Friday, July 02, 2004
If only those walls could speak, if only we had ways of making them TALK. |11:32 AM| Signs in the breakroom claim that construction or renovation or something is being performed, and that it will be completed on July 7th. This breakroom shares one of the 2 largest walls of my office. Throughout the day, I hear workers drilling, pounding, sawing, and apparently using small amounts of dynamite (Extra noisy flavor) as the noises are carried through the wall and bounce around this tiny room like drunks at the helm of a semi-truck.
From the piss poor sounding use of drills, nearly random pounding of hammers and other signs that the work is not being done by the best in the business, I am beginning to doubt that this is actual construction. I think the wall knows something, and they are trying to torture it into speaking.
Who knows what the wall has heard? Maybe they need to know what of their company secrets the wall knows, or perhaps it heard something from another wall at a competitor. Whatever it is, the wall is clearly made of stern stuff, as the hideous din of tools continues.
Hmmm, perhaps the noise all day is driving me insane.
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Thursday, July 01, 2004
What if he DID have them in stock?! |6:41 PM| I was calling around town, trying to find those genetically modified fish, the zebras they made glow in the dark with some gene tinkering. The ones that are banned from being sold or brought into California (They fear science). I've aquired a big goddamn fish tank and I plan on (eventually) owning said fish. I'll probably get one (1) goldfish and see how long I can keep him alive. I hope he's not agoraphobic, as it will be the only thing inside of a 45 gallon monster. Anyhow, on to the story, in which I am seeking the strange GloFish(tm) modified zebra.
I called Herpeton's, which is the weird pet shop here in Austin, according to sources named Vid. A slowly speaking man picked up.
Cecil: "Hi there! I'm looking for those genetically modified zebras, the ones that glow?"
Guy: "No, sorry, we don't have any"
I hung up. Vid, who had heard the conversation, spoke up.
Vid: "You know, you didn't say 'fish'."
Cecil: "Eh?"
Vid: "You asked for 'Genetically modified glowing zebras'. He thought you were prank calling him."
I called back, and got the same slow-voiced employee.
Cecil: "Hi! I just called, and I was looking for the glow in the dark fish, the modified zebra fish. Not glow in the dark zebras."
Guy: "Uh huh, no, we don't carry any fish."
Cecil: "Oh, okay. I just didn't want you to think I was a lunatic"
Guy: "Uh huh."
I guess I should have been less worried about him being shocked. He works at an exotic pet store, half of his customers are probably killed 2 days after they buy their poisonous electric flying eels or whatever. I'm sure he's getting much stranger calls than a guy asking for psuedo-horses that give off light.
Herpeton's guy: "Herpetons, how may I help you?"
Caller: "Yeah, uh, I'm looking for uh, some vicious pirahna, you know, that could eat about 170, maybe 190 pounds of meat? Dead meat? That's in a bathtub?"
Guy: "Sorry, we don't carry any fish."
Or...
Caller: "I'm looking for a toothless lamprey, something that would be able to latch onto an object about 6-7 inches long, about an inch or so in diameter?"
H. Guy: "Sorry. No fish."
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Man-Car-RoboDog: Idiocy Unbound |2:51 PM| My degeneration into an old man continues. Fiber in the morning for my stomach paing causing anger, earplugs at rock concerts for my tinitus, now back excersises and pills to take care of this damn spine issue.The impending-corpse with which I navigate the world really needs to be replaced. Most of my daily functions could be completed via a remote controlled Aibo (possibly an Asimo), and a Toyota Celica.
I'm sure my girlfriend would need time to adjust to the changes, but I know she'd see the wisdom. This would be especially clear at dinner, since instead of complicated diet needs, I'd just need some explosive fluids and an A/C cable for the dog. True, family portraits would be more complicated, as well as family dinners. I'd still eat at the regular table, thanks. I'm guessing insurance for a living car is a lot more than for your standard issue non-sentient import, but I could manage. Rent wouldn't be an issue. But would I be forced to wear car pants to remain decent?
Yes indeedy, this is one stupid idea.
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Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Why Dante won't be answering my phone calls for a while |10:33 AM| A couple months ago, Poker Host Joe called me at around midnight on my cellphone. Since reception at my apartment is laughable at best, our conversation ran something like:
"Hey man! Guess just went on sale ***SHHHHH static noises*** Alamo *SHHHH* Rolling roadshow **SHHH*"
and then the phone died. Rather than try fruitlessly to call him back, I jumped onto the Alamo website, hit their rolling roadshow site and bought 3 tickets for the next event.
