... You're pretty sure the shit has hit the fan when:
You find yourself reading Marcus Aurelius...
It seems like maybe now is the time to sell the house and buy a Ferrari...
Sometimes you come home from work and want to hide in the bushes, waiting to ambush your mailman and slit his throat, the late sonofabitch...
You have to choose between RUDY FUCKING GIULIANI and HILLARY FUCKING CLINTON in a presidential election straw poll...
You can no longer trust a single media outlet. Not that such a circumstance is scary to you (because you're intelligent enough to know what's right) but because everyone else is too goddamn moronic to think about shit on their own...
Everyone just read the above sentance and agreed...

more...

Posted by: shank at 12:42 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I gotta tell you, IÂ’m just not buying it.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:34 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 19 words, total size 1 kb.

So, for the second time in approximately a week, I almost burned the house down. And once again, it happened while I was left at home unsupervised. Well, Dad was there, but he's about as much help in the kitchen as a Yugo at a tractor pull.

The Wife was finishing her day shift down at the bar, and the old man and I were at the house preparing the compulsory Super Bowl fare: homemade potato chips, black bean salsa, and Buffalo wings. The Wife was born and raised in Buffalo, so the wings (and football) are a pretty big deal around here. Dad worked on the salsa while I deep fried the thinly sliced potatoes. We were moving along at a pretty good clip for a spaz and a kitchen-illiterate widower, so I decided to start the wings. I mean, I figured The Wife would think it considerate of me that I went ahead and started the wings, instead of waiting for her to get home from work and do it. I'd seen her do it countless times before, and had gotten a general recipe from her over the phone; so I figured I was all set. So the old man finished the salsa and went to watch the beginning of the game while I took care of the wings.

I let the fryer heat back up, and when ready, I plopped about ten wings into it. The damn thing promptly started foaming and spitting like a jungle cat. Within a second or two, the sound was deafening and boiling oil was flowing steadily out of the kettle, all over the counter, and onto the floor. "Dad. Dad! DAD I NEED SOME HELP!" Luckily, deep friers are made with morons in mind; and come equipped with magnetic power cords that can be unplugged easily. I snatched the cord out of the socket, and the crackling died down considerably. We both kind of stood there, absorbing the absolute mess. It took us most of a half hour to clean the oil off of everything.

Upon returning home and hearing our tale, The Wife gave me a frightened look. "Can you imagine what this place is going to be like when we have kids? Should we even have kids at all!?"

"Well, yeah we should have kids. I mean, I don't think I could bear telling people we had to hire a babysitter just for me!"

Posted by: shank at 11:31 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
Post contains 419 words, total size 2 kb.

Paranoia Strikes Deep

Last week I decided to clean our home office. No business gets done in here, but itÂ’s where we pay the bills, the computers in here and itÂ’s got a big desk and filing cabinets. Over the past year I noticed a giant pile of papers was stacking up in a corner. Since it was my wifeÂ’s doing I left it alone for a long, long time. And last week, in an effort to clean up and find our tax receipts I took a look at the papers. They were credit card statements, water bills, electric bill, et cetera. They all had a date written on them of when they had been paid. It seems my wife is good at paying bills on time, but not so good at filing the records.

I flipped through and saw they went all the way back to 2005. Then I looked in the filing cabinets and saw why they werenÂ’t filed. Every folder was completely jam packed. And you canÂ’t just throw that shit away because of account numbers, social security numbers, et. al.

Since our shredder is so old I thought IÂ’d upgrade to a level 3 shredder because IÂ’m a paranoid and I always assume the worst. So I empty out all the files, make new folders and whatnot and by the time IÂ’m done I have a stack of papers waist high that all need shredding. The new shredder supposedly takes ten sheets at a time so I load in five and it almost grinds to a fucking halt. Come to find when they say ten sheets at a time theyÂ’re reffering to tissue paper. So I start loading these things in and the machine starts cagging and shutting itself down after every fifteen sheets or so and you have to wait thirty minutes for it to cool down. So while IÂ’m waiting for it to cool down I start looking in the closet and I find these boxes and when I open them up I see that they are all documents that need to be shredded. Six boxes in all. I was almost in tears by then, because the whole process is so painfully slow and once I start something thereÂ’s no stopping me.

