In 1984, Don Henley heaped crap upon an unknowing public with a hit-song entitled "The Boys of Summer." This is what Wikipedia says about it:
'After a mid-way instrumental break is the song's most famous lyric:
Out on the road today
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice inside my head said,
Don't look back, you can never look back.
This image of once-countercultural Deadheads driving establishment status symbol Cadillacs immediately connected with Henley's age group, and neatly encapsulated the song's feelings of loss and aging. It is rumored that this line was inspired by Henley seeing Joe Walsh driving a Cadillac with a Deadhead sticker on it while on Sunset Blvd.'
In 2003, emo band, The Ataris (aparently wanting to get in on the crap-heaping action,) released the same song, only changing the 'deadhead' refrence to 'Black Flag.' I found it fairly funny in the sad kind of way because the song is so unpunk it should be illegal, but that's just my opinion.
I had my own crap-heaping moment today, sing along if you like:
Out on the road today I saw a WEEN bumpersticker on a Mini-Van.
...and now I've heaped that crap on you. Enjoy!!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Woman's Work.
I usually try to respect the privacy of the people I pick up. It means a lot to me to preface personal questions regarding medical problems with, "It's none of my business at all, but..." or "Don't feel the need to answer this, I'm just curious..." I don't ask the young ladies coming from the women's clinic anything about where I picked them up at. I don't ask people in wheelchairs how they ended up in thier chair.
The reason for all of this? Because an uncomfortable ride with someone who doesn't like you is a lot longer than a quiet, yet amiable ride; and I'm all about keeping my rides short.
On the other hand, given that I know how to phrase a medical question just so as to not give people any problems, I also know how to make someone feel fairly uncomfortable by pretending to act dumb and asking simple questions. I imagine everyone has this ability, I just happen to be put in the situation where I can use this power for good. (If you can't tell, I've been reading the comic books again. What can I say, Captain America is dead. Somebodies got to take his place.)
He came out of his apartment building. Mid twenties, roughly 260lbs, Oakley sunglasses, camouflage shorts, tight black T-shirt (accentuating the spare tire around his waist), shiny (really shiny) infantry boots, and a high and tight haircut (a good one too.) I was assuming him to be former military. Army or Marines. Definitely not Navy. (I didn't shine my boots when I was in the service, and there would be no way that I would do it now that I'm out.)
He lugged a huge bag and some laundry detergent, and threw all of it in the back as he said gruffly, "gotta do the woman's work today."
huh?
"I already think you dress and present yourself like a jerk-off, but now you're going to try and come off like you're too good to do your own laundry because you've got a penis?" Was my thought.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he was a veteran from Iraq and that he was a little dinged the head because of it when, before I could even get used to not disliking him he started talking about how he's going into the army as soon as his medical waiver comes in.
He wasn't even in yet and was already acting like a prick. That's unacceptable. If you're active duty or deployed guard, by all means, say whatever it is you want to say...but I don't like wannabes acting and dressing tough, saying dumb sexist things cause it makes them feel more manly, and carrying on like they know a damn thing; and this is when I started using my powers on him by asking simple questions. (Out of respect or his privacy, I won't write his responses, trust me, it's embarrassing...)
"Medical waiver, huh? What for?"
"When you think you'll ship out? Oh that long?"
"Better keep your nose clean man...I remember when I got to basic, all kinds of guys got kicked out for having drugs in their system."
"Do you really think it works like that, cause I just got out of the Navy after five years and have never heard of anything like that."
"Do you really think the doctor was lying to you?"
It was a long and painful trip, but by the time we got to the laundromat, I could see by the look on his face that his ego had been taken down a peg or two, and from only a few simple questions.
Hubris is a word, and it can only be cut down by other words. Generally women are pretty good at doing that sort of thing, as they have to be sometimes when it comes to men; but when it comes to a moron like that guy, I was glad to be doing some woman's work.
The reason for all of this? Because an uncomfortable ride with someone who doesn't like you is a lot longer than a quiet, yet amiable ride; and I'm all about keeping my rides short.
