" on TCM™ last night. Apparently, Kay wasn't the only big-band leader who made a movie (Cab Calloway and the Dorsey Brothers also did for certain, as I'm sure others did as well) but what was unique about him was that he seemed to have a knack for acting to some degree, and went on to make many more.
Back To Current Blog Entries
Bottom Of Page
(07/31/08 - 11:46 PM)
I got an e-mail from a woman who had tried to send me a book, but had received it back some days later as undeliverable. She verified the address, and it was not only 100% correct, but it is also the one that I receive dozens of books per year at.
Stranger still was the fact that within the same timeframe that she had attempted to send it, we at work had also received in return a strange and miscellaneous batch of mail that was deemed 'undeliverable', only to find that all of our addresses were correct and that, upon resending them, ended up at their final destinations just fine. What gives?
(07/30/08 - 11:06 PM)
Today I learned that the term 'TASER' is actually an acronym combining the name of the inventor, and the facts about the invented item in question: "Thomas A. Swift's Electronic Rifle".
(07/29/08 - 11:53 PM)
Cancer can be contagious. Crazy? Yep! True? Also yep!, with a 'but'. Let me explain.
It seems that a rash of Tasmanian Devils have been coming down with cancer, specifically in the facial region. This cancer has wiped out about 70+% of the little rascals, with no end in sight. No one could figure out what was going on, and one day the good people in charge got a call from a little old retired lady who said she was the perfect person to figure it out. After listening to her, the good people in charge agreed. Specifically, this little old lady was not only a Zoologist, but also a cancer expert. Convenient!
Once she narrowed everything down, she discovered that while not normally contagious (it's never been recorded before, in fact) this cancer indeed was. The reason? It was complex, but that didn't stop her. When the little devils (pun intended) mate, or fight, or fight while mating, or mate while fighting (they have alot of energy, I guess) they like to bite each other more than Richard Dawson, Bob Crane, and a roomful of loose women. When they bite one another, it tends to be in the head and facial region. The cancerous cells then transfer to their new stomping grounds.
At this point, the immune system would normally quash the little buggers, and that would be the end of it. But in the 1930's, the devils were hunted to near extinction. As a result, in order to shore up their numbers, alot of inbreeding naturally occured (yeah, like you've never thought your third cousin was kind of cute - don't lie). Because of all this cousin-nookie, the DNA (or dioxyribonucleaic acid to you and me simple folk) in each animal is startlingly similar. So similar, in fact, that the host animal's antibodies happily accept these new intruders with open arms, often offering them something to eat and a nice warm place to stay.
This, inevitably, is the downfall of the little devils (oh yeah, I'm going to ride this pun all the way into the sunset) because the cancer just has it's way with their corporeal self (sort of like their uncles did with their sisters, back in the good-old inbreeding days) until it's no longer a viable host (i.e. - the little guy goes to the big angry critter forest in the sky.)
Damn, that's alot of parenthesis. Interesting, though.
(07/28/08 - 11:27 PM)
Heath's humor for today:
A former baseball pitcher retired and opened a small convenience store just outside of a major metropolitan area. One day, a European tourist entered the store...
"Good afternoon! Say aren't you ... ?"
"I am. When I retired, I opened this store. Can I help you find anything?"
"Wow! You were a great pitcher! It's an honor to meet you in person. In fact, yes, I'm looking for several things. I would like to find some rum - dark preferably. Then I was hoping to find some of those delectible European cookies from back home. I already miss them so, even having only been in the States for a week. Finally, I need some laundry detergent. I seem to have spilled some wine on one of my favorite shirts last evening."
"Well," said the proprietor, "We don't have any rum. What brand of cookies are you talking about? And did you prefer Cheer™ or Tide™ - we stock both."
Now the European gentleman seemed a bit saddened. "No rum, hey? Well, too bad, too bad. The cookies are called "Hit!". And I actually prefer Era™ detergent. It's gentler on my shirts, you see. Do you have that brand?"
"No," said the proprietor, "I'm afraid we only stock the two brands. And I've never even heard of those cookies. I wish I had better news for you."