After a brief analysis I realized that we had every bank statement, investment portfolio statement and retire fund statement since 1992. They were fairly thick and every page had a social on it. In addition we had saved every single credit card statement, water bill, electric bill, insurance, mortgage, cable, cars—you name it—going back for fifteen years or so. Every single pay stub I ever got as an adult, plus two because the wife saved hers as well. Fifteen years, times two statements per month is over 700 pay stubs to shred. Not including all the credit card convenience checks that we would never use and those things come in the mail every day.

I had the shredder cranked up like a lawn mower. In fact, I got the old one out was using two at a time. It sounded like I was mulching fucking trees up here. And every time I emptied the bin on the shredder I was engulfed in a huge cloud of paper dust. Soon the dust was everywhere. I had to change the all the filters in the house once a day. I was sneezing and coughing paper dust. Meanwhile the shredders kept running and I kept pouring oil in and when they overheated I would use the time to lug big plastic bags of the confetti down to the garage and line them up against the wall.
Yesterday I shredded the last document. And in todayÂ’s mail I received a bunch of credit card checks that IÂ’ll never use. Now IÂ’ve got the shredder set up right there in the kitchen. 90% of the mail will go directly in the damned thing. I never, ever want to go through this again. It was a shitty, shitty ordeal.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:34 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 677 words, total size 4 kb.

When I say this story is true, I'm saying it's true. Not only factually true, but universally true. Sometimes you have to make decisions immediately. Sometimes you make good ones, and sometimes you burn the living room carpet. But I'm getting ahead of myself. more...

Posted by: shank at 05:09 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 411 words, total size 2 kb.

Yes, it's American Idol season again. You know, I usually don't watch the whole season, but I always tune in for the first few episodes. Maybe it's because I'm evil, and I have a soul that's blacker than sin itself; but at least I know I'm not alone: millions of people are watching with me.

I mean, the beginning is the best part. You get to watch all these people line up, illusions clutched tightly to their tuneless breasts; and sing at the top of their horribly cacophonous lungs. My God, and when they're told they suck; we get to witness one of two events:
1) The condescending insults of industry professionals who shatter said illusion in the immensely public arena of national television, somehow to the surprise of the contestant and/or
2) The determination to cling to said illusion and persist in now obvious and inarguable suckitude.
The whole thing is truly a testament to the hilarious depths to which a person will plunge themselves because, for no reason other than they believe, they believe.

I mean, do parents not tell their kids to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up' anymore? Thank god my parents said that to me, or I'd probably be in my underwear on that damn show playing a set of LeCruset cookware with a pair of wooden spoons. I sure thought I was good at it as a child, until my parents told me to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up'.

I mean, I'm sure most of us like the sound of our voice. Who doesn't sing to themselves every now and again, right? But just because I sound like Pavofrickinratti when I'm in the car with the windows rolled up and the stereo at 11, doesn't mean I'm going to get up on stage and start singing show tunes. Here's the thing - if you're really and truly good at some trade or another, then you've probably made money doing it. If you've never been on stage, never performed even at a local bar for tips, then you probably haven't got an infidel's chance in paradise of ever making it past the humiliation of the show's first episode.

In closing, I'll steal a quote:
"Life is hard. But it's harder when you're stupid."

Posted by: shank at 09:10 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 395 words, total size 2 kb.

ThereÂ’s a phenomena in my neighborhood that I just donÂ’t understand. I see it every day driving in and out. People open their garage doors, set a lawn chair just inside the open door, and stare into the street. Are they on patrol? Whatever, I wish they would go inside and seal themselves in like I do. I donÂ’t like a lot of activity near my abode. Perhaps the cold weather will drive them in where they belong.

I get run off the road at least three times a week. When I finally chase the culprits down, without exception, they are all talking on a cell phone.

On a similar but different note, IÂ’m finding it more difficult every day to merge onto the freeway. It seems that people would just as soon run you into the concrete wall or off an embankment rather than let you just get on the road. IÂ’ve noticed that people speed up to 75 or 85 MPH just to make sure you donÂ’t get on in front of them. Because I donÂ’t relish dying in a burning car wreck, I am forced to speed up and get in anyway, only to find that they then back off to their usual 50 MPH after youÂ’ve safely managed to merge. They must be horribly disappointed.

I recently started watching Dog, The Bounty Hunter. IÂ’m absolutely fascinated by it. IÂ’ve always been interested in freak shows and it qualifies. There is so much wrong with this on so many levels.

Grilled cheese sandwiches rock.

