So, you know, I feel the obligation to post something on a semi-regular basis, but you know, it's Christmas, and I can't be bothered coming up with brand new thoughts. I'll just give you something I've done before, from around April of 2005. I mean, it's not like anybody's gonna protest. Muah-hah.
-----------------------------------------
1. If elected pope, what would your first official act be?
I would let anybody who wants to get married -- gay, straight, interfaith, tall, short, colour blind, left handed, whatever, and most importantly (if I was pope), let the clergy get hitched. To slightly paraphrase the immortal words of Alex P. Keaton, “If God had wanted me to be celibate, he wouldn’t have made me so damn cute.”
2. How many keys do you carry around on a daily basis, and how many of them are you not sure what they’re for?
There are five keys on my key ring, one of them opens up all the doors at a job I left a year ago, and one of them opens some door on my house but I’m not sure which one, I just know it’s not the front door.
3. How much would it cost for you to pose naked?
I know I’ve seen that question before, but there are a lot of different answers. For example, I pose naked for free all the time, it’s just that I’m by myself and in front of the bathroom mirror. At Mardi Gras, it would probably only take a really good strand of beads. At a small-venue rock concert, probably in the $500-$1000 range, assuming the offer was open to my gender. For a life drawing class, assuming it was taking place in a city where nobody knew me, let’s say a hundred bucks an hour, sounds like the going rate. After that, of course, as soon as somebody wants to record the pose on some sort of reproducible medium that I don’t have control of, the price goes up considerably. As far as I know, since I’ve been old enough to know what clothes were, there are no naked pictures of me. If I’m going to break that streak, I’d want to be sure I could live pretty comfortably for a long time on the proceeds.
4. Who are your ideal dinner party guests?
Good conversationalists with good senses of humour and don’t take themselves too seriously, but also let you get a word in edgewise -- Billy Connolly, Conan O’Brien, John Stewart, Dustin Hoffman, Tina Fey, that kinda thing.
5. Who’s on your ideal Truth or Dare roster?
Every girl I’ve ever had a crush on. Every last one.
6. Do you usually pick truth or dare?
I don’t like to lie, so I usually pick dare.
7. What was the last thing you lost?
I just realized a little while ago that I can’t find a Blues Traveller CD.
8. What was your last injury?
I don’t know if it’s my last injury, but it’s the one that called attention to itself most recently -- I got whacked on the thumb playing lacrosse last year, and some days it still hurts if I open a jar wrong.
9. What would be the first thing you bought if you won a ten million dollar lottery?
The part of my house that the bank owns.
10. What would be the first thing you bought if you won a ten dollar lottery?
Probably another ticket.
11. If there was a deli sandwich named after you, what would the ingredients be?
White bread, sharp cheese, lean turkey, full to bursting and held together with toothpicks, garnished with a cherry if you’re feeling saucy.
12. Who’s the least attractive person that you still think is hot?
I really don’t know. Bjork, maybe? There was a girl in one of my classes once who wasn’t particularly much to look at but she was pretty smart, and she really grew on me as the year went on.
13. What was the last thing you fixed?
Does changing a light bulb count? How about the battery in the smoke detector? Nothing jumps immediately to mind. Wow, that’s depressing.
14. How long do you expect to stay at your current job?
Probably too long, if history is any judge.
15. How many emails do you deal with on an average day?
Around forty or fifty, I’d say.
16. Given the choice between one or the other, do you prefer to cook dinner, or clean up after?
I’d most prefer to share both -- I tend to space out when I’m working independently -- but I’d probably take cooking. I’d hate to have to start working just as someone else got to start relaxing.
17. How many months of the year are you more likely to choose shorts instead of pants?
None. I got me some scrawny legs.
18. How many songs have you downloaded in the past year?
None. I’m future illiterate.
19. What’s the title of your autobiography?
Wellll…..
20. What was your all-time best Halloween costume?
I think Jughead -- it was easy, appropriate to personality, and recognizable.
Showing posts with label proto-blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label proto-blog. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Apocalypse Soon
What the heck, here's another screed from the past, somewhere around June of 2008. A buddy of mine emailed out a link, to which another buddy replied, "I LOVE THAT GUY'S SHIRT!" This is what I came up with.
Okay -- I'd already looked at this video, had my little chuckle, and moved on with my life. Then, love is professed for the guy's shirt. Any of you who know me know that fashion and it's applications are not the first things I notice, so I had no idea what this guy's shirt looked like. Curiosity got the better of me, and I had to know what incited the gushing and the caps-lock. I took another look at the video, and yes, I agree, that is a most fetching outfit that dude has on, especially if this is 1982.
