Yes, I love to read.
No, I won't read fucking Twilight.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Ode to the Weird
She’s old and dumpy, her salt and pepper hair was androgynous and frightening close to my own hair due, the result of shaving my head seven months ago and just letting it grow. I wonder if she had a similar approach.
Dolly is fat enough her gut sagged to her knees. She displayed an ability to embrace a sense of obliviousness that included ignoring the fact that other people were in the room.
I was both impressed at the ability, and, as she paused the steady feed of off brand potato chips to pound on her chest and cough a mighty cough, I realized, appalled. She wiped the screen off with the sleeve of her stonewashed sweater that I don’t think she could have zipped up if she wanted.
I consider myself to be more honest than cruel while taking none of the responsibility when the two seem inseparable. I’ve heard there is no greater population of minorities that are openly mocked than those of the obese, and so I want to be clear, this account of Dolly isn’t written to defame that population at all.
See, she has too many foibles to ignore! Her massive girth is coincidental or possibly just a bonus. Her indifference is what gets to me. I say indifference because she has the ability to pay attention. She’s simply not interested in the rest of the world. And I suspect she’d wear stretchy pants even it weren’t on her list of options.
Her job includes her talking on the phone. Dolly is the loudest person on the floor, and she never leaves. For her hour lunch, she hefts herself out of her chair and waddles down the hallway to clock out.
She pulls herself along with a slow lurches that include her whole body. It’s hard enough on her she gasps the whole way and pauses halfway down the twenty foot stretch of hallway to catch her breath.
Back she comes to play solitaire and eat chips for an hour and work on the 64oz of soda she brings encased in a bright yellow mug—that is strangely absent of NASCAR markings.
Her cell phone is on vibrate, and when she gets a call you can hear it from three rooms away. Why that’s less obtrusive than a ring.
She has loud phone conversations in the bathroom. I hope to god she’s finished her business and is milking her bathroom break, rather than the horriblely efficient alternative.
She puts her phone on hold rather than pushing a mute button. The difference being pushing mute stops the person on the phone from hearing anything on your end, while pushing hold puts the customer on hold which gives you ten seconds before the phone starts beeping a beep that suggests there is a large vehicle backing up somewhere.
She makes a random, “Pshhhhaaaaaw,” sound for no apparent reason.
You can’t help but notice Dolly, and she’s just weird enough I would be upset if she didn’t work here.
Dolly is fat enough her gut sagged to her knees. She displayed an ability to embrace a sense of obliviousness that included ignoring the fact that other people were in the room.
I was both impressed at the ability, and, as she paused the steady feed of off brand potato chips to pound on her chest and cough a mighty cough, I realized, appalled. She wiped the screen off with the sleeve of her stonewashed sweater that I don’t think she could have zipped up if she wanted.
I consider myself to be more honest than cruel while taking none of the responsibility when the two seem inseparable. I’ve heard there is no greater population of minorities that are openly mocked than those of the obese, and so I want to be clear, this account of Dolly isn’t written to defame that population at all.
See, she has too many foibles to ignore! Her massive girth is coincidental or possibly just a bonus. Her indifference is what gets to me. I say indifference because she has the ability to pay attention. She’s simply not interested in the rest of the world. And I suspect she’d wear stretchy pants even it weren’t on her list of options.
Her job includes her talking on the phone. Dolly is the loudest person on the floor, and she never leaves. For her hour lunch, she hefts herself out of her chair and waddles down the hallway to clock out.
She pulls herself along with a slow lurches that include her whole body. It’s hard enough on her she gasps the whole way and pauses halfway down the twenty foot stretch of hallway to catch her breath.
Back she comes to play solitaire and eat chips for an hour and work on the 64oz of soda she brings encased in a bright yellow mug—that is strangely absent of NASCAR markings.
Her cell phone is on vibrate, and when she gets a call you can hear it from three rooms away. Why that’s less obtrusive than a ring.
She has loud phone conversations in the bathroom. I hope to god she’s finished her business and is milking her bathroom break, rather than the horriblely efficient alternative.
She puts her phone on hold rather than pushing a mute button. The difference being pushing mute stops the person on the phone from hearing anything on your end, while pushing hold puts the customer on hold which gives you ten seconds before the phone starts beeping a beep that suggests there is a large vehicle backing up somewhere.
She makes a random, “Pshhhhaaaaaw,” sound for no apparent reason.
You can’t help but notice Dolly, and she’s just weird enough I would be upset if she didn’t work here.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
A Question of Truth
The next sentence is true. The previous sentence was a lie.
Something about paradox is fascinating to me. Maybe it's because I view it as the father, or at the very least, the grandfather of hypocrisy.
Something about paradox is fascinating to me. Maybe it's because I view it as the father, or at the very least, the grandfather of hypocrisy.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Army of Bastards
Hi everyone!
I want to help support people in their endeavors. Generally speaking, cooperation over competition has always had more appeal to me. I thoroughly enjoy a good competition though. I gladly admit that.
In fact, today, I’m asking for you guys to cooperate out a fellow bastard comptete. His name is Kevin; and he wants to peddle into Hell.
Ok, not literally into the unholy plane or even in a Dante’s Inferno kind of way. He wants to ride there along with three other men and four other women. You can click HERE for the details or just sit there, shut up and read my version of the gist of things.