Now the foreigner was feeling dejected. "So," he said, "let me get this straight. You run a store, yet you have none of these things?"
"Right," says the proprietor. "Sorry."
"Sorry?" responds the foreigner. "Sorry? Hell, man. I'd say for a retired pitcher, you've still got what it takes!"
"I don't understand," responded the now perplexed proprietor.
"Don't you see, man? You've got no rums, not Hit!s, and no Era's!"
(07/27/08 - 11:18 PM)
I was elected to write a web site for my Boss. Specifically, I was elected to write a second web site for his church, this one specifically for their preschool program. I'm flattered, but that doesn't make me want to do it any more. But, it's for a good cause, I suppose.
So, today, that's what I did for four hours. It's done. Now, I never want to write another one again. I'm too out of practice.
(07/26/08 - 11:35 PM)
Today was a go-go-go type of day. I woke up, showered, shaved and went to work. Then I went and got my wife's car washed, and went to the bank to move money from one bank to another. I ended up spending fifteen minutes at the bank after my turn had begun, because the panicked teller could not make her printer print a cashiers' check. Nor could she figure out the problem, so she left someone voice mail and told me to have a seat.
I elected to stand right where I was. Fifteen minutes later, the check magically appeared from the printer as the phone was ringing. On the other end of the phone line, it came to light, was the individual that the teller had contacted some fifteen minutes ago - ready to help now!
After that, I came home and we went straight out to lunch with my mother, my brother and his wife. Lunch was - as always - a bizarre affair at the local Indian joint. Nothing there makes sense to me, and it probably never will.
Then it was off to Mom's for a rousing political and ethical debate that personally set my teeth on edge. And, at nine-something, I finally made it home.
Truly, a day that was not my own. But, I did get to see my family.
(07/25/08 - 11:13 PM)
I took my damaged tire to a place down the road from where I work before I went in this morning. They said that they could have it completed by the end of the day, and they would call me when it was done. Great!
By 3:30, I still had heard zilcho, so I decided to call. The woman who answered - Gail - said that it was, in fact, done. Alright, so no one had called me. It was okay. I'm sure they were going to. No harm, no foul and all that.
So, I asked the million dollar question - if I brought the vehicle down, could they mount it for me right away?
Gail responded by saying that, yes, they could, so long as I got it there before 5:00.
I replied that, if they could mount it now, I would come right now.
Great! So, off I went. I went into the showroom, and heard Gail answer another call. This was how I knew who she was. When she was finished, I gave her my name, and mentioned that I had spoken with her only moments ago.
"No, that wasn't me," she says.
I replied that the woman had said that her name was Gail - perhaps there was another Gail, then?
"No, I'm the only one. What was your name again, and what did you need?"
I proceeded to re-iterate, and after she found the paperwork she says, "Oh! I just talked to you!"
"The vehicle is right outside. Here's my keys," I said. She then proceeded to take the keys, paperwork, and job envelope out to the shop, after letting me know that it would be just a few minutes. No problem. I asked if, to save time, I could pay now.
They said that, no, I could not, because they needed to get the mileage for the new tire. All I kept thinking was, "Hey! I can walk ten steps and get it for you, and then we can settle up!" But they were not to be swayed.
So, I waited. And I waited. And I waited some more. After thirty-five minutes, I apparently no longer existed, and my vehicle remained where I had parked it. Yay!
So, I broke down and called work to send someone to fetch me. What should have been a ten-minute absence had now stretched into nearly forty- five.
I then explained to Gail & Co. that I had burned up all of my break time and then some, and could they please just call me when it was done?
"It's not done yet?" says Gail.
Let me spell this out for you. There are large, plate-glass windows fronting the showroom. I parked DIRECTLY in front of the one that Gail had been staring through for the last thirty-plus minutes.
"No," I said, "It's still RIGHT THERE. Doughnut and all. It has not moved."
Now chick employee B gets involved, "It should have been done by now. It's not done?"
I re-explain, furious, but retaining my composure, and re-iterate that I wish to be called when it is done, because they're closing in an hour and I want to make certain that I have time to get here and get settled up.
They'll call me, they say.