On the other hand, given that I know how to phrase a medical question just so as to not give people any problems, I also know how to make someone feel fairly uncomfortable by pretending to act dumb and asking simple questions. I imagine everyone has this ability, I just happen to be put in the situation where I can use this power for good. (If you can't tell, I've been reading the comic books again. What can I say, Captain America is dead. Somebodies got to take his place.)
He came out of his apartment building. Mid twenties, roughly 260lbs, Oakley sunglasses, camouflage shorts, tight black T-shirt (accentuating the spare tire around his waist), shiny (really shiny) infantry boots, and a high and tight haircut (a good one too.) I was assuming him to be former military. Army or Marines. Definitely not Navy. (I didn't shine my boots when I was in the service, and there would be no way that I would do it now that I'm out.)
He lugged a huge bag and some laundry detergent, and threw all of it in the back as he said gruffly, "gotta do the woman's work today."
huh?
"I already think you dress and present yourself like a jerk-off, but now you're going to try and come off like you're too good to do your own laundry because you've got a penis?" Was my thought.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he was a veteran from Iraq and that he was a little dinged the head because of it when, before I could even get used to not disliking him he started talking about how he's going into the army as soon as his medical waiver comes in.
He wasn't even in yet and was already acting like a prick. That's unacceptable. If you're active duty or deployed guard, by all means, say whatever it is you want to say...but I don't like wannabes acting and dressing tough, saying dumb sexist things cause it makes them feel more manly, and carrying on like they know a damn thing; and this is when I started using my powers on him by asking simple questions. (Out of respect or his privacy, I won't write his responses, trust me, it's embarrassing...)
"Medical waiver, huh? What for?"
"When you think you'll ship out? Oh that long?"
"Better keep your nose clean man...I remember when I got to basic, all kinds of guys got kicked out for having drugs in their system."
"Do you really think it works like that, cause I just got out of the Navy after five years and have never heard of anything like that."
"Do you really think the doctor was lying to you?"
It was a long and painful trip, but by the time we got to the laundromat, I could see by the look on his face that his ego had been taken down a peg or two, and from only a few simple questions.
Hubris is a word, and it can only be cut down by other words. Generally women are pretty good at doing that sort of thing, as they have to be sometimes when it comes to men; but when it comes to a moron like that guy, I was glad to be doing some woman's work.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Greatest Hits
Being that I'm coming off of spring break week, it's a pretty lame excuse to say that I've got too much studying to get to to write, so I'm not going to phone this one in. (Besides, I was beginning to hear complaints.)
Today, work was like a greatest hits package featuring several people whom I have written about. I guess with the nicer weather people are finally thinking it's safe to come outdoors - or something. Whatever the reason is, it's been busier than I would like, which can be a pain, but I guess that it's all just part of Spring.
Speaking of Spring, Vernal Equinox is tomorrow...time to take down the damn Christmas decorations if you haven't already. For Christ's sake, please take down the Christmas decorations.
Anyway...as with everyday, Drunk W went home from the bar at four in the afternoon, and as always, after he plopped down in the passenger seat and started fiddling with the seat belt, (just to eventually grumble, "aww, hell with it," and give up on safety) I asked him how his day was going,
"Depends on what I get in the mail."
I told him that I understood and I thought out loud about how interesting it is that other people can affect one's day at the drop of the hat. (I mean, really, how often is that we really are in control of how nice a day we are having? Almost never.)
"Yep, there's still plenty of daylight left for someone to piss me off," was his response.
A half hour after I got Drunk W home, it was Mrs. G. It had been over a month since me and Mrs. G had seen each other, and the last time I drove her it was a very eye-opening and uncomfortable experience for both us, and I have been thinking of her and that Sunday morning often since it happened.
Every time that I work, I serve a disabled person of one sort or another. I see a lot of people in wheelchairs. I see the kind of people who use wheelchairs. Now, I tread on dangerous ground here, especially considering that I have no medical training whatsoever, but it seems to me that there are three different types of people who need wheelchairs: The first kind is the obvious kind, those who have lost their legs or had spinal damage. Basically, those who will never get better. The second kind are those who have degenerated to the point that they need one, the massively elderly and those with debilitating ailments that you just don't get rid of, like advanced Multiple Sclerosis. The second kind don't get better either.