My kid got walkie-talkies for Christmas and they have been commandeered by me and my wife. If one of us is upstairs and one is downstairs we usually have to scream to be heard. Even if sheÂ’s in the bedroom downstairs and IÂ’m in the living room it used to be a screaming match. Now itÂ’s a thing of beauty.

“Momma Bear, you got your ears on?”

Exasperated: “What now?”

“What’s the status of those cookies I’m waiting for?”

“Shut up, I’m bringing the damned things now.”

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:44 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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When The Wife and I were travelling in November for my brother's wedding, we ended up losing our Wachovia debit card. Well, to be honest, I ended up losing our Wachovia debit card because I left it at a bar. I know, you're thinking that was a pretty neat trick. Anyways, we departed the next morning at 7am, and didn't realize we'd left the card until we were 350 miles away.

So we promptly call Wachovia and have them send us a new card. While we had them on the phone, we also told them about our new address (since that was to take effect within the next day or so). Everybody says 'Thank you for your business', 'Have a nice day', and all this other great stuff.

Three weeks goes by and I call Wachovia, asking about the status of my new card. Whilst reconfirming the address, I realize they've mispelled the street name. We correct this problem, and I double check. "It's H as in Harry, A as in Albert...". Everybody says 'Thank you for your business', 'Have a nice day', and all this other cheesy stuff.

Another three weeks goes by and I call Wachovia, asking about the status of my second new card. Whilst reconfirming the address, I realize they've mispelled the street name. Again. We correct this problem, and I double check. "It's H as in Highly, A as in Annoying...". They promise to overnight the third new debit card. Everybody says 'Thank you for your business', 'Have a nice day', and all this other bullshit. That was Thursday.

I called Wachovia this afternoon, asking about the status of my third new card. Whilst reconfirming the address, I realize they've mispelled the street name. Again, again. (I mean, this time it wasn't like they had transposed or misheard a letter; there were actually letters added to the name. It was like an extra two syllables too long. I look over at The Wife and choke the imaginary chicken. This is unbelievable) We correct this problem, and I double check. "It's H as in You're a Fucking Moron, A as in Do You Speak English...". They promise to overnight the fourth new debit card and then proceed to give me a tracking number. Everybody says 'Thank you for your business', 'Have a nice day', and all this other compulsory language to avoid me mailing them a flaming bag of my own shit.

Five minutes ago I tracked the package. According to the UPS itinerary, the tracking number Wachovia gave me was for the package they sent out with my third new card in it; not the fourth new card that I just requested. Reading down further I see notes about the address being messed up, and then being corrected prior to delivery. Then I notice something odd about the tracking detail: My package status is 'DELIVERED' at 9:39am this morning. Which is funny since The Wife was home all day.

I call UPS, and they tell me that it was delivered to X address, a place I haven't lived in at least three years. I shit a brick that weighs two tons and smells of sulfur. Why the hell they sent it there I have no idea. I mean, I didn't even have this bank account then! So here I am, on the phone with UPS. They promise me that they'll run out there and get my package. Tomorrow. Hey, great. How about I just bend over, grab my ankles like so, and you drive one of those big brown trucks right up my stupid asshole! Yee-Haw!

I hang up with them thoroughly convinced that I am starring in my very own Donald fucking Duck cartoon, while some lucky moron is out spending our money on a lifetime supply of Slim Jims and back-issues of Guns 'n Ammo.

I call Wachovia back to make sure all of the cards that have been sent (except for the one I requested today) are listed as lost/stolen. They confirm that they are listed as such; but what little faith I have left in Wachovia right now doesn't even permit me to believe that they exist, let alone have control over this comedy of errors.

Can you believe this shit? I'm so glad this bank account is not our main checking account, and as soon as it is no longer useful (as of tonight I use that term loosely) we're cutting all ties with Wachovia. I mean, it's one fucking checking account you guys; it's not rocket science. To put this in perspective, all of our other banking activities (home/auto insurance, credit, checking, investment, savings) are all through one bank. Through all the years of relocation, lost cards, new car/home purchases, all that stuff; this bank has never missed a step. They're spinning all these plates and have never managed to plumb this depth of bumbling fuckstickery.

Therefore, in light of the experience of the past six weeks, I rest my case against Wachovia as The Worst Bank Ever. If you work for them and do not consider yourself a drooling idiot, you might want to find a new job. I'm sorry, I really am, because I realize Wachovia may have been a step up for you after working the Tilt-a-Whirl for all those years in the travelling carnival; but you're a fucking moron, and that's pretty much the only place a society can afford put its morons.