At 4:50 PM, I now suspect that the worst has happened. I hitch a ride with yet another fellow employee, and as we pull up, there, in the same spot where I left it - doughnut and all - is my vehicle. Now I'm losing it.
I walk in, and I ask if the vehicle will even be done today.
"What do you mean?" asks Gail, "It's not done?"
Jesus, Mary, Joseph and any other saints who will listen.
No, I explain, it's still RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF HER. Now, employee B says that that just isn't possible, so she heads out to see for herself, clearly disbelieving. Once she sees that - Wow! I'm not a moron! - she proceeds to head back into the service area.
Once she returns to the office, she pulls Gail in back and mentions that she had placed my work order in precisely the wrong spot. I'm not supposed to hear this, but Gail just shrugs it off and says something about a coupon, no big deal. Clearly Employee B is now perturbed. As such, I'm now not hating her: Any enemy of Gails...
Employee B takes over, finds a tech, and gets the whole tire change in motion. Elapsed time to change the tire: 2.5 minutes from start to finish.
So, the tech comes back in, and Employee B asks for the mileage. He rattles off a number that's only about 62,000 miles too high, and she asks him if he actually looked. He admits that he did not, and she sends him back out.
After returning with the correct mileage, they get my paperwork in order, and attempt to placate me with a $5.00 coupon. The five bucks isn't too impressive, but I appreciate that they're at least trying. Then, they print their copy of the receipt. But my copy doesn't come out. Nope, the paper has just run out on the machine at 4:58 PM.
They finally get it reloaded, and Gail decides that she's just the woman to step in and get that baby to print, even though Employee B is doing just fine, and has asked for no help. Suddenly Employee B says, "Don't press that one! Or that one!"
Finally, Gail relents, and Employee B continues doing her job - CORRECTLY.
I'm almost thinking employee B might be the only saving grace of the afternoon when she says, "Okay! You're all set! And you've got your keys, right?"
Uh, no. I mention that I haven't actually seen my keys in over an hour, and that they still have them.
She then suggests that, perhaps, the tech just left them in the car.
As we head outside, I see that he not only left them in the car, he also left the drivers-side door open, and the keys are in the ignition as the dinger-majiggie is going off to let anyone within earshot know that someone left the keys in the ignition. Is this a conspiracy?
In an attempt to placate me further, employee B offers a sincere apology and a pizza cutter premium. Again, I appreciate that she's trying, so I accept her apology with some words of wisdom another shop manager once gave me.
"Sometimes," I said, "The Dragon wins."
(07/24/08 - 10:32 PM)
I received a phone call from my wife this evening. She informed me that she had a flat tire. So, I went down to her place of business, and indeed she did have one very flat tire. Through the sidewall was a 3/8" bolt that was about three inches long, complete with nut and triangularly-sharpened end. It appeared as though someone must have been cutting something off or down in the parking garage with an angle grinder, because the nut and bolt combination was too rusted to function as initially designed. Then, I surmise, said individual proceeded to leave them where they lay. Which sucks, because just the day prior another woman in the same parking garage had done the exact same thing. Lovely!
The tire wasn't too hard to change, per se. The only problem was that the tire iron provided with our car was all of seven inches long. How can I get enough leverage with only seven inches? The short answer was that I couldn't, and I ended up standing on - and then bouncing on - the wrench to finally get the lugs to move.
Then, as my wife drove away, she mentioned that she was hearing a strange growling noise. We both remembered something the dealer had told us about changing tires and towing, and it's a good thing that we did. After each searching our respective vehicles' owner's manuals, we came upon a vague piece of information that stated that in order to drive them with the spare tires on, one must disengage the all-wheel drive option so as not to damage the powertrain. Simple, right?
Well, yes and no.
You see, it tells you to put a fuse in a specific socket to null this feature, but it doesn't tell you which of the four amperages to use. After practically screaming to anyone who would listen, I simply elected to put in the smallest denomination of amperage, with the assumption that most likely they would all work - it was simply acting in the capacity of a jumper on a switch, and not for the transmission of copious amounts of electrical power.
I was right (for once) - so score one for the home team.
