Friday, April 06, 2007
Remember the cats? |5:01 PM| All the damn cats I was considering have been adopted.
Son of a bitch.
(0) comments
Things that bother me and don't bother me |12:53 AM| Back when I was mixing for that cover band, I didn't have as much respect for drummers as I did the other musicians. Understand that this was a relative judgement, I was still impressed with their abilities and respected their talents.
I just couldn't get those goddamn drummers to stop drumming all damn day. That was their common trait. Constantly in their own performance of "Stomp"
"Alright we're going to want to adjust the levels here, drop the volume to zero for the cut off and Goddammit JOE STOP DRUMMING"
Even when you took their sticks away, they'd start tapping on any surface.
I never, ever tried to play the drums. The difficulty associated with them was never demonstrated. Until Cass* showed me exactly two exercises and I couldn't do them worth shit.
With 4 beats, Tap with both hands, tap with just right, then tap right with bass, then just right hand repeat.
"I should totally be able to do this." Right/left, right, right bass, right/left "FUCK."
Right/Left, Right Bass, Ri "Dammit."
And so it continued. Now I'm doing the same shit Joe Nut and all those guys did. Tapping shit out, all day, like that old series "Beauty and the Beast" with the lion guy.
Still working on special-ish projects at work, which is an excellent break from fixing Motion tablets. As I may have mentioned I've fixed so many I can take them apart almost entirely by touch. I truly enjoy being challenged with bizarre tasks.
I desire junk food. Any junk food. Something horrible for me like gas station spice drops or Krispy Kreme goddamn.
At least it's forcing me to cook more, even with my total lack of good counter space*.
My brain is turning to mush, especially in the afternoons. I might as well be making beep and clicking noises in most of the conversations I have after 5. It may be related to pushing myself so hard at work, yet not increasing the amount of sleep per night.
Naaaah. I bet this problem is geologic in nature. That would totally explain my inability to spell things properly.
From an episode summary list:
Strictly Sex With Dr. Drew - Season 1
What the fuck? I'm completely fine with whatever consenting adults want to do behind closed doors, but I can still think that they're lunatics.
Why get surgery to get it (hymen) put back in if you're just going to have it...removed again.
Someone I spoke to suggested that you might be able to get designer versions, like Gucci.
As long as you're getting the work done, why not get a dispenser of some kind installed? Like for paper towels, you'd turn a little crank everytime you needed a new one.
(0) comments
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
This particular Evening |2:05 AM| This post goes from rather trivial bizzareness to depressing and navel gazing.
I was out throwing the boomerang, and for the second time this week a guy walks up to me and starts talking about boomerangs.
Weird. In the on again, off again year I've been throwing these things, I've had people stop to watch briefly at a distance, people jogging by making a comment, etc. No real contact. Now twice in one month, both older guys.
He knew how to throw, took him one biffed throw to get back into it, and he was getting that big fucking Kilimanjaro all the way back to us, mostly.
Guess I am going to have to start a boomerang club. Thing is, what would we do? Eat breakfast, get very far away from each other, and all throw at the same time? We could put together a standard tournament, Australian round, juggling, etc. I dunno. It doesn't lend itself to socializing, until you're so good that you can carry on a conversation and not have to stop talking suddenly to go chase an errant throw.
While I was out there, I saw a woman setting up a bag of golf clubs. She had her dog, and was, I guess, practicing her swing.
A few minutes later I heard her yell, saw her start running, saw a truck, heard some noise I couldn't place.
Then I heard, just a bit, her wail. Just the last part of a no, stretched out and torn up by the wind before it got to me. I've only heard a person make that noise a few times in my life, and there's really no faking it, or confusing it. I knew the dog was dead the instant I heard that wavering syllable.
It wasn't my business, and I stayed far away. There wasn't a damn thing besides feeling sorry for her that could be done. Poor damn luck.
There was a friend of hers out there, coming from a parked car. I didn't like staring but I didn't exactly feel like throwing, I pulled my eyes off of the scene.