The Alamo had purchased a school bus for some reason, and wanted to use it to transport a bunch of movie-goers to a drive-in theater opening somewhere in Texas. As I had not been to the drive-in since I lived in California, I jumped at the chance. I bought 3 tickets as I knew Portal would want to go, and I was sure I could find someone else who was interested.
I promptly forgot about it.
A couple days before the big event, I was reminded of it by Portal and Joe, and I realized I had to invite a third person. I'll spare you the details, but as the day arrived, Joe and his wife had cancelled, I had no one to bring, and the event was happening in an hour. I called Dante (who had been along for that Furry fiasco) and told him to "Run". He had to get to Lake Creek Mall in 20 minutes.
Hooo boy. Now the idea for this trip was a cool one. Get a bunch of folks into a bus, load it with a keg and other booze, drive them out to "Rule" Texas, stop for famous cobbler and then watch 70's exploitation movies all night.
It would have been a lot more fun if it had been a 2 hour trip, or even a 3 hour trip. A 5 hour trip however, began to tax people. Had my back not been hurting I would have been just fine, but I sometimes drive 17 hours at a stretch. Portal and Dante were not in nearly as good a mood. Heavy drinking by everyone on the bus besides the driver, the owners of the Alamo and I commenced.
As the trip dragged on, enthusiasm waned. Reaching Underwood Texas, the group began to circle around looking for a restaurant known for its cobbler. Running out of ideas, we stopped at a fireworks stand and someone yelled out "We're looking for the cobbler place! The place with the cobbler!" luckily they didn't attack the bus, knew what the hell we were looking for and gave perfect directions. I have never seen the word "cobbler" as many times as I did in that restaurant.
Reaching the drive-in, we found we had missed "Smoky and the Bandit", but were in time to watch "Death House". It was a beautiful evening, the cloudless sky allowing us to see the stars, and a couple of shooting stars shot overhead. That is, unless you were one of the 99% of people present that were freezing their asses off. I was as comfortable as I have ever been outside, but everyone else was hunched over citronila candles or huddled together for warmth.
After "Death House" was a ultra-soft-core movie of Pinocchio, in which something besides his nose grows when he was unfaithful. "Lady Terminator" was the highlight of the evening, featuring the worst rip offs of every Arnold Schwarzenegger cliche in the history of mankind. Oh, and the worst mullet ever, being sported by the "American" character named Snake, who spends the movie smoking weed and yelling "ROCK AND ROLL".
On the drive back, the bus was a lot quieter, defeated as they were by the experience. I've been trying to get in touch with Dante since then but I think he's terrified of what else I might inflict upon him.
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Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Cecil's introduction to Shiatzu |2:49 PM| I was at Portal's apartment, nursing my healing back last night, when she mentioned that she might be able to help through the use of Shiatzu massage.
She said that her father was familiar with the technique, and had also had the same back issues I was experiencing. He had taught her the proper treatment but warned that it would be painful. Willing to give it a try I lay on my stomach, and learned just how loudly I could yell in suprise.
Portal was mashing her fists into the small of my back, pressing deep into the muscles, and not relenting despite the choked "URRRRAAAAA!" noises that I was producing. After a few moments of this, she asked me if it had stopped hurting. Suprised to note a distinct reduction in pain I replied that yes, it seems to have gotte OH MY CHRIST FUCKING LORD AAAAAAAAAAARG
Over the yells that I was worried might get the cops called, "Someone is killing a sissy with a cheese grater in the apartment above me!", I heard Portal saying to her roommate:
"Wow, it's just like dad said! One area would stop hurting, then I'd need to move half an inch up and start again, and that he was going to yell even louder when I did it!"
I managed to shut my mouth, but occasionally I would be forced to flail like a bug speared by the pencil of the almighty.
When it was over, I stood up, and found myself able to straighten. Medicinal agony. Thanks, Portal. I'll let you be the one to relocate my shoulders if that ever needs to be done.
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By request |2:26 PM| Sinclair mentioned the nacho cheese in the eyes incident. For clarification, I was not struck in the eyes, but it did cover a large portion of my face. As far as I can tell, I haven't mentioned this incident in the past.
While I was working at the movie theater, I would often be the one responsible for cleaning dishes, among these were the nacho cheese bowls. These sons of bitches were kept at well over 150 degrees to keep the nacho cheese molten, and so posed a certain safety hazard when it was time to wash out the thick crust of burned cheese from the bowel itself. Since our oven mitts kept vanishing, the only way to transport the bowels was by wrapping your hands in paper towels, which would only provide protection for a few seconds. Normally the bowl was emptied of extra nacho cheese, but in this incident it was about half full. No problem, I thought, just as long as I could get the nacho cheese to the sink before I started burning. With mittens of paper towels, I began a race against the devil to the glorious sink.
