You know, every once in a while something comes along that's really irritating. It's so mind-bogglingly vexing, so obviously inane, that it actually causes me physical and mental harm. Some people are so stupid, I'm not sure if we're members of the same species.

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Posted by: shank at 12:26 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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So...
The Old Testament is the story of a people who escaped persecution by an absolutist society who branded them as inhuman slaves, because of their religious beliefs.

And the New Testament is the story of an evangelist who's people were branded as fringe moonbats by the pious, because of their religious beliefs.

And yet we (the agnostics, the doubters, the skeptics, the too-cool-for-old-world-philosphy) claim that the Bible is just a collection of stories, parables, for disemenation among the masses - religiously contexted propaganda.

OHO! Yet we fail to see it as a history of human predilection - we believe, therefore we kill. Systems rise, and systems fall - regardless of which system is right, the most powerful wins. But where do WE lie, the United States, with all our gloriously mixed culture and 'Democratic' cries for the acceptance of 'The Other'? God, liberals and their emotions - why don't they ever wake up to the real issues? To the difference between what it means to 'believe' in something, and what it means to make a society work? I dunno, leave that to the pundits I guess.

My thoughts, penny-a-piece as they may be? Welcome to the country. Join and be a part of the amalgamate; because that's what the US is: A motley fucking crew. I just don't get why an outisder would want to be a part of it SO MUCH that they would march on major cities, when the 'rest' of the world is calling us imperialists. Odd, don't you think?

Posted by: shank at 07:46 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Finished! Finished. The draft for my thesis is complete; thanks in large part to the two gallons of orange juice that were left in the refridgerator from the wedding day (we had breakfast at the church) and those Zep live bootlegs Paul sent me a while back. It was hard to get the ball rolling on this sucker, I totally wasn't into it; but I'm done now. I'm going to go sit on the porch, listen to In My Time of Dying one more time through, and wait for that pot roast to finish up. And for Duke to bring me some beer from the store.

With all due respect buddy, hurry it up.

Posted by: shank at 05:41 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I should be finishing my thesis right now, but I'd much rather drink a beer on the porch and listen to my Sublime collection. Fucking school's a waste of my time right now anyways. I could pack a shotgun with one of my turds, shoot it at a couple sheets of paper, turn it in, and still graduate. All they want is happy alumni anyways; you know, to pay dues and donate buildings and shit. Liberal academia is obviously smoking way too much homegrown if they think I'm going to be giving them any money in this life. They got my tuition, they got two years of my life; the rest is mine biotches.

I'm convinced my wife's cat is evil. And I'm not talking naturally, blamelessly, I-was-born-this-way evil. I'm talking about that 'I enjoy being a wicked cunt and I'll never go away no matter how many times you throw me over the back fence' kind of evil. Ask anyone, the goddamn beast is straight from hell. I keep hoping she'll wander out to the four lane and get insta-puréed by some fully loaded dump truck doing fifty-five.

She hates being petted. She'll actually crawl up in your shit while you're laying on the couch, shove her head in your hands to be scratched, then fifteen minutes later she'll hiss at you and scamper off. What a fucking bitch eh? And when she hisses all up in your face and shit, it smells absolutley horrible. I don't know how many of you people have been forced (by marriage or other such trickery) into living with a cat, but the food they fucking eat is nasty. It smells like a homeless crackwhore's hatchetwound, and when they hiss in your face it's like the nasty street bitch is sitting on your face. The cat did that hissing in my face thing once. ONCE.

The cat doesn't really like me. Which is fine by me, because I'm pulling for her to get fucked to death by one of the stray neighborhood tom's. You know, I don't have the heart to kill her myself, and I asked my wife how pissed she'd be if I just threw her cat in the car and drove it up the coast a few hours and tossed it out. She wasn't too enthused, so I'm relegated to wishing death upon the evil little fucker.

Die cat, die.

Posted by: shank at 04:07 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I suppose I'd rather write this than speak it, because I'm not sure if I have it in me to do so. I guess I'm not exactly the great communicator. Not like that's a secret to anyone though. HA!

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Posted by: shank at 07:45 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Which suck worse:
France/The French

OR

House Cats

You decide in the comments. The team that wins, gets points.