(07/23/08 - 11:18 PM)
I was out mowing my lawn tonight, when I felt something crawling in my hair. Of late, that something has either been the leprechaun who lives under our deck, or one of those Japanese beetle things that enjoy fornicating openly and en masse in my forsythia bush. In this case, I was surprised - and then alarmed - to discover that it was neither. It was, in fact, a very angry wasp. And when I went to brush the little blighter out of my hair, he proceeded to grip the tip of my middle finger firmly and then promptly sting it.
Now, I have been stung before - by both bees and wasps - and this, dear friends, was some of the most intense and focused pain that I have ever felt. In fact, the only time I experienced a pain more intense was the time I got a metal sliver stuck in the exterior portion of my nose.
So, I batted the little guy away while utilizing a few choice expletives. But he came back, and went right for the back of my head again. Again and again, I swatted him to the ground, and again and again he came right back to the back of my head. Finally, after I had run nearly clear around my house he staved off his attack.
I returned moments later, heavily armed with a delightful product from the good folks at the Ortho™ company to spray his nest - and him, if I could manage it. And he didn't wait for a second. As soon as he espied me once more, he was once more on the offensive. Finally - FINALLY - he flew away.
Good grief. And now my finger looks like a sausage. It also hurts like hell to write or type - two things I do a great deal of daily with my left hand. The stung hand, of course.
(07/20/08 - 10:34 AM)
We went to my company picnic yesterday, and the alcohol was a-flowin'. My boss, who's a hoot when he's intoxicated, decided that a huge roll of firecrackers were in order to cap off dinner. About three-quarters of the way through, the popping stopped. Without thinking, my boss goes running for the string, and wails, "You're not done, you whore!"
It was hilarious, especially coming from him (you had to be there, and you have to know him, otherwise it sounds awful and vile - and it just wasn't.)
One of my coworkers leans toward me, giggling, and says, "Does that work? I think I'm going to wait until he gives me my next raise, and when he tells me how much it is, I'm going to get up and scream that and see what happens."
I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
(07/19/08 - 11:43 PM)
Work. Picnic. Sleep.
(07/18/08 - 11:33 PM)
Ever wonder where that weird web address on the Taco Bell™ taco sauce packets takes you? Oh, yes you have - don't lie. I know I was curious.
Even I didn't expect what I found. This is the strangest tie-in that I've ever encountered, and I'm certain that wives everywhere are just thrilled about it as well. Does this make sense to anyone? Maybe it's a primary demographic thing. I don't know.
(07/17/08 - 11:18 PM)
Mario Kart™ Wii™ arrived today! Here's what I have to say about it: I'm disappointed.
Why, you might ask? I will tell you! First off, the Wii™ wheels lose their charm pretty fast. But Nintendo™ seemed to anticipate this, and allows for the use of GameCube™ controllers with the Wii™ console. Good going, Nintendo™!
Next, we have the lack of double characters, as was first introduced in the previous installment, Mario Kart Double Dash™. This was a bummer, but not an insurmountable one.
Moving on, we have the introduction of the squid and POW weapons. Oh, my God, what in the hell were you thinking? These things make the 50cc portion of the game a pointless exercise. It didn't matter how excellent a driver I was, I couldn't enjoy it for more than four seconds without one of the eleven (formerly seven) other contenders bitch-slapping the living crap out of me with weapons designed to apparently stop gameplay for seconds at a time. Bad, bad move, Nintendo™.
The introduction of motorcycles was a welcome addition, I have to admit. But even this cannot eclipse what I feel is the most disheartening problem with the game. In past iterations, you could play in two-player mode and still unlock levels, cars, and characters. This made gameplay with my wife fun, because we could play together, while working toward a mutually beneficial goal. In its current form, however, two-person' races are nothing more than exercises in killing time. If you win - or lose - it has no bearing on the outcome of the unlockables whatsoever. What this means, is that in order for us to play the higher levels, characters, and cars, one of us has to play by ourselves to unlock all of these things for the other person. This is counterintuitive to the whole reason that we bought the game in the first place. And it sucks.