She vanished. The evening was coming in, and an hour and a half after she'd left the clubs were still there.
I've got this tendency, a tendency that when it's a weakness is called "not leaving well enough alone." But it can also be "doing the right thing." This had me torn.
I was out there, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, considering the clubs at great distance. It's not a great area, not a bad area. A lot of foot traffic though, easy for them to get stolen.
I went inside. Leave it be.
I went back out a very few minutes later, and the clubs were still out there. Somewhere a woman was burying her pet and I was debating the merits of possible theft prevention. I took the clubs. I left my wind sock out there, glowstick taped to the top, with a sign stapled to it "Lost clubs?" and phone number.
I did not want to have an impact on these people's lives, grief, whatever. I also didn't want one more thing on their plates with a lost set of clubs. That was what made me feel wrong, to be possibly complicating someone else's absolutely shitty day on the off chance some asshole would abscond with the clubs.
They called, 2 hours or so later. They'd found my note, were across the street, said they'd had an accident with a dog and had to leave the clubs behind. I showed up, it was a male friend, and some female friend, girl way off. I dropped the bag off, no words about it beyond a quiet thanks and my grunt. With any luck I had as little an impact on them as possible.
(2) comments
Monday, April 02, 2007
Some motion |11:09 PM| http://kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=3537
http://bekow.free.fr/vroom/index_eng.htm
(0) comments
Giraffes as a pickup line |6:32 PM| I had heard some odd tidbit about a lot of giraffes being homosexual at some point, but it looks like they just act homosexual.
(From Wikipedia)
Another function of necking is affectionate and sexual, in which two males will caress and court each other, leading up to mounting and climax. Same sex relations are more frequent than heterosexual behavior. In one area 94% of mounting incidents were of a homosexual nature. The proportion of same sex courtships varies between 30 and 75%, and at any given time one in twenty males will be engaged in affectionate necking behavior with another male. Females, on the other hand, only appear to have same sex relations in 1% of mounting incidents.
"Mounting Incidents"
I'm going to use that term, somehow, somewhere, in the next week.
"Would you like to engage in a mounting incident?"
(0) comments
Goddammit I'm going to pull it off this time |2:23 PM| I went a couple months with next to no chocolate. I say "next to no[ne]" because sometimes I am a weak willed human.
Let's see if I can do a little better this time.
This:
Is the last donut. It is a Ken's donut with chocolate and sprinkles. It is the last junk food, candy, bad-for-you stuff I'm going to have. For 3 months.
Yeah, yeah, feel free to scoff and chuckle. I'll do my best, I give myself about, oh, 30% chances of doing it with one slip. But, if I can avoid cake at the company parties, swedish fish on sundays, baking any of those damn cookies, chocolate chips passed to me by friends, etc.
Hell I've gone what, 3, 4 months without cinnamon rolls? Maybe more. God I miss cinnamon rolls.
Anyhow 3 months is... June 2nd. I shall give it my best.
(3) comments
Surreal Throw |5:37 AM| I was out throwing the boomerang, the goddamn Kilimanjaro*, when this dude walks up. I'm used to people walking their dogs or joggers, sometimes they stand and watch and I have to be careful not to hit them. This guy, though, was walking right up to me. When a guy gets close you have to quit throwing.
"Don't worry," he says, "I throw too."
I throw the boomerang, run after it, and we introduced ourselves to each other. We discuss boomerangs and the lack of a local club. Turns out that I was the first guy in Austin he'd seen throwing. And, that he had been big into the "scene" in Washington a while back.
He then told me "Why don't you take one of those pennies off, and throw it about 2/3 thirds as hard as you have been instead of using the weight?"
Alright, I say. I had been tuning, trying to get the thing to come back in heavy wind.
That goddamn boomerang came right back to me. The damn hook flew like it was supposed to.
Damn.
Looks like we might be starting up a local boomerang club. Early sundays, or maybe early saturdays. That'd be nice, because I could always use pointers like that*.
(0) comments
Remember the cats? |5:01 PM| All the damn cats I was considering have been adopted.