Posted by: shank at 07:47 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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I'm the kind of guy that buys things and milks them for everything they're worth. I've got a 6 year old car with only 44,000 miles on it. The newest pair of jeans I have is a year old; the oldest is 10. I buy shoes maybe once every two years. I've had the same wallet I've had since I was 16. Granted, it's a horrible looking peice of shit, but it just. won't. die.

So I had to go shopping for work clothes today. I mean, it kind of irritates me, because I got some shit for Christmas last year, but it's starting to wear. Normally I wouldn't give a shit, but I feel like I should approach my work attire with a little more tact. Which sucks, because I have very little as it is.

So I walk into Dillards to see if I can scrounge anything from the clearance racks. In my mind, there are only two months in each year that a person should be shopping for clothes: March and September. Grab the shit that's on clearance from the previous season right?

So there I am in shorts, a favorite old t-shirt, and a pair of Rainbows. I'm perusing the labels (Murano, Turnberry, Polo, etc.) and checking sizes. I'm a bit of an odd shape (tall and medium built), so many times the clearance racks are filled with the sizes that most people can't fit but will fit me fine.
"You look a little tall."
"Hm?" The sales lady startled me. She's about the height of a hobbit, and looks oddly like one. "Oh, I'm about a 34-34."
"Well, most of that stuff is down in that section down there." She points and, I swear, she's looking down at me through her glasses. Amazing.
"Actually, there's some right here on this rack."
"That's the clearance rack. You might have more luck right over there," she points again, "This is the designer section."
What a judgemental cockface this woman is. I'm sorry it's 60 fucking degrees outside and I decided to wear shorts today, but I'm pretty sure I can shop wherever the fuck I want. I checked the mirror just to make sure I was still white. I figured maybe I'd entered the fucking Twilight Zone or some shit. I didn't know people really treated eachother like this.
"No, that's fine; I'm looking for work clothes."
"Is it an office environment?"
No bitch, I'm the dancing monkey in a fucking travelling circus. "Oh yeah," I say with a little emphasis. She scuttles off. Probably back to the rock that she lives under. Wicked cunt.

I finish picking out some slacks and shirts, and I guess that pious, crotchety old bag finally resigns herself to the fact the best way to get me out of her designer section is to finish the sale. She comes over to help me and I try my best to ignore her. Then I realize I'm in way over my head - these clothes come in colors and patterns. Fuuuuuuck.

The office attire I have at home is all plain: french blue, grey, white, black, olive, khaki. The shit in this store is striped, herring-boned, criss-cross, sand, brown, green, blue, fucking radiant and crazy. For a second I thought I was on acid. I recognize that I'm going to need this woman's help. Enemies allied. Son of a bitch.

She helps me pick out some shirts to match the pairs of slacks I have. After shopping around, I think the old fucker gains a little bit of respect for me. Probably because I'm holding merchandise in my hands. She's actually helping me find deals, working with the colors I want to wear, etc.

In the end, I walked out of there with a couple of outfits for an outrageously cheap price. Which makes me happy because I know that bitch didn't make shit for comission. Serves her right the (ahem, I'm going to try this one out here) poxy cunt.

Posted by: shank at 01:17 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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So, I used the new Fusion razor tonight by Gillette. I actually didn't cut myself, which is pretty amazing considering the Fusion feels like a weedwacker in my hands compared to teh razors I usually shave with. But it's a nice shave. Don't waste your money on the electric one though. Unless you like being shocked.

I'm working on my thesis this week, going to Vegas this weekend, more thesis work next week, marriage the week after that, then more thesis work. I'll let you know when I get my life back.

Which, given the whole marriage thing, may be never.

Posted by: shank at 06:02 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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So, we're living in this apartment building while we save for a house. It's not that bad - it's dirt cheap; it's in a safe, convenient neighborhood; it's got just enough room - we even got a first floor unit!

Well, it's all good until this bitch, evil whore, moved in upstairs. I swear to Christ she straps her refrigerator to a dolly and brings it down the stairs with her every damn morning on her way to work. CLOMPCLOMPCLOMPCLOMP.

'Course, I'm usually up pretty early for work so it's just a mild annoyance. The fiancee, on the other hand, tends bar til oh-dark-thirty and when that bitch starts dragging her Frigidaire or whatever down three flights of stairs at 7am, the old lady about has a psychotic break. She wants to set up a trip wire. Personally, I think that would be funny:

CLOMPCLOMPCLO[trip]WHAM clompflompblompshompaaaaahghgggaa...BANG!