However -- as I mentioned above, fashion is not usually enough to hold my focus, and as I'd already seen this particular video, my gnat-like attention span kicked in and my eyes started to wander. So, this guy has apparently done other humorous videos that were housed on the same site. You don't say? I clicked on a couple of them, and one of them was a vignette entitled, 'How To Break Up With A Chubby Girlfriend,' and it basically was three minutes of all the worst things you could do in that situation, but funny. (Well, funny-ish.) It was on this innocuous page, however, that I learned two things -- one, that the apocalypse is imminent, and two, however it happens, we have no need to fear that it will be because the computers rise up and take over (a la The Matrix or The Terminator).
There were Google ads on the page, and I am now confident that computers will never take over the world for this reason -- they have no sense of humour and they take everything too literally. The name of the page included the words 'Break-Up' and 'Chubby,' so the Google ads featured sites aimed at people who were breaking up with chubby people, not understanding that the people who land on a humour site are rarely actually looking for advice. However -- while we are safe from the wrath of ones and zeroes, the end is nigh, because there were not one, but two ads promising that you could, 'Get Your Ex Back In As Little As 2 Days.' (There was also an ad for those who wished to 'Find Local Gay Chubby Men Near You,' and I must admit I could not click on the link, and the main reason was that I did not want the URL http://www.gaychubbydating.com/ to show up in my browsing history. I live alone, no-one would care, I could just clear the history right away, for crying out loud, but no, I dared not click. I don't know what it says about me that the fact that they were chubby and gay was much more daunting than if they were just one or the other.)
I clicked on these two Get Your Ex Back links, and the first one left me awed. Definitely aimed at men only, and written as if women and relationships were roughly as complicated as VCR repair. For the low low price of $47, you can learn:
I admit, I have come to rely on the internet for far too much of my everyday life (entertainment, knowledge, communication, what-have-you), but this seems to be asking a bit much.
However -- as I mentioned above, fashion is not usually enough to hold my focus, and as I'd already seen this particular video, my gnat-like attention span kicked in and my eyes started to wander. So, this guy has apparently done other humorous videos that were housed on the same site. You don't say? I clicked on a couple of them, and one of them was a vignette entitled, 'How To Break Up With A Chubby Girlfriend,' and it basically was three minutes of all the worst things you could do in that situation, but funny. (Well, funny-ish.) It was on this innocuous page, however, that I learned two things -- one, that the apocalypse is imminent, and two, however it happens, we have no need to fear that it will be because the computers rise up and take over (a la The Matrix or The Terminator).
There were Google ads on the page, and I am now confident that computers will never take over the world for this reason -- they have no sense of humour and they take everything too literally. The name of the page included the words 'Break-Up' and 'Chubby,' so the Google ads featured sites aimed at people who were breaking up with chubby people, not understanding that the people who land on a humour site are rarely actually looking for advice. However -- while we are safe from the wrath of ones and zeroes, the end is nigh, because there were not one, but two ads promising that you could, 'Get Your Ex Back In As Little As 2 Days.' (There was also an ad for those who wished to 'Find Local Gay Chubby Men Near You,' and I must admit I could not click on the link, and the main reason was that I did not want the URL http://www.gaychubbydating.com/ to show up in my browsing history. I live alone, no-one would care, I could just clear the history right away, for crying out loud, but no, I dared not click. I don't know what it says about me that the fact that they were chubby and gay was much more daunting than if they were just one or the other.)
I clicked on these two Get Your Ex Back links, and the first one left me awed. Definitely aimed at men only, and written as if women and relationships were roughly as complicated as VCR repair. For the low low price of $47, you can learn:
- The quick 2-step formula to stop all arguments and show your ex that you have a happy future together. (Page 92)
- How to make her laugh with you, and have her appreciate you again. Here's why it works... give your ex the proper kind of teasing and make her laugh, and she'll be psychologically unable to dislike you anymore. (Page 72), and my personal favourite.
- The 5-step Seduction System that takes you from having an 'innocent' cup of coffee with your ex-girlfriend... to having her moan 'I want you inside me now' as she drags you to bed... in just one evening! (Page 88)
I admit, I have come to rely on the internet for far too much of my everyday life (entertainment, knowledge, communication, what-have-you), but this seems to be asking a bit much.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Jerkitude
Well, I understand from the current literature on the subject that blogs are supposed to be a fairly of-the-moment sort of endeavour, that is, I should kinda be trying to record what's on my mind as of now. However, whilst I'm fairly new to this blogging thang, I do have a few old screeds kicking around on my computer, and rather than let them fade into obscurity, I figger I'll pop a few of 'em on here, as the mood strikes me.
