I spent my summer vacation at the Jersey Shore - Sun and Fun capitol of, well, New Jersey. We were visiting friends who have a lovely house with a beautiful pool close to the beach. They have a great dog named Rusty, a German Shepherd mix who I adored. Rusty doesn't like water. Consequently, he would freak out a little whenever anyone went in the pool. He would try to "save" you by running up to you, stopping, and then getting a very worried look on his face as if to say, "What in God's name is wrong with you people? That stuff you're so casually jumping into is WATER!!" Funny dog.

For the next three days we spent our time sunning and swimming and eating and drinking and then drinking some more. We drank like we were at a Roman orgy and the lines to the vomitorium were empty. We drank a lot. Our first night there, they threw a little party for us. We met their lovely neighbor D, who had just been paroled from prison for stabbing some guy 80 times in the head with a butter knife (the guy lived). Apparently, a butter knife was all D could get his hands on. I imagine if he had managed to grab a butcher knife, he wouldn't have been at the party. We played many games at the party. One game was electrocuting each other with a low-voltage dog collar. One person would hold the "remote" and put it on 1 (low) or 2 or 10 (high) and then electrocute the idiot wearing the dog collar. What fun! Another fun game was to punch some unsuspecting drunk at the party in the nuts. The beauty of this game is that no one really ever expects to get punched in the nuts. Thank God for Vodka, huh?

Anywho, one day turned into the next; fun, sun, food, drink. On our last full day there, we were just about to head out and play drunk Bingo (yes, there is such a thing) at about noon, when I decided to jump in the pool. I went to the diving board and look! Here comes Rusty! He's worried. God, he's adorable. It turns out Rusty likes me best of all because he really, really didn't want me to go into the pool. He made sure about a third of a pound of me never made it in. I jumped - he lunged, nuff said. When I got out of the pool a few seconds later the deck looked the Tate-LoBianco murders. Bloody footprints, splatters everywhere. I had a hole in my leg the size of a half dollar and about a half inch deep. Plus, one little fang mark that wasn't so little. A fairly uneventful trip to the ER and a few stitches later and I was good as new. Except I was limping and maimed. And pus-y and bleeding. And whining. Other than that - good as new.

Oh, and one thing that really grossed me out - before they stitched it up, in the wound there was this glistening white stuff which the Doctor told me was fat. My own fat!! There's something deeply disconcerting about that and I'm not sure why. I guess deep down we're all just well-marbled T-bones. Meat. And I think that's what bothers me.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 02:23 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Since we've done a couple lately, and I like to do them so much, I just made a category for them. This one's from Keith. more...

Posted by: shank at 01:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The ridiculousness of what Glenn Reynolds has called the 'hairshirt' approach to environmentalism has turned a new corner. According to the article at Bloomberg, some nutter wants to outlaw cars that exceed 100mph:

"Fast, powerful cars within a few years may be outlawed in Europe, an idea that has been raised ostensibly because Ferraris and Porsches produce too much carbon dioxide. For those who abhor sports cars as vulgar symbols of affluence (along with vacation homes, furs and fancy jewelry), such a ban could be a two-fer: Saving the planet while cutting economic inequality."
(emphasis mine)

Firstly, taking someone's Ferrari away is most certainly not going to do a damn thing to cut economic inequality; and such an insinuation is either an attempt incite the class warriors or just petty pot-stirring. What banning these cars would most certainly mean is these people will spend their disposable income on something else. Maybe an exclusive vacation to Fiji - flying in a private jet, no doubt. Or maybe a few extra thousand square feet in their vacation home - that's soaking up gobs of energy all year round.

Secondly, this is an immature attempt at solving a problem, and maybe even a complete misdiagnosis of the problem itself. The problem is not sports cars, it's consumption. That being said, outlawing the relatively small number of exotics in the world would do little to curb consumption. We're talking about the smallest market (per capita) of car buyers, and the cars that are probably driven the least number of miles a year.

A funny little note - just about anything this side of a '73 Civic will hit 100mph. But we'll leave the absurdity of this guideline out, simple out of respect for the member of Parliament who's responsible for this brain fart.

A more viable solution would be to start bumping up our fuel efficiency standards. Via RFK Jr. in Outside Magazine, 11/2004 (one of my favorite quotes):

"Here's how you do it. If we raise fuel-efficiency standards by just one mile per gallon, we save two ANWR's full of oil over the projected 50-year life of the fields. If we raise them 2.7 mpg, that's more than all the oil we import from Iraq and Kuwait combined. If we raise standards by 8 mpg, we don't have to import one drop of Persian Gulf oil into this country. Fuel efficiency is an untapped resource. It's cheap oil."

