job performance. I thought I already quit, but I kept getting paychecks. Please continue sending the paychecks, but don't keep asking me about my progress on various cases.
Sincerely,
Ryan Medinski"
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
The lord commands it...
The Lord commands you to post a comment, or you shall suffer eternal damnation.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, September 05, 2005
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!!!
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!!!
Thursday, September 01, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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.
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