Riders will get to Downievill, California to face at least 70 miles of off-road terrain and should expect about 12,000 feet of climb and can expect areas of exposure. Then men will race Mark Weir and the females are taking on Rachel Weir.
Both riders are good enough they’re giving all riders an hour head start, and to win one must simply finish within an hour of the finishing time and they win a $5000 mountain bike. Piece of cake, right?
Wrong! This is the fifth Hell Ride, and there has yet to be a winner.
To vote for Kevin, click HERE. You’ll have to enter a valid email and then check your inbox to verify the vote by clicking a link. I’ve done it many a times and haven’t gotten a lick of spam from it. Don’t be scared! Do the right thing and help send Kevin to hell!
Remember people! I’m always interested in helping my fellow bastards out—so if you have a cause that needs some attention—let me know. My Bastard’s Ears are open and my army is gathering.
I want to help support people in their endeavors. Generally speaking, cooperation over competition has always had more appeal to me. I thoroughly enjoy a good competition though. I gladly admit that.
In fact, today, I’m asking for you guys to cooperate out a fellow bastard comptete. His name is Kevin; and he wants to peddle into Hell.
Ok, not literally into the unholy plane or even in a Dante’s Inferno kind of way. He wants to ride there along with three other men and four other women. You can click HERE for the details or just sit there, shut up and read my version of the gist of things.
Riders will get to Downievill, California to face at least 70 miles of off-road terrain and should expect about 12,000 feet of climb and can expect areas of exposure. Then men will race Mark Weir and the females are taking on Rachel Weir.
Both riders are good enough they’re giving all riders an hour head start, and to win one must simply finish within an hour of the finishing time and they win a $5000 mountain bike. Piece of cake, right?
Wrong! This is the fifth Hell Ride, and there has yet to be a winner.
To vote for Kevin, click HERE. You’ll have to enter a valid email and then check your inbox to verify the vote by clicking a link. I’ve done it many a times and haven’t gotten a lick of spam from it. Don’t be scared! Do the right thing and help send Kevin to hell!
Remember people! I’m always interested in helping my fellow bastards out—so if you have a cause that needs some attention—let me know. My Bastard’s Ears are open and my army is gathering.
Monday, June 23, 2008
I Think You Mean FUNday!
I’ve been wondering how Monday’s got such a bad reputation. My current place of employment has weekend hours, but 99% of the employed work the standard M – F, eight hours a day sort of shift.
Today, being Monday, my place of employment is rife with something that is being easily shrugged off. People are in bad moods, going home early and in some cases, not even showing up.
And, when it’s not actually Monday, I’ve had people in a shitty mood explain that in their work world, today is their Monday—meaning they just started the work week.
Now, there are some people who will tell me it’s not the fact that it’s Monday, they’re just having a bad day—any ill effects are coincidental with the day of the week.
I like the Monday Factor because it really demonstrate how willing we are to shrug off any and all accountability. Maybe you hate your job and you need an entire day to muster up the energy to deal with the impending week’s worth of work—but not liking your job is hardly a unique condition. Even people who love their jobs don’t love everything about that job.
I’m not confused by all the bad things being more obvious when there are no days behind you. Current day work conditions don’t help much either—most places I hear about not only don’t offer vacation time, if they do you can count on the fact that it is NOT paid time off.
Some of you do though! And good on you—I try not to begrudge other their good fortune, but it’s hard not to be resentful, especially if you look at the distribution of wealth. We’re not, though. Not in this one.
My favorite people who rage on Mondays are the people who seem to be completely blind to the fact that they have some input on their own lives. They spend the last half of Friday dicking around and then big surprise! The following Monday doesn’t just roll out nice and smooth for them and suddenly the universe is conspiring against them—they’re just that important to the Grand Scheme.
When it comes down to it, none of us enjoy the fact we spend the making someone else rich and paying taxes while we do it. But don’t blame Monday—especially since it’s such a good night for sports.
Today, being Monday, my place of employment is rife with something that is being easily shrugged off. People are in bad moods, going home early and in some cases, not even showing up.
And, when it’s not actually Monday, I’ve had people in a shitty mood explain that in their work world, today is their Monday—meaning they just started the work week.
Now, there are some people who will tell me it’s not the fact that it’s Monday, they’re just having a bad day—any ill effects are coincidental with the day of the week.
I like the Monday Factor because it really demonstrate how willing we are to shrug off any and all accountability. Maybe you hate your job and you need an entire day to muster up the energy to deal with the impending week’s worth of work—but not liking your job is hardly a unique condition. Even people who love their jobs don’t love everything about that job.
I’m not confused by all the bad things being more obvious when there are no days behind you. Current day work conditions don’t help much either—most places I hear about not only don’t offer vacation time, if they do you can count on the fact that it is NOT paid time off.
Some of you do though! And good on you—I try not to begrudge other their good fortune, but it’s hard not to be resentful, especially if you look at the distribution of wealth. We’re not, though. Not in this one.
My favorite people who rage on Mondays are the people who seem to be completely blind to the fact that they have some input on their own lives. They spend the last half of Friday dicking around and then big surprise! The following Monday doesn’t just roll out nice and smooth for them and suddenly the universe is conspiring against them—they’re just that important to the Grand Scheme.
When it comes down to it, none of us enjoy the fact we spend the making someone else rich and paying taxes while we do it. But don’t blame Monday—especially since it’s such a good night for sports.
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