Tired

I am so incredibly worn out. With all the developments in my personal and professional life lately, I feel like I've aged 10 years in the past ten months. School'll be over in May though; but it seems like an almost uphill battle until then. I did get quite the upper at work today when my director sideled up to me and said "Your promotion is in the works as. We. Speak." If I'd anything in me I'd have passed the fuck out. So, and I hate to bank on it here, it seems that things should work themselves out here in the immediate future. Hmm. I guess once you get the good job, and get married, and finish school - it seems to spool faster and faster. Cuz then there's a house, kids, bigger workload at the office, schools, etc., etc. Holy shit. And I'm already tired.

Posted by: shank at 09:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This'll be Quick. UPDATED!!

So, still busier than a motherfucker. I did, however, manage to come across something interesting today about Mr. George Galloway. You might remember the British politician and colossal jackass from such hits as 'Even the Labour Party Doesn't Aant My Crazy Ass', "It's All a Pack of Lies", and most recently, 'Okay, So Maybe It Wasn't All A Pack of Lies, But I Dare You to Try Me for Perjury!'. He's also written a book, aptly titled "I'm Not the Only One". I swear to you, that book is real, that's not a joke.

I assume the forward is written by Kofi Annan. Those fuckers. I'mma go get some beer and be right back. WOO!

update: My Rouge Dead Guy Ale, a movie buff if there ever was one, has just informed me that Galloway has signed on to star in a new production this summer; temporarily titled "I'm Going Upstate to Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison." Word has it, he'll be co-starring along side Saddam Hussein and "Punk'd" host Aston Kutcher. The latter of whom is apparently "Just along for the free ass-play".

Posted by: shank at 06:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Breaker Breaker!

This is shank, over. I was BC'd on an email from my director to the VP, copy. Director supports the consideration of a raise for yours truly, over. I'm dug in behind enemy lines, pinned down by a wave of paperwork on the west and an entire night of school on the east, over. I don't know if I'm going to make it out alive. Haven't heard from Paul, and I fear the worst, over. If anyone gets this message, find him first, he blogs better. We can hold our own here on my end for a few more days, but we'll need reinforcements. I'll keep you posted as long as the batteries hold up and we're all here. Shank out.

Posted by: shank at 04:57 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Mmmm... UPDATED!

The fiance went to Sam's Club tonight and found this monster bottle of Riesling. I don't know how she managed to drag this Moby Dick of Teutonic wines back to the house in her compact hatchback, but she did, God love 'er. I had my annual evaluation at work today, and things went well - so I deserve to finish this whole bottle. And when I do, so help me sweet Jesus, at about 11 tonight; I think I'll cork it and have it shipped to NOAA on the back of a flatbed towtruck so they can use it as an open ocean weather buoy.

Hey, I'm just givin' back, you know, from my immense bounty.

Update: Holy shit, we just passed 10,000 hits since June! As my two buddies used to say - Thanks for your support.

Posted by: shank at 08:39 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Goat Cheese and Gray Matter

I canÂ’t help but notice a shitload of spam in the comments. Shank is asleep at the switch.

Most of you are still using the paul@sanitys-edge email address and that will be dead by tomorrow or Wednesday. Please use the alternative. I would post it here but then IÂ’ll be inundated with offers of cheap hard-on pills and penile enlargement doohickeys, neither of which interests me. If anybody knows how to do that thing with the code where your email address is on the page but in the source it looks like Latin vomit, please speak up and make yourself useful.

For some reason I canÂ’t make a decent Bloody Mary. Either too much Worcestershire or not enough. I guess IÂ’ll have to start actually measuring. I like to use Clamato instead of tomato juice and I add few shrimp so thatÂ’s kind of like a meal.

IÂ’m debating going home for lunch and afternoon sex. And a Bloody Mary.

Did you know that Worcestershire sauce has a disputed history? You might also be interested knowing what that shitÂ’s made out of, namely, vinegar, molasses, corn syrup, water, chilli peppers, soy sauce, pepper, tamarinds, anchovies, onions, shallots, cloves and garlic.

Lea & Perrins, the most popular brand also has a secret ingredient that purportedly gives it an extra kick. TheyÂ’ve kept it a secret since 1837 and theyÂ’re pretty serious about it. According to their slow-ass loading web page, only three or four people know what the secret and itÂ’s been broken up so that no one knows the whole recipe and it involves a lot of secret code words. It takes up to two years to make a bottle of Lea & Perrins and their website makes it all seem very romantic.

Tell me this ainÂ’t good blogging.

The Bloody Mary itself has a distinguished history.

It was first mixed at HarryÂ’s American Bar in Paris, a notorious Hemingway hangout. It was originally made with gin because back in the 20s vodka was not a very popular spirit. The originator took the recipe back to New York where hearty Americans insisted it was a pussified French drink and insisted on adding Tabasco.

Many speculate the concoction was named after Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII who killed off just a shitload of her Protestant adversaries and became known as “Bloody Mary.” Others speculate it was named after a Chicago whore. Since I doubt that many 1920s bartenders were acquainted with the history of the House of Tudor, I’d have to go with the whore theory.

Regardless, itÂ’s one hell of a versatile cocktail and IÂ’d like to have me one as soon as possible.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:55 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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Phase two, wherein Paul has nothing

Yeah, IÂ’ve got nothing. And to make matters worse, ShankÂ’s been poking me with a stick, albeit subtly, to make something happen. HeÂ’s becoming Col. Parker and I think heÂ’s afraid IÂ’ll die sitting on the toilet like Elvis.

Perhaps I exaggerate. He sent an email saying, “Hey, what’s up?” But I can read between the lines. He’s thinking that fucker hasn’t been producing. Well, I guess I can’t blame him there.