The last bang being that damn side-by-side landing on the gelatinous pool of tissue and bone fragment that was her body. It's really unneccesary, the clomping. No one else clomps. The fiancee said "Well, the only reason we hear her is because she's obviously wearing some goddamn slutty ass, goldfish tank, platform heels. Skank." Never mess with a tired woman. They'll fuck ya' up.

Don't even make me tell you about the time she called me at work because there were landscapers outside our unit at nine in the morning. She was on the verge of committing war crimes.

I thought it was kinda sexy. All that passion. Hey, at least it's not directed at me this time. "Go ahead, baby! Kill 'em, kill 'em all!"

Posted by: shank at 08:55 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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Okay, so I've been thinking of trading my car in and getting one of these bad boys. Mmm, yeah baby. Come to pa- oh. Sorry. Sometimes I do that.

Posted by: shank at 02:28 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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There's this lady at work, Stella, who's probably old enough to be my mom. Apparently, she's a font of marriage wisdom. I'm not sure what makes her think she qualifies, but maybe it has to do with the fact that she's going through a divorce, and her current boyfriend has been so fleeced by his ex-wife that he sleeps on the floor of a single wide. I mean, between the two of them they have like...almost three marraige-worths of advice to hand out, right?

Anyways, she's constantly...berating me about the things that I absolutely have to do or my marriage won't last. I'm saying - it's like a barrage. She's waving her hands around and her eyes are giant dinner plates bulging behind her bifolcals. She's speaking loudly, emphasizing every other word, she should've been a televangelist.

She told me a few months ago that nothing else mattered, as long as I got a luxurious suite for the honeymoon. And draped rose petals all over the floor. And got the nicest bottle of champagne. It was just complete idiocy.

This morning she starts telling me the following:
"Shank, listen me. NOTHING else you do will matter so much as asking her if you can help her out."
"..."
"Around Christmas time, women feel all this pressure. We have to make cookies. It's stupid, but we just have to make cookies!"
I start making a weird, tight lipped grimace. It's because I can't decide if I want to scream or double over in laughter. My options are to start fucking with her, or just sit through this latest episode.
"If you just ask her 'Hey, is there anything I can do?" Even if there's nothing you can do, she'll appreciate it so much. Because the cookies andthepresentsandthedinnersandthecardsit'sallsostressful!"
I decide to commence the mind fuck. "Stella, you got to lay off the cookies."
"I can't."
"Besides, I'm not good at anything so I never ask to help. Furthermore, I would hate for her to actually say she needed some help, because God knows I'm not interested in helping her."
"But you should ask anyways." God, she so self-absorbed I can't even get her to bite at the sarcastic bait I'm throwing at her. Instead, she launches into this story about how her daughter, sick with a cold or something, asked Stella if she could help make cookies. Apparently, it made her day. Blah blah blah blah blah.

Look, if the secret(s) to maintaining a happy, lasting marriage could be codified and boiled down into a few little pearls of wisdom - your ass wouldn't be divorced. If it's just that fucking simple. Look, I got some advice for you. How 'bout, when shit needs cooking or cleaning, whoever has the time does it. How 'bout, when shit is piling up around the house, you take care of that shit together, ya know as a couple, instead of enabling your obviously lazy husband to sit on the couch and watch you work yourself into some kind of Yultide panice attack.

I mean, fuck. If you hate feeling stressed about the obligations of your role in your marriage, maybe you should try changing that role, instead of giving people advice that directly promotes such restrictive gender boundaries...bitch.

Posted by: shank at 03:08 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Posted by: shank at 01:40 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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At work, we have an administrative resident. It's basically a position for folks who've just completed gradschool; they work closely with senior leadership on various projects. Similar to an internship, but it lasts for a year and it pays.

So anyways, the resident and I work close, and she kind of identifies with me since we're the same age and all that. She asks me for advice sometimes, since I'm a little more familiar with the unspoken mores of the organization. Today, she came to me complaining about this specific AA who's notorious for trying to throw people under the bus. She's always handing off challenging work to others, playing stupid, and yet somehow manages to enjoy decent job security. I hate this bitch, because she's tried to dump on me several times right in front of her direct report, one of the VP's.