The third kind is a little more tricky. Those who have had medical ailments at one point or another and ended up in a wheelchair, but gave up. They could've rehabilitated, some still can, but the effort involved is too great and they settle into that chair...and stay there. I am by no means criticizing these people, for many have been matched up against an adversity that I can never (and hopefully will never have to) understand or conceive, but it was preventable at some point, and that's a drag.
I see the third kind probably once a week (usually on Sundays for some reason)
and it always makes me think of Mrs. G. She belongs to the second group, but still tries to work that walker of hers. I know she has a wheelchair (a motorized one.)
I've seen her in it, but she hasn't given up on her walking yet, and even though it's a pain in the butt every time I have to pick her up, I hope she never does.
I usually bite my tongue about things like this, but this time I'm not going to: There is something so utterly american about people who didn't need to be in wheelchairs settling into them while others who do need them go without because they think that they can persevere.
but anyways...
Right after I dropped off Mrs. G, I found out that I was picking up The Grocery Shopper whom I've actually written about twice. I drive into his yard and start eyeing the mammoth dog that I may have to get around to knock on this guy's door so I can tell him that his cab is here, which happens roughly every time this guy needs to be picked up. I wait the arbitrary five minutes and was contemplating just saying to hell with it and driving off when the front door swung open abruptly. All of the sudden The Grocery Shopper is standing there waving his hands.
Call me crazy, but when somebody is waving their hands I generally think something is wrong. I quickly got out and started running towards the house thinking the worse (like I was going to find the guys care-giver lying there in a pool of blood or something.) Turns out he was waving for me to drive off,
"I can't find my billfold. I guess you can go."
Before I can even think about what I'm saying I say, "do you need help finding it?"
"You can't come into my house, and if you try I'm going to beat you up."
I left.
The rest of the shift was pretty much uneventful, so I guess that's it. Didn't phone it in this time, did I?
Incidentally, it is March 19th. The four year anniversary of the Iraq War. Four years ago today I was in the Red Sea taking part in the launching of tomahawk missiles at Iraq. Amazing where life takes you, huh?
Today, work was like a greatest hits package featuring several people whom I have written about. I guess with the nicer weather people are finally thinking it's safe to come outdoors - or something. Whatever the reason is, it's been busier than I would like, which can be a pain, but I guess that it's all just part of Spring.
Speaking of Spring, Vernal Equinox is tomorrow...time to take down the damn Christmas decorations if you haven't already. For Christ's sake, please take down the Christmas decorations.
Anyway...as with everyday, Drunk W went home from the bar at four in the afternoon, and as always, after he plopped down in the passenger seat and started fiddling with the seat belt, (just to eventually grumble, "aww, hell with it," and give up on safety) I asked him how his day was going,
"Depends on what I get in the mail."
I told him that I understood and I thought out loud about how interesting it is that other people can affect one's day at the drop of the hat. (I mean, really, how often is that we really are in control of how nice a day we are having? Almost never.)
"Yep, there's still plenty of daylight left for someone to piss me off," was his response.
A half hour after I got Drunk W home, it was Mrs. G. It had been over a month since me and Mrs. G had seen each other, and the last time I drove her it was a very eye-opening and uncomfortable experience for both us, and I have been thinking of her and that Sunday morning often since it happened.
Every time that I work, I serve a disabled person of one sort or another. I see a lot of people in wheelchairs. I see the kind of people who use wheelchairs. Now, I tread on dangerous ground here, especially considering that I have no medical training whatsoever, but it seems to me that there are three different types of people who need wheelchairs: The first kind is the obvious kind, those who have lost their legs or had spinal damage. Basically, those who will never get better. The second kind are those who have degenerated to the point that they need one, the massively elderly and those with debilitating ailments that you just don't get rid of, like advanced Multiple Sclerosis. The second kind don't get better either.
The third kind is a little more tricky. Those who have had medical ailments at one point or another and ended up in a wheelchair, but gave up. They could've rehabilitated, some still can, but the effort involved is too great and they settle into that chair...and stay there. I am by no means criticizing these people, for many have been matched up against an adversity that I can never (and hopefully will never have to) understand or conceive, but it was preventable at some point, and that's a drag.