Reaching the sink I tossed the container into the sink, at which point the cheese sloshed around in the bowl, created a large bubble that popped, hurling nacho cheese into the air....directly onto to my face, arm, and torso.
There's a point of pain at which your body just stops taking normal commands, and screaming really wasn't an issue. I was frozen in a mid defensive gesture, arms extended, eyes wide in shock, legs barely moving. I had lost the trust of my body. I walked very slowly towards the concession stand, and made a quiet whimpering noise through a mouth that would not otherwise work.
Luckily, a friend of mine was able to get me paper towels and get the goddamn cheese off of me.
As an addendum to the previous posts:
I have also had a staple driven through my thumb, had the price tag gun fire its razor tip into my hand (which isn't as bad as it sounds) and at one point a bad fishing cast by a friend buried a fishhook underneath my fingernail. "No, don't worry, I can handle this. Go get the guy with the pliars."
Next, I'll describe the windex making machine.
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Monday, June 28, 2004
YEEE-OUCH |4:12 PM| I have never passed out from pain. Sometimes I wish I had, but it just hasn't been the way. Among some of the times I've been injured:
I have had a finger and a nose broken, my hair has caught fire, been stung by bees, burned by ovens, burned by printer fusers, hit by geods, struck in the face by basketballs and soccor balls, nailed in the groin by golfballs, had teeth pulled that were so long the dentist was shocked, twisted an ankle windsurfing, twisted an ankle walking away from Domino's, doors have mashed my fingers, power car windows have sucked the flesh of my arm into the door itself, the inside of my hand has been lit on fire from fireworks shrapnel, barbed wire fences have prevented me from going places, the buttons on jeans fresh from the dryer have wounded me, the oven has had its way with my hands, the clothes washer has closed on my head, I have gone rolling down marble staircases, been bitten by dogs, cats, and geese, been in bike wrecks that defied physical law, struck other bikes while rollerskating, and one time a bunch of melted rubber dripped onto my hand and procceded to stick there while burning me,
But this back injury crap beats them all. It wins the hurt-Cecil award. I will update further but I've spent the last 2 days or so in a drugged out stupor.
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If only those walls could speak, if only we had ways of making them TALK. |11:32 AM| Signs in the breakroom claim that construction or renovation or something is being performed, and that it will be completed on July 7th. This breakroom shares one of the 2 largest walls of my office. Throughout the day, I hear workers drilling, pounding, sawing, and apparently using small amounts of dynamite (Extra noisy flavor) as the noises are carried through the wall and bounce around this tiny room like drunks at the helm of a semi-truck.
From the piss poor sounding use of drills, nearly random pounding of hammers and other signs that the work is not being done by the best in the business, I am beginning to doubt that this is actual construction. I think the wall knows something, and they are trying to torture it into speaking.
Who knows what the wall has heard? Maybe they need to know what of their company secrets the wall knows, or perhaps it heard something from another wall at a competitor. Whatever it is, the wall is clearly made of stern stuff, as the hideous din of tools continues.
Hmmm, perhaps the noise all day is driving me insane.
(0) comments
Thursday, July 01, 2004
What if he DID have them in stock?! |6:41 PM| I was calling around town, trying to find those genetically modified fish, the zebras they made glow in the dark with some gene tinkering. The ones that are banned from being sold or brought into California (They fear science). I've aquired a big goddamn fish tank and I plan on (eventually) owning said fish. I'll probably get one (1) goldfish and see how long I can keep him alive. I hope he's not agoraphobic, as it will be the only thing inside of a 45 gallon monster. Anyhow, on to the story, in which I am seeking the strange GloFish(tm) modified zebra.
I called Herpeton's, which is the weird pet shop here in Austin, according to sources named Vid. A slowly speaking man picked up.
Cecil: "Hi there! I'm looking for those genetically modified zebras, the ones that glow?"
Guy: "No, sorry, we don't have any"
I hung up. Vid, who had heard the conversation, spoke up.
Vid: "You know, you didn't say 'fish'."
Cecil: "Eh?"
Vid: "You asked for 'Genetically modified glowing zebras'. He thought you were prank calling him."
I called back, and got the same slow-voiced employee.
Cecil: "Hi! I just called, and I was looking for the glow in the dark fish, the modified zebra fish. Not glow in the dark zebras."
Guy: "Uh huh, no, we don't carry any fish."
Cecil: "Oh, okay. I just didn't want you to think I was a lunatic"
Guy: "Uh huh."