So the resident's like "You're never gonna believe what happened today."
"Shoot."
"The bus driver is making me take minutes at the senior leadership meeting."
"She's not the bus driver, she's the person throwing you in front of the bus. And she shouldn't be making you do a goddamn thing, since she's not superior to you."
"Whatever. She said 'The residents used to do this, but I've been doing it for the past few years. I don't know why, but I'm giving it to you.'"
"Horseshit. The reason the residents quit doing it was probably because it was a waste of their fucking time as future CEO's and shit to take minutes."
"I know."
"So what the fuck does that bitch do for a living now? Answer the phone for 40k/year and full benefits?"
"I know."
"So did you tell her to fuck off?"
"No! Dude, I'm trying to get a job offer out of this gig."
"Well, you fucked yourself. You should always have a busy response."
"A busy response?"
"Yeah. As soon as you realize this bitch is trying to throw you in front of the bus, or get you to do her goddamn job for her that she's been doing for the past few fucking years; you cut her off mid-sentance with your busy response. Like so: 'Yeah look Helen I've got (list several projects here, make some up) the labor reqs to take care of, supply budgets for sixteen units, PAF's to clean up, operational budget variances are stacking up on my desk, and next week the VP of (any department will do, except the one the bitch works in) Strategy and I are presenting some AD/C data to the CEO. Just can't do it. Hey, would you mind chucking something in the interoffice mail for me?'"
"Wow."
"Works everytime. But be sure that what she's actually asking you to do is horseshit. As a matter of fact, you need to get a job offer somewhere else, just so you can someday bask in the pure pleasure of telling her she's full of horseshit."
"Dude. You're the man."
"Fuck, you're the one who got the residency. Now get out there and administrate."

That's me. Fostering educational growth and career expansion. GO TEAM!

Posted by: shank at 08:19 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Last night we went to this local Asian market because we were cooking Thai with some friends. Apparently, between the leaving the market and getting into our car, the fiancee unknowingly drops her cell. About two hours later, we get ready to leave the house to meet our friends.

"Where's my phone?"
"Iono. Lemme ring your bling." I dial, the phone begins ringing. The fiancee runs hither and thither trying to find it or hear the ringing. Then someone picks up. It was a little weird.
"Heh-ro?" Thick Asian accent.
"Um. Where are you?" The fiancee is giving me the fish eye, she's only hearing my side of the convo, and she wants to know what's up. I'm now having two conversations with one mouth. "Someone has your phone."
Asian stranger: "I have your phone."
Me: "Yeah, um. Are you at the Saigon Market?"
Fiancee: "Who is it? Where are they?"
AS: "No, I have a meeting."
Me: "Can we meet you somewhere to pick up the phone?"
F: "Where will they meet us?"
AS: "What? I have a meeting?"
Me: "She has a meeting or something. I have no clue what she's saying. WE CAN MEET YOU AT THE SAIGON MARKET." I'm beginning to think some village in Korea or maybe on the high steppes of China has lost their idiot; an idiot who has managed to find this particular cell phone. I have an epihpany: When Rube Goldberg died, God made him fate's architect.
F: "What the fuck? She has a meeting? She's got my damn phone! We can meet her at her meeting." We begin speeding through the city streets toward the Asian market, just to see if the owner has it, or anyone said anything to her. I have a hunch it's probably not the owner of the market, but I'm willing to satisfy a little curiosity.
Me: "We can meet you at your meeting. Just tell us how to get there."
AS: "What? I can't hear you. Why do you need to come to my meeting?" She said it pleadingly, like, 'Why are you torturing me?' Almost like she was complaining.
Me: "Because you have our phone. Where can we meet you then?"
F: "She won't meet with us? Jesus! She's stealing my phone."
AS: "I can't meet you tonight. I have a meeting, it's going to be late. Call me tomorrow." She's still complaining, like a kid who wants some candy and you won't give it to them. She hangs up.

I look back at the fiancee and she's ratcheted up somewhere between 'Pissed' and 'Murderous Rage'. "That bitch won't give us the phone? Why the fuck did she answer then?" She's flying around corners, I think we just knocked a delivery boy off his moped. We're driving down the shoulder, straddling the curb. Pedestrians on the sidewalk throw their belongings in the air and dive out of the way. It's complete bedlam.