Posted by: shank at 07:12 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 920 words, total size 5 kb.

The Wife and I went out and bought our Christmas/promotion gift the other night: a 42" plasma HDTV. It's glorious. I can't wait until the cable guy comes tomorrow and hooks up the digital/HD so that we may worship at the altar, enveloped in the warm glow of millions and millions of pixels.

At the end of the month, I'm going to this convention on my employer's tab. It's to a decent locale, one of my favorites actually. But the material is so specific to my industry/sector, that it's fated to be the most boring three days in recent memory. It's got all the elements too: corny consultant to kick the thing off, garanteed to be full of this empowerment/7 Habits type of shit that people make millions of dollars on simply by regurgitating someone elses schtick every two years; a day of breakaway sessions that have titles like 'Watching the Grass Grow' and 'Underwater Basketweaving', and social breaks mixed in. Those are the worst, the networking sessions. It's like 'Here, have some finger food and join the meat market. You can peddle your business card, or simply whore yourself out to your peers!'

Seriously, my boss was turned down by two other people (more appropriate candidates, IMO) before she asked me. I said yes because 1) I love going to this particular city, 2) I have friends there, and 3) I get to go solo. Under normal circumstances, I'd bring The Wife; but she's got a full schedule during that particular time. Still though, going alone is better than being accompanied by some snivelling ass-kisser from Middle Management No-Man's Land who's way too eager to impress someone. Those types are never ever any fun on these kinds of things.

Posted by: shank at 07:35 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 296 words, total size 2 kb.

I've finally setup the home network. Had to buy a new antenna to do it, but it works better with the router that came in the new house than any of my older stuff did. Also stuck the setup IP for the router in my favorites folder, so that if I ever have any problems it's a few simple clicks. Yes, sometimes I do have moments of clarity.

more...

Posted by: shank at 06:17 PM | Comments (31) | Add Comment
Post contains 533 words, total size 3 kb.

1 Sorry to hear about your Mom.

Posted by: Ted at January 01, 2007 07:32 PM (+OVgL)

2 I'm very sorry for your loss. And what you are feeling is pretty normal, on the whole. Take care of yourself and your family... we'll be here if/when you decide to come back. And, thanks for letting us know.

Posted by: Moodie at January 02, 2007 10:19 AM (iSEP6)

3 shank - I'm sorry for your loss. Take care of you.

Posted by: Clancy at January 03, 2007 04:44 PM (X+xFB)

4 Sorry to hear about your Mom, Shank. For the record your grammar was remarkably good

Posted by: Oorgo at January 04, 2007 06:00 PM (ZUQGo)

5 Great work! http://qvoamrft.com/somv/vldv.html | http://cmaqjgcq.com/pdki/utsk.html

Posted by: Maggie at January 20, 2007 02:03 PM (fZaQD)

6 Thank you!

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7 Great work!

Posted by: Sally at January 27, 2007 07:06 PM (fZaQD)

8 Great work!

Posted by: Debbie at January 30, 2007 06:53 PM (8AJEz)

9 Well done!

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Posted by: Irene at January 31, 2007 06:52 PM (hwFNA)

11 Well done!

Posted by: Diana at January 31, 2007 06:53 PM (QjJf/)

12 Nice site!

Posted by: Angie at February 01, 2007 07:30 PM (54L7/)

13 Great work!

Posted by: Edward at February 02, 2007 07:34 PM (54L7/)

14 Well done!

Posted by: Craig at February 05, 2007 05:12 PM (Oxdbt)

15 Good design!

Posted by: Raymond at February 07, 2007 07:15 PM (QjJf/)

16 Great work!

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17 Thank you!

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18 Great work!

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19 Great work!

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Posted by: Ben at February 18, 2007 09:54 PM (rjeV9)

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30 Nice site!

Posted by: Gary at March 05, 2007 07:25 PM (dTsZj)

31 Thank you!

Posted by: Tina at March 06, 2007 07:18 PM (hwFNA)

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I had to go to the mall today to get my kid some new sneakers. So IÂ’m standing there in the sneaker store waiting to be helped when the screaming started.