Finally, I am dubious about the interspersing of old "jazzed up" tracks with the new ones. One of the things I love best about this game is the NEWNESS of it. Specifically, I've usually played the hell out of the last iteration, and the last thing that I want is to have to re-play tired tracks in order to move on - especially when they're interspersed with new ones. I think I could have lived with this feature, had they compartmentalized the tracks a bit better. But they didn't.
On the whole, the spark of insane lust to play just isn't there on this title. And to me, that's sad. This one title was my whole impetus for purchasing the console in the first place.
Oh, well: Bowling, anyone?
(07/16/08 - 11:18 PM)
N.M. Kelby was an author that I had heretofore not heard of. The reason my ears perked up so quickly was that she was compared to Hiaasen. There are two things that will compel me to buy a book with near-immediacy: The conparison to Hiaasen or Dorsey.
So, I bought the book, and as soon as it arrived I began reading it. Here's the problem:
Kelby's book reads like a newspaper column. There's a series of rapid-fire facts, interspersed with enough dialogue to get you by, but not enough to explore the humanity of the characters. And this is a shame, because her character menagerie is very much like a Hiaasen or Dorsey (or even a Moore) novel.
The second problem I have, is that her menagerie feels a bit like the aforementioned authors menageries have come together, and then were subsequently mashed up. We have a central bar (Moore) with a chick bartender and a blues-man lounge act (also Moore, but the bartender in his books is a disgusting hulk of a chain-smoking woman with facial hair), a one-man police force in a small town (also Moore), a former actress-turned-businessperson (Moore has a washed up actress, but she's on medication and coupled with the local law enforcement), a crazy person living in the Floridian swamps (think Hiaasen's vanished Governor character, Clinton Tyree), a homicidal crazy person (think Dorsey's Serge Storms, without the sidekick and actually trying to take his medication.) There's also the evil developer (Moore), the too-weird-to-be-real Solas (Moore's leading characters) and on and on and on. This book just feels all wrong. What makes this more disappointing is that she seems to have all the makings of a decent read, but lacks the solid dialogue to deliver the goods. Often I found myself scratching my head as the facts whizzed by me as though I were a waiting passenger on a maglev train platform, waiting for at least one of the passing beasts to stop and take me aboard. But it was not to be.
The only point of interest was her allusion to Whit Bissel. I once found a greeting card in a used book that was from someone in Hollywood to someone else in Hollywood, referring to their glory days, and the Whit Bissel jokes. Enclosed in the card was his obituary from Variety™. To this day, I still cannot identify the sender or the receiver of the card. But the reference to a new snow leopard cub who is 'just a rascal' seems to tell me that these individuals were some kind of heavy-hitters in the Hollywood scene. Perhaps I'll poke around again. It's been a year or so since I last did.
Back to the book: I won't even bother to synopsize the work for you. Just avoid it. If you enjoy Hiassen, then exhaust his works. Ditto on Dorsey. If something truly akin comes along (like Bob Morris did - yay, Bob!) I'll be the first to let you know.
(07/15/08 - 10:56 PM)
Happy birthday to my brother, Nick! Yay, Nick!
And now, onto the bitching...
I was watching the local HD weather station today. As I watched, I waited for what I specifically wished to see, and as such began reading the now ubiquitous ticker at the bottom of the screen. Big mistake.
Today, the ticker contained what seemed like an innocuous piece of news. This specific piece of news regarded the proposed Government bailout of banks and mortage companies, who had made numerous bad loans that were now in jeopardy of imminent foreclosure.
Wow. I was angry. REALLY angry. Why, you might ask? Well, it turns out, that I have something of a fetish for real-estate. So, I like to follow whatever news I can about it. And for the past two years (possibly more - I don't specifically recall) word was that the banks were issuing credit - and in copious amounts - to individuals whose credit-worthiness was something of a questionable affair. This extended not only to mortgages, but to credit cards as well. For years, the buzz was that if the economy ever tanked (as it invariably does) that this extended credit would be something of a difficult situation to rectify.
Do you think?