One of our friends calls me. "Dude, I just called your fiancee's cell, and some weird Chinese woman answered. She started asking me whose phone she was talking on."
Fiancee: "Who's that? Is that the bitch who stole my phone?" We fly through an intersection, narrowly missing a school bus, and pass an ambulance with it's lights flashing.
Me: "Asian."
Friend: "What?"
Me: "Nevermind. Yeah, some lady picked up her celly and now it's like, too much of a pain in her ass to give it back to us. I gotta call you back."
Friend: Laughing. "Ha! What? Well, good luck with that, the Chinese are a hard-bargaining people."
Me: "What?"
My friend hangs up on me. That's two hangups in a row.

We arrive at the Asian market and speak with the owner. She obvisouly doesn't have the phone, and no one said anything about it to her. She wishes us luck. Damn. Back in the car towards our friends' place.

We decide to call back the Asian Stranger who's falsely imprisoning our phone.
"Hi."
"Hello? This your phone?"
"Yeah, look we can meet you anywhere. We've got to have the phone back tonight." I begin to tell her a lie about us getting married tomorrow. I really get myself worked up good. She's ruining our wedding. Our day, you cold hearted beast, you. I imagine myself accepting an Oscar. I cry, I thank Jesus and my children. The music begins playing...
"I can't hear you. Fine. I meet you at ten."
"Okay, well, where at?"
Hangup number three for the evening. I'm having a swell half hour here.

The fiancee has finally peaked, and upon attaining 'Violently Irate', she begins spewing death threats, curses upon future descendants, plagues, and all manner of grotesque physical injuries. I try to call the cell back, but the Asian Stranger has turned the phone off. I mumble something about this newest development and we damn near slam into a telephone pole. The fiancee's anger is now so powerful, that it has become it's own entity. She has become so filled with rage that it begins to manifest itself physically. His name is apparently Vincenze. He calls himself a businessman in a way that makes me think he's a hitman. It's appropriate anyways.

We call periodically over the next few hours, just to see if maybe the Asian Stranger has gotten out of her meeting early. It's straight to the voicemail every time. We never hear back from the Asian Stranger.

We eventually went to the Cingular store this evening, having given up on ever seeing our little lost celly again. She got one of the Razor V3's. It's frickin' awesome, and I am highly jealous. I can't get an upgrade until January, maybe the fiancee will let me borrow hers until then. I promise to give it back.

Posted by: shank at 09:08 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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I'll just tuck this in the extended entry, because it's not a happy thing. more...

Posted by: shank at 11:24 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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1 I'm working to change an organization of nearly 4,000 employees that tells me "But this is the way we've always done things." Your new job is at my company? Holy shit!

Posted by: Jim at December 02, 2005 05:30 AM (oqu5j)

2 I'm working to change an organization of nearly 4,000 employees that tells me "But this is the way we've always done things." Most people are afraid to leave their comfort zones. Most people understand that 2+2=4, but are not interested in 3+1=4, etc. Most people are barely able to do their current jobs. Most people live in state of fear which lurks just under the surface. I'm a man of action. My fear doesn't lurk...I'm on red alert all day. That's why I'm on the ball and embrace change. You're facing a common problem that almost all executives have to fight all day. I've been successfull by leaving them no "outs". "This is why we're changing. This is how we're changing. Please complete the change by this date. If you are unable or unwilling to support this change, I will run you over with the rest of the winners trampling close behind me." As for the church, just after I went through all the rigamarole to get married in church, against my will and for the benefit of my wife, a priest told me he didn't want my kind in church. "What's my kind?" I asked. "People that never want to go to church." "Fair enough. We'll both be a lot happier." I now go to church on occaision, when I'm in europe, and there's no mass being held, and the building was constructed several hundred years ago and filled with priceless art. That's my kind of church-going. As for cars, I seem to blow through O2 sensors once a month, at $600 bucks a pop. As soon as the car was out of warranty they started going left and right. Seems the old lady has four in her car that go out reguarly. You can't win. No matter how fast you run the race, you cannot win. Once you realize that you tend to relax a lot more.

Posted by: Paul at December 02, 2005 08:24 AM (vbP6L)

3 A wise person once told me that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over expecting a different result each time. Furthermore, *bubabubabubabubabuba*.

Posted by: DeAnna at December 02, 2005 11:57 AM (IdVP4)

4 Hey, I'm coming home next week and we can talk out some of this shit. You're one of us, Brother, and you're just like Dad: we're goign to get through all of this (the Volvo is a POS, too, the latest problem being something wrong with the steering column. it's a good thing I40 is so straight, or I probably wouldn't make it home next week. Don't flip your shit, you're going to want that stuff some day!