I guess I should have been less worried about him being shocked. He works at an exotic pet store, half of his customers are probably killed 2 days after they buy their poisonous electric flying eels or whatever. I'm sure he's getting much stranger calls than a guy asking for psuedo-horses that give off light.
Herpeton's guy: "Herpetons, how may I help you?"
Caller: "Yeah, uh, I'm looking for uh, some vicious pirahna, you know, that could eat about 170, maybe 190 pounds of meat? Dead meat? That's in a bathtub?"
Guy: "Sorry, we don't carry any fish."
Or...
Caller: "I'm looking for a toothless lamprey, something that would be able to latch onto an object about 6-7 inches long, about an inch or so in diameter?"
H. Guy: "Sorry. No fish."
(0) comments
Man-Car-RoboDog: Idiocy Unbound |2:51 PM| My degeneration into an old man continues. Fiber in the morning for my stomach paing causing anger, earplugs at rock concerts for my tinitus, now back excersises and pills to take care of this damn spine issue.The impending-corpse with which I navigate the world really needs to be replaced. Most of my daily functions could be completed via a remote controlled Aibo (possibly an Asimo), and a Toyota Celica.
I'm sure my girlfriend would need time to adjust to the changes, but I know she'd see the wisdom. This would be especially clear at dinner, since instead of complicated diet needs, I'd just need some explosive fluids and an A/C cable for the dog. True, family portraits would be more complicated, as well as family dinners. I'd still eat at the regular table, thanks. I'm guessing insurance for a living car is a lot more than for your standard issue non-sentient import, but I could manage. Rent wouldn't be an issue. But would I be forced to wear car pants to remain decent?
Yes indeedy, this is one stupid idea.
(0) comments
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Why Dante won't be answering my phone calls for a while |10:33 AM| A couple months ago, Poker Host Joe called me at around midnight on my cellphone. Since reception at my apartment is laughable at best, our conversation ran something like:
"Hey man! Guess just went on sale ***SHHHHH static noises*** Alamo *SHHHH* Rolling roadshow **SHHH*"
and then the phone died. Rather than try fruitlessly to call him back, I jumped onto the Alamo website, hit their rolling roadshow site and bought 3 tickets for the next event.
The Alamo had purchased a school bus for some reason, and wanted to use it to transport a bunch of movie-goers to a drive-in theater opening somewhere in Texas. As I had not been to the drive-in since I lived in California, I jumped at the chance. I bought 3 tickets as I knew Portal would want to go, and I was sure I could find someone else who was interested.
I promptly forgot about it.
A couple days before the big event, I was reminded of it by Portal and Joe, and I realized I had to invite a third person. I'll spare you the details, but as the day arrived, Joe and his wife had cancelled, I had no one to bring, and the event was happening in an hour. I called Dante (who had been along for that Furry fiasco) and told him to "Run". He had to get to Lake Creek Mall in 20 minutes.
Hooo boy. Now the idea for this trip was a cool one. Get a bunch of folks into a bus, load it with a keg and other booze, drive them out to "Rule" Texas, stop for famous cobbler and then watch 70's exploitation movies all night.
It would have been a lot more fun if it had been a 2 hour trip, or even a 3 hour trip. A 5 hour trip however, began to tax people. Had my back not been hurting I would have been just fine, but I sometimes drive 17 hours at a stretch. Portal and Dante were not in nearly as good a mood. Heavy drinking by everyone on the bus besides the driver, the owners of the Alamo and I commenced.
As the trip dragged on, enthusiasm waned. Reaching Underwood Texas, the group began to circle around looking for a restaurant known for its cobbler. Running out of ideas, we stopped at a fireworks stand and someone yelled out "We're looking for the cobbler place! The place with the cobbler!" luckily they didn't attack the bus, knew what the hell we were looking for and gave perfect directions. I have never seen the word "cobbler" as many times as I did in that restaurant.
Reaching the drive-in, we found we had missed "Smoky and the Bandit", but were in time to watch "Death House". It was a beautiful evening, the cloudless sky allowing us to see the stars, and a couple of shooting stars shot overhead. That is, unless you were one of the 99% of people present that were freezing their asses off. I was as comfortable as I have ever been outside, but everyone else was hunched over citronila candles or huddled together for warmth.
After "Death House" was a ultra-soft-core movie of Pinocchio, in which something besides his nose grows when he was unfaithful. "Lady Terminator" was the highlight of the evening, featuring the worst rip offs of every Arnold Schwarzenegger cliche in the history of mankind. Oh, and the worst mullet ever, being sported by the "American" character named Snake, who spends the movie smoking weed and yelling "ROCK AND ROLL".