I looked over and saw a guy, looked to be about forty years old, raising his voice to a young woman who worked there. I didnÂ’t think much of it at first, but got louder and louder and I walked over to see exactly what was going on. I have a nose for this kind of thingÂ…I generally know when violence is about to occur. And I could tell by the sound of this guyÂ’s voice that he was pretty close.

I walked up and saw that the guy was pointing his finger in the womanÂ’s face and screaming, in an absolute rage, about the return policy. I looked around and saw two other employees, both high school age, and both looked terrified. I looked back to the guy, who was screaming even louder at this point, and I didnÂ’t see any bulges, but he still could have had a gun. By now the woman was really scared. I have some experience in these things and I knew this guy was not in control of himself. It was a blind rage.

I have rules about getting involved in other people’s business. I generally don’t. This had nothing to do with me. If I got involved and things got physical there could be problems—like a lawsuit. But the overriding factor for me was the fact that this asshole was threatening a woman and she was scared shitless. I simply can’t tolerate that.

The woman walked behind the sales counter to put some distance between her and the nutcase and when the guy started following her around the counter and I knew what was coming next. I closed the gap instantly so I was right behind him. The woman looked at me pleadingly and I mimicked holding a telephone and mouthed, “Security.”

She went for the phone and the guy went for her. I was literally twelve inched behind him and he had no idea.

“That’s far enough, Chief.”

He turned and found me standing on his heels and went pale. He was off balance and I had several choices, although the most appealing was swinging my elbow across his jaw so it would have to be wired for six weeks or so. I had a second to decide to strike or not. I used restraint.

“The lady asked you to leave.”

He just stared at me.

“One way or another, you’re going out the door. Choose now.”

He left without saying a word. I realized at that point that there was zero tension in my body. I was completely relaxed, which isnÂ’t always the case in an adrenaline type situation. From experience I can tell you that in a relaxed state during a physical altercation you can do some amazing things. That guy will probably never know how close he came to the worst day of his life.

I really donÂ’t like violence. In fact I abhor violence, but if my kid wasnÂ’t there heÂ’d still be in the emergency room.

I havenÂ’t been in a situation like that in many years. I was taught that if all someone understands is violence, then give them violence. And beat them so severely that they never bother another peaceful living soul again.

And I thought about that, because just like on TV I flashed back to my teacher explaining that philosophy to me. It was twenty years ago, but in an instant I there again. The scene was so vivid I could smell the cup of tea he was always sipping from. And in another instant I was back standing there in the store with the asshole standing in front of me. It was like time travel.

The rest of the day was uneventful.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:21 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 656 words, total size 4 kb.

Heap on the wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

~ Sir Walter Scott

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:06 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Monty Hall Problem

This problem originated when it was sent in to Parade Magazine and was published in the column of Marilyn vos Savant on September 9, 1990.

Savant was touted as the person with the highest I.Q. in Guinness Book of World Records, and while the actual value of her I.Q. is in dispute (as are all I.Q. values), I think we can stipulate that this broadÂ’s pretty goddamned smart.

The question is based on the old game show, LetÂ’s Make A Deal, whose host was named Monty Hall. It goes like this:

Suppose you're on a game show, and you're given the choice of three doors: Behind one door is a car; behind the others, goats. You pick a door, say No. 1, and the host, who knows what's behind the doors, opens another door, say No. 3, which has a goat. He then says to you, "Do you want to pick door No. 2?" Is it to your advantage to switch your choice?

So basically, youÂ’re given a choice between three doors. Two goats and one car. The host opens a door you did not pick and shows you a goat. There are two doors left, the one you picked and the one you didnÂ’t. One has a goat behind it, the other has a car. The host then asks if you want to change your pick. What do you think?

ItÂ’s a 50%-50% chance right?

Actually, it’s not. If you change your pick you actually improve your odds of winning from ½ to 2/3.

Savant got a shitload of letters from professors all over the place claiming she was an idiot. Of course, in the end, she was right.

You cannot ignore the past here like you can with a coin flip. You originally had a 1/3 chance of winning, but by switching your choice you improve to 2/3 chance to win.

The contestant should choose to switch to the remaining door. The chance of winning the car is doubled when the player switches to another door rather than sticking with the original choice. The reason for this is that to win the car by sticking with the original choice, the player must choose the door with the car first, and the probability of initially choosing the car is one in three. Whereas, to win the car by switching, the player must originally choose a door with a goat first, and the probability of choosing a goat door first is two in three.