Posted by: youngers at December 02, 2005 01:17 PM (vtVDO)

5 Dude... relax. The more serious you take life the more likely it is to run you over. Don't worry about your religion, it is YOUR religion (or not)... don't let anyone else tell you what to do with it... do you really care what the priest thinks? Your car - yeah, shit happens. Don't worry about it... get it fixed and move on. If you were meant to be homeless so be it... Work - fuck. Your company is just like everyone elses... do what you can and don't worry about what the other fuckers are moaning about... I like the adage from Paul, "If you are unable or unwilling to support this change, I will run you over with the rest of the winners trampling close behind me." Deep cleansing breath - now move on...

Posted by: Wendy at December 02, 2005 03:51 PM (FYcXB)

6 deep breaths actually, really, are the poopoo.

Posted by: youngers at December 03, 2005 09:54 AM (4hSmc)

7 Have you tried it? You'd be surprised...

Posted by: Wendy at December 06, 2005 12:31 PM (FYcXB)

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I've had one of those past couple days that was not the greatest. I mean, it didn't suck per se; I still have my health, but there's someone in my immediate family that doesn't even have that. It's kind of surreal at this point, but at the same time very real. It's one of those things that 'never happens to you', but in the end it happens to everyone. We should kind of expect it, but we're never ready for it. We're never really ready to hear that someone's got a 6% chance of living through the next 12 months. We're never going to have the flexibility to work it into our schedules. There's never a good time to die. But we all know it's coming. So we just take our lumps, and we know that the things that really matter will always be there.

Responding to death by saying "That's tragic" is simply releasing vocal filler into the air. And the next time somebody says that within earshot of myself, I will stab them with their own sword and say "No. That's tragic." I mean, I don't expect people to express sympathy or empathy, because I don't even know how to express it. I don't expect people to say shit really, because I don't even know what to say yet; still processing. But I can't just not say anything; I'm not going to pretend it's not happening. So when I say "My Mom is dying" don't feel obligated to utter the traditional "I'm so sorry for you." I know what people are feeling when I tell them that. So just give me a hug, and then go home and give your family a hug.

In the extended entry is her recipe for turkey stock. I, of course, took liberties with it and made it my own. Cuz nothing's ever good enough for me when it comes to food. more...

Posted by: shank at 07:34 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 Surreal as fuck. Did you really make turkey stock by using an ice bath?

Posted by: the youngest at November 27, 2005 10:38 AM (EYnfp)

2 SKimming the fat off?Thats just WRONG!! Actually....if you do...you can use it for frying.Its yummy.:-)

Posted by: The Brat at November 27, 2005 11:21 AM (oqu5j)

3 Youngest - Yeah. Strain the stock from the stockpot into another pot, and set this pot in a sink full of ice.

Posted by: shank at November 27, 2005 12:14 PM (jfEhX)

4 I feel for you shank. That's not meant as a meaningless platitude, that's the real thing. My dad is in the same boat right now. Terminal illness with a bad prognosis, and lately various complications have made the bad even worse. And even though I understand that sooner or later these things would happen and I'd have to face them, I'm not ready to let go of my dad. Who is? And yet, life has to go on. We have to continue to go about our normal routine, take care of our families, and even entertain ourselves. And enjoy the moments of happiness while we can, because we don't know how long those moments will last. Or how many more moments of happiness we'll get. Or how much sadness is just around the corner.

Posted by: diamond dave at November 27, 2005 05:33 PM (6+5Wv)

5 Your mother is a *very* wise woman, and her stock uses basically the recipe that goes back to whenever recipes were first written down (1400's?)...so it wouldn't be a stretch to say it's an old family recipe You start with cold water because some of the flavoring dissolves only in cold water. You cook it because other flavorings dissolve in hot water. You might also want to throw a few (like, three or four) peppercorns in there, as well as a few sprigs of parsley, for the true traditional 1400's-era recipe. OTOH, it's bad juju if you screw around too much with your mother's recipe. Youngster, the ice bath cools it down quickly to help minimize bacterial growth (bacteria love yummy things too). Shank's mother's temperature of tap-water cold is a pretty good indicator; the health department would tell you it should be below 45 degrees F. My only quibbling point would be with discarding the fat. There's a good amount of flavor in there, and if you use the stock for a sauce, the fat will add creaminess to the sauce.