The good thing about a progressive increase in fuel efficiency standards is that it would pull the automotive industry in conjunction with the recent push from consumers for more efficient vehicles. Give the industry time to learn what consumers want, and to innovate those wants into a quality product. Hell, Lotus has been making fuel efficient, relatively affordable (and immensely fun to drive, might I add) sports cars for years.

As an aside, I just used the words RFK Jr. and progressive in the same breath. Hey, a guy's allowed to dabble, right?

Posted by: shank at 11:06 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five I subscribed to GentlemanÂ’s Quarterly. This is more of a confession than a fact. I do not repent.

I concoct very elaborate stories about myself in strange situations. If I go to a party and donÂ’t know too many people I usually make up a cover life and go into incredible detail. A lot of people out there think theyÂ’ve met an Earl or a Duke. Others think theyÂ’ve had dinner with the foremost authority on Algonquin languages, Burmese antiquities, medieval soil analysis or the descendent of a wide range of famous Wild West types. In the past IÂ’ve had business cards made up with various impressive credentials. My theory is that if youÂ’re never going to see a person again, why not make up incredible characters and lives for them. Once in line at the grocery store I told the cashier that I was about to go and cheat on my wife. It was a very intense moment for the woman. Next time someone asks you what you do just give it a try. Do you think someoneÂ’s going to question you on your made up job as a falcon trainer?

I am non-confrontational and I have a hard time saying no. When I was younger I dated some girls simply because I didnÂ’t have the heart to say no to them. It took a long time to make progress and in the end I never totally changed. Instead of saying no I would just never answer the phone or totally avoid the situation. Then they would go completely crazy and accuse me of using them or stringing them along. These berserker scenes almost always occurred in public.

I donÂ’t usually hold a grudge because IÂ’m forgiving by nature, but on the occasions that I do, it is cast in stone.

If I become interested a subject I will spend years becoming an expert on it. No matter the cost or research time involved.

I hate skiing. Hate it. The feel of those boots on my feet enrage me.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:33 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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IÂ’ve been all over the world and IÂ’ve eaten in some of the best restaurants. IÂ’ve sampled the wares of many fine chefs, including the top pastry chefs on the business.

The best chocolate cake in the world is fucking Duncan Hines.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:30 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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And they're right when they say that too. Why, just this morning I saw an elderly woman succumb while rocking back and forth on her front porch swing. The air was so humid she drowned right there on the spot. Dang.

Posted by: shank at 02:35 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Yesterday at the bar was Bloody Mary Sunday. They are on special every Sunday, but I guess a lot of people got hammered on Saturday. I must have made 20 darn Bloody Mary's yesterday. Not to toot my own horn, but everyone says mine are the best. So I decided that I shouldn't deprive the world of my bloody mary awesomeness any longer. Here is the receipe-please do not indulge unless you are 21 or older-I don't want any po-po showing up at my doorstep...

The Best Blood Mary Ever

Start with 1 1/2-3 oz Vodka (depending on how strong you want it). I prefer the triple distilled kinds, they're smoother; pour over ice in a 12-16 oz glass. Top vodka with Spicy Hot V8. Add 4-5 dashes of worcestershire sauce, 2-3 dashes of hot sauce (I like Franks Red Hot, but that might be related to my Buffalo roots). Add a dash of garlic powder and a dash of celery salt (1/8 of a teaspoon if you want to measure). Fresh cracked black pepper is crucial-I usually do 2-3 turns on my pepper grinder. Some people like to add horseradish to their drinks-It's good but a little chunky for my taste. If you want it, 1/8 of a teaspoon would be enough!
Mix well, preferable by transfering back and forth between glasses. Set aside for a moment. Pour some old bay onto a small flat plate. Moisten the rim of the glass destined to hold the finished bloody mary. Dip the glass rim into the old bay (similar to salting a glass for a margartita-okay, exactly like it). Pour the finished bloody mary into the old bay adorned glass. Add a celery stalk and a few large spanish olives. Kick back and relax--That hangover will be gone in no time!

Posted by: Singultus at 07:23 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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From the Spinster, since no one reads blogs on Friday anyways. more...