So, here we are! The housing market has - finally - plummeted, for the most part. Credit counseling services that probably should not even exist are making money hand-over fist and now - NOW - the Government is going to bail out the mortgage industry. Let me translate this for you:
Dear Upstanding Citizen:
We realize that you aren't at fault here. We know! We understand that you have watched your credit with a jaundiced eye, all the while making sound decisions about what to purchase, and what not to. We realize that those sound decisions not to over-mortgage yourself into a corner, to the point of having an upside-down loan or zero equity in a home that you could not now move to save your life, were truly prescient. You're such a smarty!
Unfortunately, the remainder of your co-countrymen and women decided to spend the living shit out of themselves, while purchasing homes that were entirely unrealistic for them based on their means. And we think that it's just unfair to punish them for their lack or foresight. Mostly because the banks, in their benevolent wisdom, gave these individuals the money, these individuals expected that everything must be a-okay. So, they kept buying, and therefore kept the economy strong. Really, you should be thanking them! It was practically a guarantee that everything would be okay otherwise, why would the financial institutions give them the money? Those poor people!
As such we have decided that since you have made such wise spending decisions and now have money during this time of dire need, that we will need some of your money to help out your fellow countrypeople in cleaning up their mortagages. It's only fair!
We'll be taking your hard-earned tax dollars once more, and we'll just pay the banks off because they have to be paid - they're banks! Once this is done, everyone will be all fair and equal again, and won't that be nice! And think of how warm and fuzzy you'll feel knowing that you have helped the poor, downtrodden, American consumer struggle through this crisis to spend another day!
Your Einsteinian Government
(07/14/08 - 10:12 PM)
"When the Government fears the people, there is liberty.
When the people fear the government, there is tyranny."
- Thomas Jefferson
(07/13/08 - 10:53 AM)
My wife and I went to the annual 'group-birthday' party that her family celebrates in lieu of moving to one-another's respective homes every weekend to try and cram in each and every birthday individually.
As some of you may have noticed, the birthday gift - in its purest form - is pretty much comatose at this point. It's not dead, per se, but it doesn't look good for the old gal, either. Specifically, I refer to the advent and acceptance of the gift card. Gone, now, are the days when Grandma would offer you that fuzzy pink sweater; gone too are the days when your in-laws would buy you sports gear from a team that you've not only never heard of, you're not quite sure what sport the 'Spungoes' are even involved with.
No, the gift card has changed all of that. In my mind, it's for the better, but only because we now live in such a hyper-accelerated, hyper-consumptive society, that gift giving had become difficult - if not impossible - due specifically to the fact that most American households have damn near everything they, and a good portion of their extended family, could ever want or need. The gift card alleviates this problem, by allowing individuals to purchase things that they may need, but would never want you to know that they need. So, hooray! Now your cousin can buy that hemorrhoid medication he needs! And you can replace your pillows with aplomb, thanks to the kindness of Aunt Betty, etc.
Oh yes - my point. To be funny, my wife imparted a final note in the cards. Specifically, it read, "Now, don't spend this all in one place!"
For those of you out there over thirty, you may recall nostalgically your wizened Uncle, Grandfather, Aunt, etc. telling you this as they handed over a nickel, as all the while you were thinking, "I'll be lucky to be able to spend a measley nickel at all".
Anyone else probably hasn't the vaguest idea why this is actually funny, short of a vicarious chuckle, and to those of you I say: You missed a good time. Things were simpler then.
(07/12/08 - 11:33 PM)
Went to work this morning, and found out that one of my male employees had smacked one of my female employees on the butt Friday evening when he thought no one was watching. When she let him know that it was inappropriate, and that she was married, he stated that that was okay - he always flirted with his friends' girlfriends too.
Guess who I'm firing, with extreme prejudice, first thing Monday morning?
Why are people stupid? I mean, this kid is YOUNG. What's worse is that we provide a work environment that is supposed to be safe, and yet things like this can happen. What makes it more egregious is the fact that he had gone home sick during the day, and had returned in the evening with his brother after an evening of four-wheeling to see if one of our employees could fix a part for him. Who does this kid think he is?