On the drive back, the bus was a lot quieter, defeated as they were by the experience. I've been trying to get in touch with Dante since then but I think he's terrified of what else I might inflict upon him.
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Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Cecil's introduction to Shiatzu |2:49 PM| I was at Portal's apartment, nursing my healing back last night, when she mentioned that she might be able to help through the use of Shiatzu massage.
She said that her father was familiar with the technique, and had also had the same back issues I was experiencing. He had taught her the proper treatment but warned that it would be painful. Willing to give it a try I lay on my stomach, and learned just how loudly I could yell in suprise.
Portal was mashing her fists into the small of my back, pressing deep into the muscles, and not relenting despite the choked "URRRRAAAAA!" noises that I was producing. After a few moments of this, she asked me if it had stopped hurting. Suprised to note a distinct reduction in pain I replied that yes, it seems to have gotte OH MY CHRIST FUCKING LORD AAAAAAAAAAARG
Over the yells that I was worried might get the cops called, "Someone is killing a sissy with a cheese grater in the apartment above me!", I heard Portal saying to her roommate:
"Wow, it's just like dad said! One area would stop hurting, then I'd need to move half an inch up and start again, and that he was going to yell even louder when I did it!"
I managed to shut my mouth, but occasionally I would be forced to flail like a bug speared by the pencil of the almighty.
When it was over, I stood up, and found myself able to straighten. Medicinal agony. Thanks, Portal. I'll let you be the one to relocate my shoulders if that ever needs to be done.
Labels: Mariko
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By request |2:26 PM| Sinclair mentioned the nacho cheese in the eyes incident. For clarification, I was not struck in the eyes, but it did cover a large portion of my face. As far as I can tell, I haven't mentioned this incident in the past.
While I was working at the movie theater, I would often be the one responsible for cleaning dishes, among these were the nacho cheese bowls. These sons of bitches were kept at well over 150 degrees to keep the nacho cheese molten, and so posed a certain safety hazard when it was time to wash out the thick crust of burned cheese from the bowel itself. Since our oven mitts kept vanishing, the only way to transport the bowels was by wrapping your hands in paper towels, which would only provide protection for a few seconds. Normally the bowl was emptied of extra nacho cheese, but in this incident it was about half full. No problem, I thought, just as long as I could get the nacho cheese to the sink before I started burning. With mittens of paper towels, I began a race against the devil to the glorious sink.
Reaching the sink I tossed the container into the sink, at which point the cheese sloshed around in the bowl, created a large bubble that popped, hurling nacho cheese into the air....directly onto to my face, arm, and torso.
There's a point of pain at which your body just stops taking normal commands, and screaming really wasn't an issue. I was frozen in a mid defensive gesture, arms extended, eyes wide in shock, legs barely moving. I had lost the trust of my body. I walked very slowly towards the concession stand, and made a quiet whimpering noise through a mouth that would not otherwise work.
Luckily, a friend of mine was able to get me paper towels and get the goddamn cheese off of me.
As an addendum to the previous posts:
I have also had a staple driven through my thumb, had the price tag gun fire its razor tip into my hand (which isn't as bad as it sounds) and at one point a bad fishing cast by a friend buried a fishhook underneath my fingernail. "No, don't worry, I can handle this. Go get the guy with the pliars."
Next, I'll describe the windex making machine.
(0) comments
Monday, June 28, 2004
YEEE-OUCH |4:12 PM| I have never passed out from pain. Sometimes I wish I had, but it just hasn't been the way. Among some of the times I've been injured:
I have had a finger and a nose broken, my hair has caught fire, been stung by bees, burned by ovens, burned by printer fusers, hit by geods, struck in the face by basketballs and soccor balls, nailed in the groin by golfballs, had teeth pulled that were so long the dentist was shocked, twisted an ankle windsurfing, twisted an ankle walking away from Domino's, doors have mashed my fingers, power car windows have sucked the flesh of my arm into the door itself, the inside of my hand has been lit on fire from fireworks shrapnel, barbed wire fences have prevented me from going places, the buttons on jeans fresh from the dryer have wounded me, the oven has had its way with my hands, the clothes washer has closed on my head, I have gone rolling down marble staircases, been bitten by dogs, cats, and geese, been in bike wrecks that defied physical law, struck other bikes while rollerskating, and one time a bunch of melted rubber dripped onto my hand and procceded to stick there while burning me,
But this back injury crap beats them all. It wins the hurt-Cecil award. I will update further but I've spent the last 2 days or so in a drugged out stupor.
(0) comments
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