When this type of situation happens in my professional life, IÂ’m full of articulate responses that generate the required effect even if theyÂ’re complete bullshit. Allow me to simulate them here:

Well, Shank, I’m glad to see you’re rallying the team, and it’s quite timely on your part, as I’ve just put together a proposal that I believe will push us over the top. One of my research teams has concluded that the font we’re using currently is not only unappealing, but subliminally conjures the image of complete ineptitude on our part. Furthermore, the blog is an odd color. It’s somewhat black and somewhat gray. It’s floating in the netherworld between these two colors. Again, as you’ll see from their upcoming report, the research team found that among men ages 24-36, 84% found the current background color “half-assed.”

Of women polled from the same age group, 73% found the background to be, in their words, “shitty.” How quickly can we get Design and IT into a meeting about this? Because frankly, I’m getting some calls from the top and I’m not sure how long I can pacify them.

ThatÂ’s what I usually do at work. Here on the blog I canÂ’t really do that. Here, because of my tenuous position, I must write something. If I don't come up with something soon I'll have to start making shit up about other bloggers and post it with feigned indignance.

Who wants to play How Many Beers?

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:10 AM | Comments (33) | Add Comment
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Trivia

UPDATE: Results in the extended entry.

Another post in such a short time might give Victor and Tiffani a heart attack, but I'm willing to take that chance in my vain efforts to get all of you to dance like trained monkeys for me. That's just the sort of selfless fellow I am.

The trivia: What was the little circle doohickey called that you put in the hole of a 45 to play it on a standard record player spindle?

The payoff: 3 points to the person who knows the answer. Some more to the answer than most makes me giggle like a schoolgirl.

The restriction: No searching.*

* I'll do that when I check for the correct answer since I haven't the slightest clue what that thing is called**. Despite the fact that they were an everyday part of my life for two decades.

** Astute readers will interpret this in one of two ways. Either I've recognized this as a cool odd-ball trivia and am taking advantage of it to give out some points or, since I have to look up the correct answer eventually, I'm using the contest thing as a tool in my continual efforts to procrastinate in order to avoid looking up the answer for as long as humanly possible. It's probably a bit of each. more...

Posted by: Jim at 10:10 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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BlogMaintenance

Added a few blogs to the blogroll becuase I visit them on a daily basis. Firstly A Small Victory. Michele runs an entertaining pop culture joint over there, but don't get her wrong. She used to be a pretty political blogger, and has quite a wit about her. Of the bloggers I'd screw, she'd be one of them. If she weren't married to some stud half her age. What a sexy bitch!

Secondly, Outer Life; a supremely written, interesting blog. The guy brings you right into his mind. If I could communicate like that, I'd have you bitches begging me for more.

Posted by: shank at 07:23 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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It's a miracle!

Jim has posted twice in one day! Granted, it's neither your usual bloggy goodness nor your usual bloggy gayness, but for right now, I'm happy with baby steps.

Posted by: Victor at 03:31 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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When Good Bathrooms Go Bad.

I spent most of Friday night and the wee hours of Saturday morning sitting on the porch with a beer in hand, telling stories with friends while Ray Charles did his thing in the background. It was a helluva time, but it left me a little worse for the wear when I got up the next morning.

Usually, a crisp shower helps me regain something resembling composure, so I headed off towards the bathroom. Eyes barely open, I hobble in to the tub, pull the curtain, and start the water. I reached up to tilt the showerhead and point the stream of water further towards the back of the shower. Apparently, I am in such awesome physical condition, that with a mere flick of my wrist I can snap shit in two - because that's exactly what the shower head did. The collar that twists onto the pipe coming out of the wall just cracked from end to end. I muster the kind of garbled, incoherent swearing stereotypically attributed to someone suffering from a hangover.

Water begins spraying all over the place - on the walls and ceiling over the showerhead, in my face, over the curtain rod, everywhere. I'm still swearing, something like "Shitshitshitahhhfuckshitshit etc., and I've got my hands wrapped around the threaded collar to prevent it from spraying everywhere, but I realize immediately that it's exacerbating the situation. Not only can I NOT turn off the water (since both hands are on the leaking head) but the tiny gaps between my fingers and palms are only providing more holes for the damn water to spray out of. Good thing for me, this morning my brain is working as deftly as my rippling, PVC plastic wrending muscles. I lift my right foot up to the shower knob on the wall and try to push the nob down into the 'Off' position. I get my foot up there, and apply gentle pressure to the knob while my hands are wrapped over the shower head above. My left foot slips on the wet bathtub floor and I go airborne.

I guess the pressure I was applying to the knob couldn't be countered by the single foot I was standing on at the time. My left foot slipped forward, and the right foot that was pushing against the shower wall propels me backwards. My grip on the shower head turns the crack in the collar into a shatter, and the entire assembly comes off. We have one of those massage showerheads on a length of hose, so there's quite a lot of debris flying around at this point. When I realize I'm about to knock myself out on the tub floor and drown in my own bathwater, I do what only comes naturally - I reach out for the shower curtain to my left.

I'd like to take a moment here and just say: Yes, I know that was dumb. The second I reached out for the damn thing, I knew it was a dumb move. But I figured it was better than just enjoying the ride.

The curtain rod holds for a split second, my decent stalls, and the curtain in my fist swings just a little further left. Before it snaps. You know how shower curtain rods are - they're held in place by friction basically, braced against the bathroom wall. Well, I guess that slight swing to the left was enough to pull one of the ends out, and I finish the homestretch of my little morning decent. The rod comes clanging down, my ribcage its the rim of the tub, and I damn near knock my gord on the toilet seat. The pipe where the showerhead used to be is still spraying cold water, and the showerhead itself is wrapped around my arm. I groan. I just wanted a shower.

Posted by: shank at 04:23 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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