Posted by: shank at 11:22 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Don't know if anyone else had seen this, but I think it highlights the mindset of our Middle Eastern enemies.
"While it is true that Oliver Stone is considered to be among the opposition in the U.S., the opposition is still part of the Great Satan."
In other words, they don't care if you're left or right, a hawk or a dove. They don't hate us simply for what we believe and what we do, but for who we are: American.

Apparently, this sentiment is totally lost on Mr. Stone:
"I wish the Iranian people well and I only hope their experience with an inept, rigid idealogue president goes better than ours." Given the comparison, I'd have to say ours is going a whole lot better.

Posted by: shank at 08:46 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My glasses were getting a little worn recently, so I decided it was time to suck it up and deal with the hassle.

I like the frames I have, but the lenses were getting pretty badly scratched up. Besides, I don't have prescription sunglasses, and I was really looking forward to getting some transitional lenses so I could check out chicks at the beach.

During a break in the middle of my day, I walked across the street to my optometrist's office. It's a local shop, and I've been going there for years since they're so close to my office. After talking with the lady about what I was looking for, we ended up striking a really good deal. I was able to get a package deal if I got the transitional lens and this anti-glare/scratch-resistant coating. I wasn't planning on getting an extra coating since the transitional lenses already said they were scratch resistant, but for the price it didn't make sense to turn it down. I got the whole thing at about 27% off and felt like I was doing pretty damn good; especially since we hadn't crested my insurance cap for eyewear.

"Well then, let me take those frames to the back and trace them for the new lenses."
I had no idea what this entailed, but it seemed logical to me. "Okie dokie," I said to the nice lady who just saved me some dough.

About two minutes later she comes back, sits down at our little table, holds the frames out to me and says, "Did you know these are about to break?" She teeters one of the ear peices back and forth, and sure enough; that sucker is held on by about three molecules of metal - right past the hinge near the front of the frame.

Immediately I can tell this dumbass is trying to take me for a ride. If my glasses were in that state during my walk over to the optometrists or at the point I took them off my head and gave them to her, they would have fallen apart in my hands. It is obivous to anyone sitting at the table who has a preschool diploma that this bitch just broke my shit trying to get the lens out of it. Having had glasses all my life, I am aware that when the optometrist takes your glasses away from you, they are in no way responsible for them if they break. Sounds like bullshit, I know, but it's true. I take mine in for the occasional tweak, and they always tell me that if they break them, they're not at fault. I look back at this dumbfuck with a blank look on my face.

"We might need to order new frames," she says as if it's not patently obvious.
Being a cheap bastard, I know that my frames were inexpensive. "Well, can you order that same frame?"

She calls someone on the phone, yadda-yadda, and says to me, "Okay, here's the deal." My asshole puckers, because I know I'm about to get it. "This frame, in the color you wear, is on backorder. However, they have a brown gunmetal color available." I wonder to myself what the hell kind of color brown gunmetal is. Bronze? Metallic Turd? "So what I'm going to do is overnight the brown gunmetal, we'll call you when it's in and put your current lenses in those. That way you have something to wear. Then, when your lenses get in we'll put them in the brown frames, and switch them into your new frames when they come off backorder." I look at her, then my frames, back to her; and try not to say the word 'Fuck.' "Sound good?"

I think for a moment, lean in and say, "It sounds like a story I once heard. A parable, if you will. See, one day this guy was just going about his routine when he felt some discomfort, and discovered there was a broomstick in his ass. He thought to himself 'My word, this is quite irritating'; so he sought professional help to get the broom removed from his ass. Tragically, during the procedure (indeed, almost near the very end!); this trained professional ended up breaking the broom handle off in the man's ass. He wanted to scream, but he was too astounded at the technical ineptitude of the trained professional. Then the person whom he sought help from proposed something that made the man want to cry and kill at the same time. The person said, 'How about you come back tomorrow, we'll pull the broken-off peice out, stick a thicker broomstick in your ass because that's all we've got right now, then when we get a thinner broomstick in we'll swap the thick one out, then when we've got the tools we need, we'll remove the broomstick altogether. But the tools are on backorder and we don't know when that will be. Oh, and you'll be paying for all this too.' " I lean back, without breaking eye contact, and settle into my chair. It was all very Hannibal Lecter: direct, violent, but spoken in an even tone.

She offered to pay for most of the new frames, gave me a steeper discount on the lenses; and I walked out of that place getting the frames and lenses (with all the options I wanted) for just over $100. I'm still a little miffed because I have to jump through all the hoops, but this cheap bastard has never heard of a deal like that. Goddamn right too, because I've got to wear glasses with tape on them for a day or so.