If youÂ’re still confused, and it took a while for it to sink in for me, the solutions and aids to understanding can be found here.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:29 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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This was posted on my original blog, about a hundred years ago. I'm still haunted by this tale--ed.

When I was little kid, maybe four or five years old, my parents did something horrible to me. I still hold a grudge.

It was Christmas morning, circa 1967. I woke up and ran straight to the tree. And what I saw was too good to be true. There was a drum set. A sparkling red drum set. Santa left it for me.

I played those drums all day. It was fantastic. I played through lunch and dinner. I played until it was time to go to bed. I played until I was forced to stop.

The next morning I woke up early and ran straight for the drums, but when I got there the drums were gone. Vanished without a trace. I completely freaked out.

“Where are my drums!” I screamed. “They’re gone!”

My mother was standing over me. I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Santa came and took the drums away last night. He said you were too little to play them, and that he would bring them back when you get older.”

I began to shriek and wail. I cried and cried, while my mother just looked on. I was shocked that Santa would do something like this. It was horribly cruel. It was unjust.

Somehow, over the next ten years, I forgot about the incident.

Then one day I was up in the attic looking for something. I must have been around fifteen at the time. The attic was like a messy museum. To find anything you had to dig and explore, move boxes covered with dust and tightrope walk on the beams so you wouldnÂ’t fall through the ceiling.

I had just moved a box and way in the back something caught my eye. I swept the flashlight beam in that direction. What I saw was astonishing. It was the red drum set.

I climbed back there at great personal risk and retrieved the drums and cymbals. The whole episode came back to me with remarkable clarity. I was very sad. However, my emotion soon turned to anger. I went downstairs and found my parents.

“I can’t believe what you did,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” my mother said.

“I found the drums! I found the goddamned drums from when I was five! Santa took them away, remember?”

“Oh, boy. Here we go,” she said.

“Yes. Here we go indeed. Do you know I thought I imagined all that? I can’t believe the cruelty.”

“Listen,” she said in a calm voice. “You banged away on those things for hours. You were driving us all nuts. It was so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. The noise was terrible, we had to do something.”

I walked away from the conversation. I have never forgotten that episode. And every Christmas since then I have brought it up to my mother. It was 35 years ago and IÂ’m still pissed off.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:55 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 518 words, total size 3 kb.

Well, I'm obviously honored that Time Magazine would name me person of the year. Thank you so much to everyone who's been so supportive over the years.

You know, for a small-town guy like me, whose 'internet content' basically consists of equal parts obscenity, humiliation, and misanthropy; I've got to say I didn't see this coming. Especially when I'm up against competition like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad ; who's had Time Magazine just absolutely coming in their pants the past few months. I mean, how am I supposed to compete with a totalitarian, terror-supporting 'champion-of-the-dispossed' 'global everyman'? That guy's covering just about every voting block. Well, except for chicks and Jews; and let's be honest - they're not allowed to vote anyways, right?

Yeah, I guess this honor makes it a real banner year for the team here at SBD. So on behalf of myself, Jim, Paul, and god knows how many others out there: We're really frickin' honored, Time Magazine. You nutsacks.

Posted by: shank at 06:32 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I grew up loving the outdoors, and when I decided to go to college, a large part of my campus selection was the abundance of outdoor activities local to the university. As soon as I arrived, I fell right in with a group of friends who all had the same interests.

The crew was about 20 or 30 people, with maybe six or so of them being close personal friends. I still stay in contact with those boys on occassion. There were a couple guys who were hardcore whitewater paddlers, some climbers, and a decent number of mountain bikers. All of us were avid campers, hikers, and backpackers. It was kind of nice, because nobody was involved with all of the activities, but everyone did at least two of them. There was always something to do and somebody to bring along.

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Posted by: shank at 03:58 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 845 words, total size 5 kb.

Via Jenelle:

1) How old do you wish you were? I'm pretty good with where I'm at. Besides, if I wanted to be younger that would mean moving back in with Mom and Dad. Fuck that noise.

2) Where were you when 9-11 happened? I don't recall exactly, but I was walking to class when I first heard about it.

3) What do you do when vending machines steal your money? I've never been robbed by a vending machine.

4) Do you consider yourself kind? I wouldn't say that about myself, no. Not that I'm hateful, I'm just to logical and cynical to afford any sort of all-encompassing type of kindness towards all others.

5) If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be? Depends on what I was getting a tattoo for.