This one stems from March of 2009, I think, should posterity be one of those things you're concerned with.
So, I played lacrosse last night, and the game has been rolling around in my head ever since. Through no fault of my own, I play on a team that can be pretty good if everything clicks, and this was one of those games. Nobody felt like they had to score a million goals all by themselves, everybody was passing the ball to the open man, and our goalie was fixing any mistakes we did make. On top of that, the goalie on the other team wasn't having a great game, so we were out to a 5-nuthin' lead pretty quick.
Then, early in the second period, when the score was probably 6-1 or so, a guy on my team had the ball in our own end, and one of their players was chasing him a bit. I was in the area, so I decided to help my guy out a bit by setting a pick. Now, if you're not the sporty type and you're not sure what a pick is, don't worry, that puts you in the same category as at least half my team. Basically, all it is, is when I stand still, and the guy on my team runs by me as close as he can, so the guy chasing him either runs into me or loses time by trying to go around me. Of course, the pick I set here was more of a token than anything, my teammate was pretty much getting free anyway. Also, it wasn't like this pick was going to clear my guy for a scoring chance or anything, it was just to try to gain a second or two. To further lessen the effectiveness, my teammate didn't have a chance to run right beside me, and the guy on the other team saw me standing there about four feet before he got to me, so the element of surprise was pretty much nil. Since all of these factors had combined to make this one of the lamest picks ever, the obvious play in my mind was for the other guy to run around me, which would have taken a fraction of a second longer than if I hadn't been there at all, and then he would still been part of his team's defense. However, this guy takes the other accepted approach of what to do when faced with a pick, and that is to run right through it. It wasn't like he lowered his shoulder and drilled me or anything, but his decision was to run into me.
Now, again, I get that this is what you're taught to do when you're a kid learning the game, but we're in a non-contact league, and it actually took him out of the play to do it. On top of that, if he was trying to teach me a lesson about not setting any more picks, well, geez, don't be such a pansy about it, actually hit me, don't just bump me. Really, I think he was just ticked that his team was losing, and didn't feel like playing nice anymore. God knows, I've been there myself, so I understand the impulse -- but my team was winning at the time, so I was in a totally different mental state. If somebody on the other team wants to be angry, well, I'm gonna do my best to help him out. I kinda chuckled, and turned around and started running to catch up to the play. Here, strangely, is where I turned into the most hated guy on my team.
The guy who'd bumped me asks, "What are you laughing at?" I don't really know what to say -- I've been known to be reasonably funny on the page, but when I'm on the spot to say something witty, I tend to be less so. I think I wanted to say something like, If you wanted to hurt somebody you have to hit a bit harder than that, Nancy -- but what came out was, "Intent to injure...," in as sardonic a tone as I could muster while running. Very lame, but he didn't seem to pick up on that, I believe he may have had his own agenda. He says something about how that's lacrosse, buddy, it's part of the game, and then the play evolves a bit and we don't have time to continue our repartée. Not much later in the same shift, however, I end up guarding him again, he's got the ball in the corner. This is where I have a chance to take the high road -- but instead, I put my stick as close to his face as I can, and say a couple of times, "Come on, you better beat me, you're better than me! You're better than me!" You'd think denigrating your own abilities wouldn't annoy the opposition, but no, I have found it to be highly effective. He ignored me as best he could and made a pass that a teammate of his dropped. This pretty much marked the end of my shift, and I headed for the bench. He stayed on the floor, and it's possible he was a little tired, because it wasn't much longer after that that my team scored again.
Again, I'm on the bench and totally removed from the play, so I had the chance to take the high road and keep quiet, or even just to loudly congratulate my teammate, which would have been insulting but not necessarily confrontational. However, as you may have guessed, I'm a bit of a jerk. I try to keep it under wraps, but when push comes to shove, what comes out of my mouth is, "I bet that pisses you off, huh." Those seemed to be the magic words, and he started yelling at me, "Look buddy, there's no need for you to chirp, you're winning and you have no skill, so shut the hell up!" I wasn't all that upset about the crack about my skill level -- really, he'd been batting a thousand on how do things wrong thus far this shift, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then -- so I just kind of smiled and saluted, aye aye cap'n, I'll follow orders, at which point the referees told us both to knock it off.