Posted by: Victor at November 28, 2005 08:57 AM (L3qPK)

6 *hug*

Posted by: Margi at November 28, 2005 01:22 PM (nwEQH)

7 *hug* *beer*

Posted by: Harvey at November 28, 2005 03:32 PM (ubhj8)

8 I'd hug you because I am THAT secure in my masculinity. But first you've got to promise not to grab my ass.

Posted by: Jim at November 30, 2005 09:39 AM (tyQ8y)

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Work has been crazy. Like trying to drink from a fire hose. I can't complain, because the 60% pay raise (insert screaming, cheering, dancing, heavy tipping of the bartender here) is pretty nice to me; but damn do I hate working. Absolutely.

My best friend in the whole wide world is in town tonight. He woulda been my best man if he wasn't trying to live in Costa Rica, Texas, and North Carolina at the same time. Makes him a little hard to get ahold of. But he's in town for the holidays, so I've dutifully put a twelver of Corona on ice, sliced the lime, and put on some music. It'll be a nice way to start my Thanksgiving holiday extravaganza.

Much Like Paul stated below, our Turkey Day revolves not so much around the food. We like to play poker, drink whiskey, and then make fun of eachother when we get drunk and someone's wife starts giving them the stink eye. One year, we were forced to play in the garage. Which was okay with my Uncle Jay, because that put him closer to the deepsink - it's easier for him to throw up in. I swear, second to the poker/whiskey, that's Jay's way of celebrating a family get together. What a louse that guy is.

Then there was the year my younger cousin lost his ass (a sum total of maybe $5 in change, we play high stakes donchaknow) in the game, got pissed; and would only calm down if Grandma promised to have a shot of whiskey with him. She must really love that boy, or at least the Maker's Mark, because she 'took a hit for the team'. That was the same year I got so shitty I had a nervous breakdown and damn near spent the night in my car. My own poor mother had to bring me inside.

The good news at the end of all this mindless drivel is that you probably won't hear from me for the next few days. But you already know what I'm going to be up to, so it's not like you're missing out.

Posted by: shank at 06:47 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Yay! First post!

Anyways...
I quit my job today. Well, that's inaccurate. I positioned myself to take advantage of a rapid exit strategy. How you like those words? Learned 'em during my MBA studies. But yeah, never thought I'd actually use them outside of a blue book - that just goes to show you how valuable continuing education is. Besides, getting fired is too reactionary of a strategy, as an MBA I need to be anticipatory, proactive, controlling my own destiny. So I decided to position myself. See, you just learned all kinds of MBA horseshit without the tuition, reading, homework, and pontificating faculty.
more...

Posted by: shank at 11:16 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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I just finished my exam for this Management Strategy class I'm taking. It's so retarded, anyone who's been through business school or an MBA program has taken at least six classes like this one. It's mainly a creative writing course filled with case studies. What's the best way to manage X change? Where should this company go? Innovation, the 'Blue Ocean', Steve Case, the 3 C's, 3 I's, 3 U's, Lewin's 3 Step Model, Anticipatory Management, countless BusinessWeek articles, two guest speakers, the five components of a Future Focused© organization, and of course; a book written by the professor.

The exam was basically a case analysis, wherein the student is challenged to drop as many buzzwords from the professor's text as possible; the end goal being to send said professor into such a fervent bout of narcissism that the academe is left spent, splayed out on his office floor, stretched and pulled like a peice of chewed taffy amidst a deluge of similarly written papers. The satiated ego in post-coital repose. What a jackass this guy is.

He actually told us once that he doesn't like the phrase 'proactive management' because it's so ubiquitous. Apparently, if too many people say it, it's beneath this guy's vocabulary, it's too bourgeois - so he prefers we use 'anticipatory management'. Well, I think too many folks use the word 'Professor', so I'm going to start using 'Captain Asshat, High Ruler of the Type-A Quarter Pinchers'. Dillhole.

The best part is he gave us from 6-7:30 for the exam, so I get to finish typing this and head back to class for another hour and a half of mind-numbing, self-glorifying lecture and presumably idiotic mental exercise in 'Re-engineering'. How blessed am I, grateful even.

Posted by: shank at 07:23 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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A while back I promised I'd post a photo up of myself. I'm not exactly willing to do so, but I said I would, so I will. One of the people in the following photo is me. more...

Posted by: shank at 11:29 AM | Comments (23) | Add Comment
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