Fuck.

Posted by: shank at 06:19 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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And you thought there were only supposed to be Four Horsemen.
Spice Girls Reunite For World Tour

"Hey everybody!! We're back!! Can you believe it!!" Ginger, Sporty, Posh, Scary and Baby Spice announced on their Web site.

Actually, I cannot believe it. In a world already turned upside down, God has to go and send us this?

The five-member band is the latest in a long line of pop acts to bury past differences and reform, hoping for success where many others have failed.

And why did they fail, you ask? Obviously, from a serious lack of GIRRRL POWA!

I liked this little bit at the bottom:
Meanwhile, Melanie "Scary" Brown largely disappeared from the public eye until a high-profile paternity case involving Hollywood star Eddie Murphy.

Earlier this month a DNA test confirmed Murphy as the father of Brown's newborn baby girl after he declined to publicly acknowledge paternity.

In the face of damnable evidence, even Eddie Murphy won't admit to hitting that.

Posted by: shank at 08:00 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I'm not a big governmental buff, so could someone please explain to me how a bill that has 22% public approval gets passed by a majority of our Senators? I was made to understand that we're governed by a democracy - you know, for the people by the people - and I assume that means our wants are supposed to be at least approximated in congressional representation.

It just doesn't sound like democracy to me, more like maybe an oligarchy or just a straight up dictatorship. The motherfuckers are forgetting what happens when you piss off the masses.

Posted by: shank at 03:48 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Since the last time I spoke with God, Our Creator, I've gotten tons of email from people wanting The Holy Father to answer their questions. Since I already have a standing appointment, I figured it couldn't hurt.

Please don't be surprised that God would love to answer your questions. The first comes from Jim, of SBD fame:

What are this week's winning lotto numbers?
Jim, if you ask me this question one more time; I'm going to slap the shit out of you. You've been raking in boku bucks from web hits linking to your horrible blog partners for years. You're the blogosphere's answer to a slum lord and then you want to ask me for more money? You're a straight up ho, biatch.

From Greg in Dover:
I think my girlfirend is cheating on me; am I right?
Good news! She's not cheating on you! Which is a miracle considering how much time you spend in front of the mirror whacking it and grunting "That's the last time you cheat on me, bitch!"

And Lastly for today, John in Springfield asks:
How much is too much?
If you've got to ask, you've gone to far.

Oh, and if you're Catholic; I'm totally watching it and your priest knows. As a matter of fact, he kinda looks forward to your confessions. You dirty little boy you.

Posted by: shank at 09:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Apparently, Apple has come out with a cell phone that is going to revolutionize...cell phoning. Or something.

It takes calls/photos/video, texts, and surfs the web. That way, you're never without your youtube collection of manualists farting their favorite tunes or animals doing stupid stuff; all on a tiny, grainy handheld screen. Thank God for Apple! Where would we be without these guys, eh?

And although texting is fun when you're drunk, I don't really see the point of it. You've got a cell phone, they've got a cell phone; and yet you're opting to push the tiny keys with your fat, dumb fingers. I think there might be an easier way to get in touch with someone in that circumstance.

How about a cell phone that never drops a call? Or a phone that's waterproof? You're telling me that they can put all manner of useless shit on a cell phone, but they can't make them affordably waterproof or aggregate their networks? That might actually be revolutionary. This shit they're trying to sell us is just another distraction for the gadgetry set to add to their collection.

If I can get a phone that does all kinds of circus tricks, why can't I get a phone that actually performs well as a phone?

Posted by: shank at 11:08 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I will always remember today as the day I have officially heard it all. Here's a link, if you dare.

Posted by: shank at 10:37 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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So it's about 13 hours into hell day 5 of our massive push to meet a development deadline. The first 9 hours of my day were spent on a production support call for another project that would have been complete two weeks ago if our vendor (who is neither Romanian nor Canadian) had half a clue. The Chinese food arrives for dinner and I gather the troops for our evening repast.

Spirits are dragging a bit. Everybody is still trying to wear a game face but you can feel the tension. People are getting tired and grumpy and all they have to look forward to is a weekend of 12 hour plus days followed by a week of the same or worse. My brain is still somewhere in the UK on that support call and I notice that somebody has passed me a fortune cookie.

I open it up and toss the cookie. I can't stand those cardboard vanilla things. Pure nasty. Ever walk into a Chinese bakery? That's because there aren't any. Stick with rice and MSG, damn it!