6) If you could be fluent in any other language what would it be? Spanish or Chinese.

7) Do you know your neighbors? I just moved to a new place, and have yet to meet (or even catch a glimpse of, really) the new neighbors. I have an odd feeling though, that they're all watching the two of us very closely. It's unsettling.

What do you consider a vacation? No worries.

9) Do you follow your horoscope? Nope.

10) Would you move for the person you loved? Yeah.

11) Are you touchy feely? Pretty much only in private. Not a big fan of PDA.

12) Do you believe that opposites attract? Of course I do. I mean, if Paula Abdul said it, it must be true.

13) Dream job? Sure, why not. I mean, if it's anything like a blow job or a hand job, I'd probably be willing to take one. Wait, you're not a cop are you?

14) Favorite channel(s)? Discovery, National Geographic, History, The Speed channel, Food Network, Comedy Central. I have favorite shows that don't come on those channels, but the channels my favorite shows come on are kind of generic and lame.

15) Favorite place to go on weekends? Home. Or to the bar, but the bar is getting kind of lame. Maybe I just need a new bar.

16) Showers or Baths? Shower, because there's something about sitting in a pool of my own filth that turns me off. and baths get cold. Although now that you mention it, I begin to wonder if penises float. I might have to take a bath just to see what happens.

17) Do you paint your nails? No.

1 Do you trust people easily? Depends on the person, and what exactly I'm trusting them with.

19) What are your phobias? The dark kind of freaks me out, especially when I'm alone. I also worry about getting into deadly car accidents, plane crashes, The Wife getting robbed, beaten, and raped by some psycho meth addict; my family, money, you know; pretty much everything.

20) Do you want kids? Yeah, but you could also put them under 'Phobias'.

21) Do you keep a handwritten journal? I did when I was younger, but eventually it just felt kind of lame.

22) Where would you rather be right now? Since I'm at work, I'd probably rather be just about anywhere this side of a dentist's chair.

23) What makes you feel warm and safe? A nice heavy parka and a fully loaded Beretta?

24) Heavy or light sleeper? The soundness of my sleep is directly related to the volume of alcohol consumed in the three hour period before I go to bed.

25) Are you paranoid? Of course. Aren't you?

26) Are you impatient? Highly.

27) Who can you relate to? The Wife and most well-behaved dogs.

2 How do you feel about interracial couples? I don't care. Unless it's an Armenian and a Slovak. God, that disgusts me.

29) Have you been burned by love? Not unless you count two mild UTI's, a slight bit of gonorreah, an experience with the clap, and herpes.

30) What's your life motto? Who the hell has a life motto? Seriously, if life was that simple there wouldn't be so many fucksticks running around.

31) What's your main ringtone on your mobile? It's two short pulses.

32) What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping.

33) Who was your last text message from? Actually, it was just a random number. Kind of weird.

34) Whose bed did you sleep in last night? Mine.

35) What color shirt are you wearing? Light blue.

36) What are you listening to right now? Nothing. I can hear the air handler and a clock or something.

37) Name three things you have on you at all times? Well, technically there's nothing I have on me at all times, except maybe some hair, some skin, and a wedding band.

3 What color are your bed sheets? Green or blue.

39) How much cash do you have on you right now? None, as usually is the case.

40) What is your favorite part of the chicken? I like buffalo wings, and chicken breasts can be really good too. Heck, even the carcass is good for stock.

41) What's your fav city/place? Ocracoke was really nice, and the NC mountains are great too. I think I'd like to go to Jackson Hole and explore the outlying areas there too.

42) I can't wait till . . . Retirement.

43) Who got you to set up a blog? Nobody really. I was reading them and decided that instead of leaving novel-length comments that nobody would read, I should just start a blog that nobody would read.

44) What did you have for dinner last night? Chicken salad.

46) Have you ever smoked? Yes.

47) Do you own a gun? No.

4 Tea or Coffee? Iced Tea, on occasion.

49) What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex? Rohypnol.

50) Do you have A.D.D.? Pretty much.

51) What time did you wake up today? 7:00 and again at 7:10, and finally at 7:20 I surrendered to the snooze button.

52) Current worry? I have to pick one?

53) Current want? Hmmm, I'd like to have a hobby that isn't a lot of work but is still interesting and entertaining.

54) Favorite place to be? I like hanging out with The Wife.