I can't believe that people can do things like this, and I feel awful because one of my employees has been victimized to the point of tears and I was helpless to stop it. And what do you say to them? "I'm sorry that you were a victim?" What good will sorry do them? I felt absolutely sick all day, and it still makes me angry. I hope to God that his father does what I cannot - knock the hell out of the little shit until he learns that everyone deserves respect and that no one - NO ONE - deserves unprovoked physical violation, especially when it crosses the boundaries of sexuality.
(07/11/08 - 11:21 PM)
Our new bedding and curtains finally arrived, and after a small S.N.A.F.U. installing the curtain rods, our room finally begins to look complete. We need only finish off the artwork, and add the crown molding, and I think we have a winner. I can't express how glad I am to be rid of the old, dark blue bedding from new, my mint-green room.
(07/10/08 - 11:41 PM)
My wife decided that, game or no game, she was going to try the new console tonight to see what all the fuss was about. One of the games that we received with the console was a five-in-one sports game called (generically enough) "Wii™ Sports". Among the so-so games was Bowling.
In about four minutes we were hooked, and we played all night until our shoulders felt like they might dislocate. If it hadn't been for that, we might not have even gone to bed.
Damn, this game is fun. The amazing part is that all the hype holds some truth: We were exercising and we didn't even know it. Oh, I know, you're saying that bowling is hardly exercise - and you're right. But as we played the games, we were up on our feet and moving around for hours on end. This was a far cry from the semi-comatose hours interspersed with sporadic adrenalized moments that I was used to in console gameplay.
Plus, I got to hang out with my wife. So, bonus.
(07/09/08 - 11:03 PM)
I did something I would not normally do today. Specifically, I bought a used game system from a fellow employee. I got a great deal on it, and simply couldn't pass it up.
We immediately began looking for the one game that never fails to bring my wife and I together for hours of fun, and swearing - Mario Kart™. But it was nowhere to be found.
It's been out for months, but apparently after a large initial offering this game has been harder to find than Elvis or a virgin fifteen-year old girl. We searched high and low, and were told that the soonest anyone knew that they were getting more was the twentieth. In fact, my wife called one store that we were sure would have it, and before she even finished speaking, the lady on the other end of the line began a good-natured laugh.
Apparently, the Nintento Wii™ consoles themselves are STILL tough to find. After talking with my brother-in-law, it turned out that I got not a good deal, but a GREAT deal on the console, the extra controllers, games, and the other assorted fixins'. And those of you who know me know how much I like a GREAT deal.
Now, if I could just find this game...
(07/08/08 - 11:46 PM)
I watched an old movie starring Kay Kyser and Lucille Ball titled, "That's Right -- You're Wrong
Kyser was an individual who - as an individual - I had no real notion of. I knew who he was in name only, is what I mean. This movie seemed to protray a well-beloved, down-to-Earth character who had a great deal of concern for his reputation as well as his bandmembers. The kind of guy who you'd love to meet under just about any circumstance, save perhaps a war.
The movie itself was a farce - as it was meant to be - and in and of itself was nothing spectacular. But as an encapsulation of one of the most beloved individuals of the day, it was worth the film. And seeing Lucille Ball at that age made her nearly unrecognizable, which was strange after seeing all of the later episodes of "I Love Lucy" as a child.
I still wish, in some ways, that I could have lived in the late thirties. Not for the wars, or for the lack of modern medicine. But, rather, for the architecture, the automobiles, the couture and the chivalry. Or, perhaps, the movies have me blinded with a rosy picture of what those times were like, when in actuality they were far harsher, and far closer, to the times of today. To some degree, this is most likely true. But I doubt that it is entirely true.
(07/07/08 - 11:33 PM)
Heath Humor for the day...
A woman visits her therapist complaining that she has perfect recall, with the exception of being able to remember where she has placed certain food products within her freezer and refrigerator.
After much analysis, he gets to the crux of the problem, "So, you can recall where you have everything but bacon, pork chops and other pork-related products. Mmm hmm, mmm hmm... well clearly Miss, what you are afflicted with is a definitive case of Hamnesia."
(07/06/08 - 10:35 AM)
I was in a store yesterday, and I saw something most disturbing.