Anywho, I get a juvenile kick out of reading the fortunes and adding "...in bed" to the end of them. So the typical milquetoast "The honest man earns great riches" becomes "The honest man earns great riches...in bed". It always works.

So I read this thing and "...in bed" doesn't work. I'm stunned. My QA lead asks me what my fortune says. This is the set up I would have been waiting for. This is where I put on my serious face and solemnly utter "You will find great friends...in bed" or whatever mildly humorous thing the cookie has rendered. People smile. Spirits are restored a bit. But this one doesn't work.

Then I got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE PM GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

My serious face in place, I stretch out the paperlet and cleard my throat. "It says", I solemnly utterd as I look down at it "You are only half as popular as you think you are."

"NO WAY!" she replies. My eyes crinkle a bit. Our Graphic Artist catches on right quick. He cracks his cookie and reads out "Your friends talk about you behind your back". Others start to get it.

"Everybody knows you masturbate."

"My lucky numbers are ... Don't bother, you're a natural born loser."

"Your mother masturbates to your yearbook picture."

We almost had to give the Heimlich to one of our analysts after that last one. Spirits were suitably restored.

The project manager's job is so much more than charts and schedules.

Posted by: Jim at 11:03 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Well, everyone else is doing those "get to know you" surveys, so why not follow them right off the cliff?

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Not really. I have the same middle name as my mom and I've been through several last names (mom's issues, not mine!).

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Right before I took my boards. Mainly because I was sure someone was going to sabotage my chances of passing. And because, in my fragile mental state, when hubby mentioned my car was dirty, I was sure he hated me. Yeah, girls are a little nuts.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Nope. But it's better than some. There is a girl at the bar I work at that dots all her "i's" with hearts. It really annoys me for some reason.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Salami. Hard salami. None of that soft Genoa crap. I like the hard salami...

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Do my farting, spilling, setting the house on fire husband and vomit machine cat count?

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I guess it depends if that other person was clincially insane as well. But yeah, I guess so.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I pretty much just come out with both guns blazing. Hence the nickname "pretty bitch."

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Nope. The docs got them when I was 3. This medical fact prompted my little bro to ask me "can you still play tonsil hockey?" My my, how much 4 year olds know!

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Uhmm, I'm all talk. I'm always like "yeah, lets dooo-etttt" and then I puss out at the last minute. Plus, I work in a place where people regularly come in with all sorts of nasty head wounds and all I can think is "wow, it must have been fun until the rope snaped." (not the bar, a hospital)

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I think my favorite is something like Lucky Charms or another sickly sweet kids cereal. However, I have only Kashi in my cupboard. Because I'm giving in to the societal pressure to not be disgustingly obese.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Nope. But then again, I really only wear flip-flops. I have at least 10 pairs. On rare sneaker wearing occasions, I just kick them off.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically, not really. I can carry a few cases of beer and move kegs, but not much beyond that. I'm working on it. But mentally, I'm...okay, I'm mediocre. Me and Freud have some work to do.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Eady's mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles. I'm 5 years old again-such an easier time.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
I think their overall appearance. Are they all punk or thung? I think it comes from working at the bar and having to make quick judgements about the people that come in. Or I'm a judgemental bitch.

RED OR PINK?
Pink...like the bing on your cherry...

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My feet. They are huge! They are really wide and I have pudgy toes. I can also spread said toes into a fan, monkey style. The peeps at the bar call me "frodo toes."

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My JaJa. He was my granddaddy (JaJa is polish for grandfather). He was cool-always gave me candy corn and told me when "the neverending story" was coming on HBO.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes, just pink boy cut shorts. I just got out of bed.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Ham and cheese sammich, tortillia chips with hummus, and fruit salad.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
ER re-runs. They are like my crack.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I've always thought this is a weird question. Like "if you could be any food, what would you be?" Gee, if I wanted someone to eat me, I'd like to be a burrito so they shit fire on my way out. But I guess if I had to choose, it would be Jungle Green. It sounds like a ferocious color, but it's actually a bright, happy green.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
My hubby's cologne, freshly bathed babies, fresh cut roses, ripe strawberries, the ocean, outside right before a thunderstorm hits.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My brother in law; we had him on speaker phone and were hammering out trip details.

FAVORITE SPORTS?
Buffalo Bills Football. Is there any other sport?

HAIR COLOR?
Brown

EYE COLOR?
Varying shades of green. Sometimes brightened by the shade of eyeshadow or color of my shirt.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. I have great vision. I'm supposed to wear reading glasses but I don't. Probably related to reading under the covers with a flashlight when I was a kid.