I generally do what the authority figure tells me to, so I shut up, and I didn't say anything to the other team the rest of the game. I yelled encouragement at my own teammates a lot, but that's no different than any other game I play. I actually played pretty passive, I didn't feel like stirring anything up. I had the ball a few times, and it definitely felt like people were whacking me a little harder than was absolutely necessary, but again, if it doesn't really hurt, no big deal. On one particularly crap shift, I managed to pass the ball directly to the guy I'd been jawing at, and he got a pretty good scoring chance out of it. The guy who was guarding me, sensing a prime heckling opportunity, told me it was a nice pass. Short, simple, should have been effective -- but really, if I know somebody's trying to piss me off, why give him the satisfaction? I replied with, "Yeah, those are my specialty," (which, unfortunately, they are, I wasn't kidding about the lack of skill thing), and just kept on running.
Then, with just over three minutes left in the game, when we're winning about 11-4, a loose ball rolls my way, and I have to run towards the boards to get it. The guy on the other team who's chasing me (a guy who has cut the sleeves off of his jersey, either to lessen wind resistance or to make it easier for people to admire his triceps, I'm not sure) has apparently also taken offense to my transgressions from half an hour ago, and decides to teach me a lesson, whacking hell out of me and saying, "Laughin', huh?" as I'm turned around running for the ball. He does actually hit my stick harder than he hits me, but even when he knocks my stick out of my hand, he doesn't seem to actually want the ball, just to hit me. Again -- if that's your goal, then geez, hit hard enough to hurt, for cryin' out loud. He seemed genuinely nostril-snorting angry, but all he did was get called for it, and then after the whistle he just stared me down until the ref told him to go to the penalty box. I didn't say a word, I wasn't angry or banged up, I was mostly just kinda bemused that I'd inspired this level of animosity in an only-sorta-competitive league. I mean, I suck. If you want to get angry at somebody on my team, get angry at the guys who scored all those goals.
So the game ends, and the post-game handshake goes without incident, and I go home and the whole thing rolls around in my head on crazy loop, like it always does when you think of all those things you should have said. Like, when it's pointed out that I have no skill, I could helpfully suggest that pissing people off and drawing penalties seems to be a pretty valid skill. Like, when somebody asks you, "What are you laughing at?" the best answer is probably, "Scoreboard." I've had some great conversations in my head, saving all the best lines for myself, all designed to inflict maximum jerkitude. What I keep coming back to is this -- those guys play on a bad team, they've been looking to get angry for a while now, and I was just the guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I'm usually not so into the trash talk -- but if you're gonna start something, I'm totally allowed to finish it, and I'm okay with that.
But you know what really pisses me off?
I'm starting to feel guilty about the whole thing.
Geez.
This one stems from March of 2009, I think, should posterity be one of those things you're concerned with.
So, I played lacrosse last night, and the game has been rolling around in my head ever since. Through no fault of my own, I play on a team that can be pretty good if everything clicks, and this was one of those games. Nobody felt like they had to score a million goals all by themselves, everybody was passing the ball to the open man, and our goalie was fixing any mistakes we did make. On top of that, the goalie on the other team wasn't having a great game, so we were out to a 5-nuthin' lead pretty quick.
Then, early in the second period, when the score was probably 6-1 or so, a guy on my team had the ball in our own end, and one of their players was chasing him a bit. I was in the area, so I decided to help my guy out a bit by setting a pick. Now, if you're not the sporty type and you're not sure what a pick is, don't worry, that puts you in the same category as at least half my team. Basically, all it is, is when I stand still, and the guy on my team runs by me as close as he can, so the guy chasing him either runs into me or loses time by trying to go around me. Of course, the pick I set here was more of a token than anything, my teammate was pretty much getting free anyway. Also, it wasn't like this pick was going to clear my guy for a scoring chance or anything, it was just to try to gain a second or two. To further lessen the effectiveness, my teammate didn't have a chance to run right beside me, and the guy on the other team saw me standing there about four feet before he got to me, so the element of surprise was pretty much nil. Since all of these factors had combined to make this one of the lamest picks ever, the obvious play in my mind was for the other guy to run around me, which would have taken a fraction of a second longer than if I hadn't been there at all, and then he would still been part of his team's defense. However, this guy takes the other accepted approach of what to do when faced with a pick, and that is to run right through it. It wasn't like he lowered his shoulder and drilled me or anything, but his decision was to run into me.
Now, again, I get that this is what you're taught to do when you're a kid learning the game, but we're in a non-contact league, and it actually took him out of the play to do it. On top of that, if he was trying to teach me a lesson about not setting any more picks, well, geez, don't be such a pansy about it, actually hit me, don't just bump me. Really, I think he was just ticked that his team was losing, and didn't feel like playing nice anymore. God knows, I've been there myself, so I understand the impulse -- but my team was winning at the time, so I was in a totally different mental state. If somebody on the other team wants to be angry, well, I'm gonna do my best to help him out. I kinda chuckled, and turned around and started running to catch up to the play. Here, strangely, is where I turned into the most hated guy on my team.