Son of a bitch.
(0) comments
Things that bother me and don't bother me |12:53 AM| Back when I was mixing for that cover band, I didn't have as much respect for drummers as I did the other musicians. Understand that this was a relative judgement, I was still impressed with their abilities and respected their talents.
I just couldn't get those goddamn drummers to stop drumming all damn day. That was their common trait. Constantly in their own performance of "Stomp"
"Alright we're going to want to adjust the levels here, drop the volume to zero for the cut off and Goddammit JOE STOP DRUMMING"
Even when you took their sticks away, they'd start tapping on any surface.
I never, ever tried to play the drums. The difficulty associated with them was never demonstrated. Until Cass* showed me exactly two exercises and I couldn't do them worth shit.
With 4 beats, Tap with both hands, tap with just right, then tap right with bass, then just right hand repeat.
"I should totally be able to do this." Right/left, right, right bass, right/left "FUCK."
Right/Left, Right Bass, Ri "Dammit."
And so it continued. Now I'm doing the same shit Joe Nut and all those guys did. Tapping shit out, all day, like that old series "Beauty and the Beast" with the lion guy.
Still working on special-ish projects at work, which is an excellent break from fixing Motion tablets. As I may have mentioned I've fixed so many I can take them apart almost entirely by touch. I truly enjoy being challenged with bizarre tasks.
I desire junk food. Any junk food. Something horrible for me like gas station spice drops or Krispy Kreme goddamn.
At least it's forcing me to cook more, even with my total lack of good counter space*.
My brain is turning to mush, especially in the afternoons. I might as well be making beep and clicking noises in most of the conversations I have after 5. It may be related to pushing myself so hard at work, yet not increasing the amount of sleep per night.
Naaaah. I bet this problem is geologic in nature. That would totally explain my inability to spell things properly.
From an episode summary list:
Strictly Sex With Dr. Drew - Season 1
Episode 4. Sex, Drugs, & Surgery
Dr. Drew discusses the many surgical procedures available relating to the sexual experience including "revirginization",
What the fuck? I'm completely fine with whatever consenting adults want to do behind closed doors, but I can still think that they're lunatics.
Why get surgery to get it (hymen) put back in if you're just going to have it...removed again.
Someone I spoke to suggested that you might be able to get designer versions, like Gucci.
As long as you're getting the work done, why not get a dispenser of some kind installed? Like for paper towels, you'd turn a little crank everytime you needed a new one.
(0) comments
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
This particular Evening |2:05 AM| This post goes from rather trivial bizzareness to depressing and navel gazing.
I was out throwing the boomerang, and for the second time this week a guy walks up to me and starts talking about boomerangs.
Weird. In the on again, off again year I've been throwing these things, I've had people stop to watch briefly at a distance, people jogging by making a comment, etc. No real contact. Now twice in one month, both older guys.
He knew how to throw, took him one biffed throw to get back into it, and he was getting that big fucking Kilimanjaro all the way back to us, mostly.
Guess I am going to have to start a boomerang club. Thing is, what would we do? Eat breakfast, get very far away from each other, and all throw at the same time? We could put together a standard tournament, Australian round, juggling, etc. I dunno. It doesn't lend itself to socializing, until you're so good that you can carry on a conversation and not have to stop talking suddenly to go chase an errant throw.
While I was out there, I saw a woman setting up a bag of golf clubs. She had her dog, and was, I guess, practicing her swing.
A few minutes later I heard her yell, saw her start running, saw a truck, heard some noise I couldn't place.
Then I heard, just a bit, her wail. Just the last part of a no, stretched out and torn up by the wind before it got to me. I've only heard a person make that noise a few times in my life, and there's really no faking it, or confusing it. I knew the dog was dead the instant I heard that wavering syllable.
It wasn't my business, and I stayed far away. There wasn't a damn thing besides feeling sorry for her that could be done. Poor damn luck.
There was a friend of hers out there, coming from a parked car. I didn't like staring but I didn't exactly feel like throwing, I pulled my eyes off of the scene.