FAVORITE FOOD?
Hummus, filet mignon (medium rare), corn on the cob (grilled), crab legs, scallops, salad.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I like scary movies, but lately all the "scary" ones turn into "how gruesome can death be" flix. I want to be scared, not puke up my popcorn. So I got to go with happy endings. They may be so sappy sweet I get cavities, but at least I'm not voming orville redenbacher.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Pirates of the Carribean: The End of the World. Three and a half hours but it was great!

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Green bathrobe. Like I said, just got up.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. My tan is much better, though I could do without the humidity. I like the snow, but I've never been much for frostbite.

HUGS OR KISSES?
Kisses. But not the wet sloppy kind. Unless their from a cute doggie.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate anything. And creme brulee.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To flowers and candles.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Slapping my leg with your manhood.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
I have several going right now. The Weatherman is one, the other is Emergency Nursing, 1998 version. A textbook, but still interesting. I'm kind of a geek.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
It's a dell pad that came with the puter. A corner is cut off because my cat used to chew on it and it was all bumpy and my mouse got stuck on it.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Last Comic Standing and a Dateline broadcast about Il Mostro, an italian serial killer. Last comic was hilarious, dateline disturbing. A great night of television!

FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies giggling, waves crashing on the beach, the doctor saying "your tests came back negative".

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles. End of discussion.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Paris when I was 12. It was awesome. I could buy wine and they didn't even blink! Of course, I was terrified when I was going through customs on the way back.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Yes and it has caused people to remark "Wow, your husband must really love you!"

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Buffalo, NY

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Everyone. These are hokey but a good time killer!

Posted by: Singultus at 11:20 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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From Jeff Goldstein@Protein Wisdom:

St James Presbyterian Church in Littleton, CO wondered, “If you could ask God one question, what would it be?” — an exercise that drew hundreds of responses, most of them (sadly) quite predictable.

Notes the Rocky Mountain News, “the 10 most-asked questions will be sermon grist for the next 10 Sundays.”

The results:

WhatÂ’s my life all about?
Why are some people healed and others not?
Will you really forgive me?
Why do you allow disasters, violence, tragedies, and war?
WhatÂ’s your plan for the world?
Do you love me? And, if so, why?
Why are there so many religions in the world?
WhatÂ’s your will for my life?
Why is there suffering, and why does it have to happen to children?
What happens after we die?

Lucky for the faithful, I happen to have an inside line to God. He and I were on the same intramural b-ball team in college...Man, those were the days. Little known fact - God is a kickass beer pong player. Just devastating.

Anyways, we have a regular lunch meeting setup; you know, just the old crew reminiscing over burgers and what not; so I forwarded these questions to him. Behold, the word of God:

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Posted by: shank at 02:46 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 785 words, total size 5 kb.

How is it that a word could mean one thing and it's opposite at the same time? Take the word 'cleave' which has two definitions; the more obvious of which is to cut or split. However, it also has another meaning - to adhere or cling.

This sets up all kinds of confusing situations, and eventually renders the word itself absolutely meaningless and unuseable:
A good writer should cleave himself of ambiguity, and cleave to the pursuit of words that cleave themselves from the mediocre mainstream vocabulary.
See. No one could ever agree or disagree with the above statement, because it's virtually impossible to tell exactly what that statement is. And it sounds retarded.

If you take this a step further and use the word 'uncleave', it opens up a veritable literary wormhole of sorts. Since the word is its own opposite, it's impossible to tell which form of uncleave is being used - the one that means uncut or the one that means unstuck. Silicet:
"I thought you told me you cleaved that."
"Well, that's because I did cleave it."
"I can plainly see that it is most certainly uncleaved."
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"No, you said cleaved."
"Don't be an ass. It's as cleaved as uncleaved can be."
"Listen to me goddammit. That is not cleaved, and if you want to argue about it, we can go outside and I'll cleave you."
"Now that just doesn't make any sense. How bout you go outside and cleave yourself, mothercleaver."

Essentially, a word that is its own opposite can't possibly have any meaning at all, except in context; and context, being merely the perception of the reader, can fluctuate not only among readers, but among readings by the same reader given any number of external and internal events.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, this is bullshit and somebody better do something about it. Pronto.

Posted by: shank at 12:22 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 338 words, total size 2 kb.

From the Spinster, because I love doing these little questionnaire things.

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Posted by: shank at 10:09 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 1970 words, total size 11 kb.