The guy who'd bumped me asks, "What are you laughing at?" I don't really know what to say -- I've been known to be reasonably funny on the page, but when I'm on the spot to say something witty, I tend to be less so. I think I wanted to say something like, If you wanted to hurt somebody you have to hit a bit harder than that, Nancy -- but what came out was, "Intent to injure...," in as sardonic a tone as I could muster while running. Very lame, but he didn't seem to pick up on that, I believe he may have had his own agenda. He says something about how that's lacrosse, buddy, it's part of the game, and then the play evolves a bit and we don't have time to continue our repartée. Not much later in the same shift, however, I end up guarding him again, he's got the ball in the corner. This is where I have a chance to take the high road -- but instead, I put my stick as close to his face as I can, and say a couple of times, "Come on, you better beat me, you're better than me! You're better than me!" You'd think denigrating your own abilities wouldn't annoy the opposition, but no, I have found it to be highly effective. He ignored me as best he could and made a pass that a teammate of his dropped. This pretty much marked the end of my shift, and I headed for the bench. He stayed on the floor, and it's possible he was a little tired, because it wasn't much longer after that that my team scored again.
Again, I'm on the bench and totally removed from the play, so I had the chance to take the high road and keep quiet, or even just to loudly congratulate my teammate, which would have been insulting but not necessarily confrontational. However, as you may have guessed, I'm a bit of a jerk. I try to keep it under wraps, but when push comes to shove, what comes out of my mouth is, "I bet that pisses you off, huh." Those seemed to be the magic words, and he started yelling at me, "Look buddy, there's no need for you to chirp, you're winning and you have no skill, so shut the hell up!" I wasn't all that upset about the crack about my skill level -- really, he'd been batting a thousand on how do things wrong thus far this shift, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then -- so I just kind of smiled and saluted, aye aye cap'n, I'll follow orders, at which point the referees told us both to knock it off.
I generally do what the authority figure tells me to, so I shut up, and I didn't say anything to the other team the rest of the game. I yelled encouragement at my own teammates a lot, but that's no different than any other game I play. I actually played pretty passive, I didn't feel like stirring anything up. I had the ball a few times, and it definitely felt like people were whacking me a little harder than was absolutely necessary, but again, if it doesn't really hurt, no big deal. On one particularly crap shift, I managed to pass the ball directly to the guy I'd been jawing at, and he got a pretty good scoring chance out of it. The guy who was guarding me, sensing a prime heckling opportunity, told me it was a nice pass. Short, simple, should have been effective -- but really, if I know somebody's trying to piss me off, why give him the satisfaction? I replied with, "Yeah, those are my specialty," (which, unfortunately, they are, I wasn't kidding about the lack of skill thing), and just kept on running.
Then, with just over three minutes left in the game, when we're winning about 11-4, a loose ball rolls my way, and I have to run towards the boards to get it. The guy on the other team who's chasing me (a guy who has cut the sleeves off of his jersey, either to lessen wind resistance or to make it easier for people to admire his triceps, I'm not sure) has apparently also taken offense to my transgressions from half an hour ago, and decides to teach me a lesson, whacking hell out of me and saying, "Laughin', huh?" as I'm turned around running for the ball. He does actually hit my stick harder than he hits me, but even when he knocks my stick out of my hand, he doesn't seem to actually want the ball, just to hit me. Again -- if that's your goal, then geez, hit hard enough to hurt, for cryin' out loud. He seemed genuinely nostril-snorting angry, but all he did was get called for it, and then after the whistle he just stared me down until the ref told him to go to the penalty box. I didn't say a word, I wasn't angry or banged up, I was mostly just kinda bemused that I'd inspired this level of animosity in an only-sorta-competitive league. I mean, I suck. If you want to get angry at somebody on my team, get angry at the guys who scored all those goals.
So the game ends, and the post-game handshake goes without incident, and I go home and the whole thing rolls around in my head on crazy loop, like it always does when you think of all those things you should have said. Like, when it's pointed out that I have no skill, I could helpfully suggest that pissing people off and drawing penalties seems to be a pretty valid skill. Like, when somebody asks you, "What are you laughing at?" the best answer is probably, "Scoreboard." I've had some great conversations in my head, saving all the best lines for myself, all designed to inflict maximum jerkitude. What I keep coming back to is this -- those guys play on a bad team, they've been looking to get angry for a while now, and I was just the guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I'm usually not so into the trash talk -- but if you're gonna start something, I'm totally allowed to finish it, and I'm okay with that.
But you know what really pisses me off?
I'm starting to feel guilty about the whole thing.
Geez.
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