To precurse, imagine a wizened, octogenarian woman who is now bent with inevitable age. Imagine that she is carrying a lantern with her, so that she may see her way clearly as she meanders through the maze of the dark world around her. She is smiling, as older folks are wont to do, as angst wasn't perfected when she was a youth. Alright, have you got that image in your head?
Now, imagine that instead of a lantern, the woman is holding aloft a pair of the most non-existant, brown thong panties on a hanger. This is what I saw, and I wasn't certain whether to say, 'Good for you!' or call my therapist. Well, retain the services of a therapist, anyway. Because, the inevitable happened. I couldn't stop my brain from making the normal connections, and before I could think of something entirely unrelated, I had accidentally imagined what THEY and SHE together might look like. >Sigh< It was not pleasant, needless to say.
So, good for you lady! And now, I need a drink.
(07/05/08 - 10:06 PM)
Spent the day doing things long requiring doing. I rid myself of all of the retaining wall stones in my garage left over from the previous owners when I saw a 'Clean Fill Wanted' sign like a beacon in a storm. I also made two trips to The Salvation Army™ to get rid of some nice things that no longer held a place withing our home, including some forty books. In fact, by trip two, some of the items were gone from the drop off area, having never made it into the store. Good for them, I suppose.
Then we went shopping for wall decor for our freshly painted bedroom. We hit every home decorating store from here to Texas, and eventually found about half of what we had hoped to. Say one thing for us - say that we're picky.
Once we arrived home, I began the unenviable task of unpackaging and placement of the items that had been purchased during our trip, only to find that I didn't have precisely what I thought that I had in the way of implements to hang pictures. Also, some of the items we had purchased were too large for the respective places we had intended to place them. So, it was off once more into the city.
In the end, it was all good however. Everything got finished, and no one got killed. So I'm calling it a win.
(07/04/08 - 11:23 PM)
Today, we painted the bedroom. Gone now is the blue that once applied was immediately questioned. In its place is a soothing green and the room looks much the better for it. The whole thing went like clockwork, but that ought to be expected at this point, as we've now collectively gone through 130 gallons of paint in the past 18 months. After all that painting, one would hope that one's painting skills would be tightly honed.
(07/03/08 - 11:37 PM)
I ended up working far later than I had intended, compliments of my favorite customer who has a knack (once again!) for sending me all the wrong things, at all the wrong times, with impossible demands attached. I got home at twenty to eight, and then proceeded to mow the lawn. My mower has three speeds, and I elected to forego them all so that I could double the highest setting personally, thereby mowing the lawn in nearly one-half the time. I was panting when I was finished, but I got the whole thing done before it got dark, so it was worth it.
(07/02/08 - 11:42 PM)
It's been weird this week. Mr. Phillips Screwdriver is on vacation, so I've had to annoy myself. Turns out, I'm not nearly as good at it as he is, but I do enjoy my evenings at work more for some strange reason.
(07/01/08 - 11:36 PM)
I got a letter today from the Secretary of State of Illinois himself! He wants to see me AND he wants me to bring him $10.00! And it's mandatory! Woo-hoo! I love going to the DMV! I can't wait to go and get my vision checked, and then try to prove that I'm really me and not a pod-person from the planet Fung by bringing any of the following:
"But I was adopted! See, this is a picture of me and Mamaw Laura after the adoption! And I brought my JC Penney™ card! And I brought my Selective Service notice so you could see my military record! And I even brought a recent bill from my lawn care service, AND a copy of the check I used to pay them last spring! And I figured the birth certificate was just redundant, as here I am standing before you! What do you mean you need more?"
Top Of Page
Back To Current Blog Entries
June, 2008 Entries
May, 2008 Entries
April, 2008 Entries
March, 2008 Entries
February, 2008 Entries
January, 2008 Entries
December, 2007 Entries
November, 2007 Entries
October, 2007 Entries
September, 2007 Entries
August, 2007 Entries
July, 2007 Entries
June, 2007 Entries
May, 2007 Entries
April, 2007 Entries
March, 2007 Entries
February, 2007 Entries
January, 2007 Entries
September, 2006 Entries
August, 2006 Entries
The Plinky Page
Paper or Plastic: The Cashier Chronicles