She vanished. The evening was coming in, and an hour and a half after she'd left the clubs were still there.
I've got this tendency, a tendency that when it's a weakness is called "not leaving well enough alone." But it can also be "doing the right thing." This had me torn.
I was out there, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, considering the clubs at great distance. It's not a great area, not a bad area. A lot of foot traffic though, easy for them to get stolen.
I went inside. Leave it be.
I went back out a very few minutes later, and the clubs were still out there. Somewhere a woman was burying her pet and I was debating the merits of possible theft prevention. I took the clubs. I left my wind sock out there, glowstick taped to the top, with a sign stapled to it "Lost clubs?" and phone number.
I did not want to have an impact on these people's lives, grief, whatever. I also didn't want one more thing on their plates with a lost set of clubs. That was what made me feel wrong, to be possibly complicating someone else's absolutely shitty day on the off chance some asshole would abscond with the clubs.
They called, 2 hours or so later. They'd found my note, were across the street, said they'd had an accident with a dog and had to leave the clubs behind. I showed up, it was a male friend, and some female friend, girl way off. I dropped the bag off, no words about it beyond a quiet thanks and my grunt. With any luck I had as little an impact on them as possible.
(2) comments
Monday, April 02, 2007
Some motion |11:09 PM| http://kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=3537
http://bekow.free.fr/vroom/index_eng.htm
Labels: Link
(0) comments
Giraffes as a pickup line |6:32 PM| I had heard some odd tidbit about a lot of giraffes being homosexual at some point, but it looks like they just act homosexual.
(From Wikipedia)
Another function of necking is affectionate and sexual, in which two males will caress and court each other, leading up to mounting and climax. Same sex relations are more frequent than heterosexual behavior. In one area 94% of mounting incidents were of a homosexual nature. The proportion of same sex courtships varies between 30 and 75%, and at any given time one in twenty males will be engaged in affectionate necking behavior with another male. Females, on the other hand, only appear to have same sex relations in 1% of mounting incidents.
"Mounting Incidents"
I'm going to use that term, somehow, somewhere, in the next week.
"Would you like to engage in a mounting incident?"
(0) comments
Goddammit I'm going to pull it off this time |2:23 PM| I went a couple months with next to no chocolate. I say "next to no[ne]" because sometimes I am a weak willed human.
Let's see if I can do a little better this time.
This:
Is the last donut. It is a Ken's donut with chocolate and sprinkles. It is the last junk food, candy, bad-for-you stuff I'm going to have. For 3 months.
Yeah, yeah, feel free to scoff and chuckle. I'll do my best, I give myself about, oh, 30% chances of doing it with one slip. But, if I can avoid cake at the company parties, swedish fish on sundays, baking any of those damn cookies, chocolate chips passed to me by friends, etc.
Hell I've gone what, 3, 4 months without cinnamon rolls? Maybe more. God I miss cinnamon rolls.
Anyhow 3 months is... June 2nd. I shall give it my best.
(3) comments
Surreal Throw |5:37 AM| I was out throwing the boomerang, the goddamn Kilimanjaro*, when this dude walks up. I'm used to people walking their dogs or joggers, sometimes they stand and watch and I have to be careful not to hit them. This guy, though, was walking right up to me. When a guy gets close you have to quit throwing.
"Don't worry," he says, "I throw too."
I throw the boomerang, run after it, and we introduced ourselves to each other. We discuss boomerangs and the lack of a local club. Turns out that I was the first guy in Austin he'd seen throwing. And, that he had been big into the "scene" in Washington a while back.
He then told me "Why don't you take one of those pennies off, and throw it about 2/3 thirds as hard as you have been instead of using the weight?"
Alright, I say. I had been tuning, trying to get the thing to come back in heavy wind.
That goddamn boomerang came right back to me. The damn hook flew like it was supposed to.
Damn.
Looks like we might be starting up a local boomerang club. Early sundays, or maybe early saturdays. That'd be nice, because I could always use pointers like that*.
(0) comments
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