Restless drones |2:30 PM|
They're out there again. Chanting. I think it's a sales team, could be a human resources group. Whoever it is they're creepy. I can't understand what they're saying, I just hear garbled human noises
It'd be fun to think that it's some kind of horrid ceremony, that if I walked out there I'd interrupt them eating babies or throwing themselves around while holding snakes. However, I know it's just some motivational crap about "making a difference" or "owning the customer experience" or something equally mind numbing. If I was to go out there, there'd be no risk to any part of me, except my less cynical and sarcastic organs, such as my kidneys.
This is a short movie (922Kb) that defies description. You've likely seen images made from it, but the movie itself adds so much more.
Please don't make that face while driving |3:09 PM|
I was driving along with Portal the other day, and I was experiencing the weird drug induced anger I've been fighting for the past couple weeks. It tends to show itself more often in the car, as most other drivers are, to be honest, the worst human beings who have ever been born.
A greater number of them than usual were demonstrating just how much they needed to be converted into a protein paste, to be used for feeding of endangered birds so that their pathetic lives would have some purpose and meaning besides simply getting in my fucking way.
It was only when Portal asked me to stop "Making that face" and I asked "What face?" through gritted teeth that I realized I was making a face at all. The whole time I'd been driving, my eyes had been wide open, my cheeks stretched out, and my lips had been yanked across my clenched teeth. A good poker face, I do not have. But I wonder how many people had seen me.
Also, comments. Since the blogger comment system was pissing me off, I'm trying a new comment system. Wow, you even get to use anonymous commenting, if you so wish.
Please try it out, you don't have to sign your real name, and I want to make sure it works. If something breaks, I've pissed you off, or whatever, let me know via the comments.
If you've read the post, or liked the post, please let me know on the comment screen as well.
Edit: I keep forgetting to post this. It's that goddamn dancing banana that Vorpal loves, but from the color it is you can ascertain the current US terror alert level! This is fantastic.
Speaking of terror alert level, try this fun Propaganda game. There's a couple times when they put a more political spin on what happened to some celebrities (Like Michael Moore and Howard Stern), and it is 100% anti-bush propaganda, but give it a shot.
Also: This fellow is using the bluetooth capabilities of his cellphone as a way to get online with his laptop. Though I do not have a laptop, I do have a handheld, one that supports bluetooth. The idea of a $10 a month flat fee that would free me from T-mobile or one of those other wallet plunderers is exciting.
Eye Contact and "You're Welcome" |1:20 PM|
I made some Bumperstickers that may or may not get printed out at some point.
A while ago I had noticed that my personal skills needed some tuning. I was still fine around friends and coworkers, but around people I didn't know I found myself failing to act as a normal human being. I wasn't making eye contact, I was using bad posture, in general I was a sulk. I had been out of practice with interacting with people, since the only contact with unknown folks was through a telephone. You don't have to hide body language, you don't need to look them in the eyes, you don't have to smell them.
At the time, I made an effort to get back into the swing of interaction, and I managed to stop looking like a recently release prisoner. I feel as though it could again use some work.
Another habit I've lost, but I think most folks have lost it, is the habit of saying "You're welcome". Nowadays, it's "No problem" or "Anytime" or "Please, please just don't make that face again". I'm trying to make the effort of saying "You're welcome", and I'm finding it's harder than I thought.
These comments work. Probably. ->
(0) comments
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Clubbing and kittens |2:55 AM|
Just got back from downtown. I went out with Allison and Sabrina, who were celebrating a graduation for one and a birthday for the other. Outside the Flamingo Cantina Allison and I ran into the cutest damn kitten. Yeah, I'm a big sap for posting images of some baby cat, but the little guy enthralled my group for 10 minutes.
Should a unit of measure be invented for cuteness, watching this orange kitten rub itself on the chin of the door guy would be off the charts. It crawled around his neck, looking for warmth and a friendly nipple. He was pleased to know the kitten had a home, and had been amused by how much oohing and ah-ing there had been so far.
Also, it's looking likely that I'm heading to Vegas in mid July. I managed to get the time off of work, I should easily have the cash, and Will and Rissa seem interested in going as well. The trip is Vorpal's idea, but I'm becoming more receptive to it as time passes. Why would I hesitate in going to Vegas? It's a long story, but it involves dorkiness on a grand scale. I'll post my response to the situation soon enough, I have to figure out what it is first.
I delayed the purchase of the Celica until next paycheck, so I could be sure to afford food and gasoline afterward. This has turned out to be an excellent choice as I have now found out a friend of mine is an excellent negotiator. As I may have mentioned in the past, I despise haggling. Give me a damn price, and I'll pay it or I won't. His attitude is that for just speaking to us, the salesman should be taking $1,500 off the price of the car. This fellow is positive he can get the car for well under what I was expecting, along with the tax, title, and license. Bitchin'.
All hail responsible decision making. I'm still going to have scary teeth painted onto the front. Perhaps I should a vanity license plate as well. It'd have to be a fully spelled word, though. None of this "2gud4U" crap, which makes me want to hit other cars.