55) Where would you like to travel in the future? I think I'd get a real kick out of Rome or Greece. I'd like to hit the Eurpean countryside too, but I can't decide which country.

56) Where do you think you'll be in 10 yrs? Not here, but we haven't decided where we're moving to yet.

57) Last thing you ate? Hashbrowns and juice.

5 What songs do you sing in the shower? Not a shower singer.

59) Last person that made you laugh? Who knows, I laugh a lot. Sometimes I laugh at people who aren't even trying to make me laugh.

60) Worst injury you've ever had? Never had any really bad injuries.

61) Does someone have a crush on you? Probably. My musk is pretty powerful.

62) What is your favorite candy? Not a big candy person, but I do like gourmet chocolate.

63) What song do you want played at your funeral? My Ding-a-Ling, by Chuck Berry.

Posted by: shank at 06:44 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 1214 words, total size 7 kb.

I actually had a big entry I was going to post today, but I lost my USB drive. No telling where it is.

Still no wireless downstairs. We try not to talk about that around me.

So I went to the Cingular store regarding my Bluetooth issues. They told me to call a 1-800 number and someone would send me a replacement phone, because apparently the Chinese laborer who built my phone was stoned off his ass that day or something, so my Bluetooth shit was fucked up from the start anyways. So I call the number, they send me a replacement phone. Lo and motherfucking behold, I immediately begin having the same problems. Whew, glad we're consistent.

I go to the store today with both phones and politely (I know, you don't believe me) explain to the guy what's going on. First words out of his mouth: "These things are such a pain." Really? I hadn't noticed. Thanks for selling me one. He continues to tell me that there's no way of trouble-shooting them, and how much they irritate him. I nod my head and agree. He exchanges my old earbud with a new one and says it's no cost. At least I got a new phone out of the deal. I'm going to have to remember that trick. The new earbud is charging right now, but my bookie's giving me 5 to 1 that I experience the same problem.

The Wife finished her second-to-last semester of nursing school today. It's kind of nice to see her again. I was pretty sure she'd left me for someone with decent table manners and stock options.

Posted by: shank at 06:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 281 words, total size 2 kb.

‘Tis the season.

Two days ago I was driving down the road and was passed by a car with flat tire. I did a double take, thinking I must be mistaken, but sure enough the right rear tire was flat and the old bastard just kept cruising on the rim. As if that was not strange enough, this morning I saw another car with a flat, not in the passing lane, but still, driving at about 40 MPH. Not a care in the world.

I went to get a new star for the top of the tree on Saturday and the place was a madhouse, full of insanely rude Christmas shoppers. Carts smashing into people, et al. Those people had murder I their eyes. It’s amazing the number of people who desperately need a lesson in humility—by way of a brutal beating.

Meanwhile the Christmas cards are pouring in and in a way they anger the hell out of me, as itÂ’s a lot of work to pump these things out, and I know that we must diligently reciprocate. At the last minute obscure people always send cards and we need to scurry so we donÂ’t go to hell or whatever. ItÂ’s getting to the point that when I hear Christmas music my natural reaction is to tense up all my muscles like IÂ’m preparing to take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:31 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 251 words, total size 1 kb.

Last night The Wife and I scored a solid cherry bedroom set. A sleigh bed and two nightstands for only $200. Used furniture is the only way to go (excluding mattress and sometimes couches). For some reason, the cherry was stained really dark though. My recollection of cherry is that it's somewhat blond in color, with a bit of a shimmer in the grain. This stuff looks almost mahogany. Might be time to break out the sandpaper.

We raked the front yard this morning too, which served two purposes. One, that I will never again own a home with a yard this big without having children (or some other form of legalized free labor) to do the work for me. And two, that shit is bullshit. Seriously, the previous owners were, to say the least, not big on the yard maintenance stuff. We raked up about a year or two's worth of pinestraw, only to discover that in the many places where the grass wasn't growing, it was either sand or moss.

But I'm done just in time for college football. My alma mater plays today at 4pm EST, hosting some sorry bunch of fools who think they're going to win the semifinal game at OUR house, in OUR conditions (about 25 degrees, not including any windchill). So if you're not doing anything this afternoon, you could always watch my team work on their second national championship. In a row.

Gotta run, apparently the bar ran out of cups and the papergoods delivery guy doesn't come until Thursday. I have just enough time to hit the store and be at the bar in time for kickoff.

Posted by: shank at 03:22 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 282 words, total size 2 kb.