I see the third kind probably once a week (usually on Sundays for some reason)
and it always makes me think of Mrs. G. She belongs to the second group, but still tries to work that walker of hers. I know she has a wheelchair (a motorized one.)
I've seen her in it, but she hasn't given up on her walking yet, and even though it's a pain in the butt every time I have to pick her up, I hope she never does.
I usually bite my tongue about things like this, but this time I'm not going to: There is something so utterly american about people who didn't need to be in wheelchairs settling into them while others who do need them go without because they think that they can persevere.
but anyways...
Right after I dropped off Mrs. G, I found out that I was picking up The Grocery Shopper whom I've actually written about twice. I drive into his yard and start eyeing the mammoth dog that I may have to get around to knock on this guy's door so I can tell him that his cab is here, which happens roughly every time this guy needs to be picked up. I wait the arbitrary five minutes and was contemplating just saying to hell with it and driving off when the front door swung open abruptly. All of the sudden The Grocery Shopper is standing there waving his hands.
Call me crazy, but when somebody is waving their hands I generally think something is wrong. I quickly got out and started running towards the house thinking the worse (like I was going to find the guys care-giver lying there in a pool of blood or something.) Turns out he was waving for me to drive off,
"I can't find my billfold. I guess you can go."
Before I can even think about what I'm saying I say, "do you need help finding it?"
"You can't come into my house, and if you try I'm going to beat you up."
I left.
The rest of the shift was pretty much uneventful, so I guess that's it. Didn't phone it in this time, did I?
Incidentally, it is March 19th. The four year anniversary of the Iraq War. Four years ago today I was in the Red Sea taking part in the launching of tomahawk missiles at Iraq. Amazing where life takes you, huh?
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Now, why don't he write?
I know it's been awhile...and in effect, I kind of phoned in my last blog. To be honest I'm phoning this one in too.
In reality, I'm working a lot less then I was before, not to mention, it's a constant thing to stay ahead with school. (Amazing how much more seriously you take it after you have some perspective of the alternatives.)
So with that, I gotta run...I'll write when there's something to write about.
In reality, I'm working a lot less then I was before, not to mention, it's a constant thing to stay ahead with school. (Amazing how much more seriously you take it after you have some perspective of the alternatives.)
So with that, I gotta run...I'll write when there's something to write about.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy Valintizzle...
So...My girlfriend has a blog too. Check out what she wrote:
Happy Commercial Chocolate Heart Day
Ah, ladies, just what you needed to reassure that your love can't be bought and sold amid the flurry of Valentine's Day jewelry store commercials... er, wait.
J and I have elected to skip the "Oh my goodness, am I getting him/her the right gift?" madness and not celebrate Valentine's Day, per se. I mean, we go out to dinner a lot already and we're sweet on each other all the time anyways, so why condense it all into one particular day and buy crap we don't need/can't afford on this one particular day?
I wondered if we were maybe being too anti-establishment about it (because I can see us easily falling into that trap, with my 'up with women!' and his 'down with The Man!'), but it's really taken a load off my mind, knowing that I won't have to scrounge up money to buy him silk boxers he won't wear in the first place.I did get some lovely flowers in honor of President's Day, however. He knows it's hard for a gal to let go of the February Holiday thing.Me? I'm going to go celebrate my love with some sweet and stylish gifts. Nothing like some lingerie to say I'm always sexually available, or some makeup to say I could use a little touch-up here and there, right?
I only have one thing to say about her when it comes to this: GOD BLESS INTERNET PERSONALS!!! To everybody out there who has someone half as cool as I do: Happy Valentine's Day.
Happy Commercial Chocolate Heart Day
Ah, ladies, just what you needed to reassure that your love can't be bought and sold amid the flurry of Valentine's Day jewelry store commercials... er, wait.
J and I have elected to skip the "Oh my goodness, am I getting him/her the right gift?" madness and not celebrate Valentine's Day, per se. I mean, we go out to dinner a lot already and we're sweet on each other all the time anyways, so why condense it all into one particular day and buy crap we don't need/can't afford on this one particular day?
I wondered if we were maybe being too anti-establishment about it (because I can see us easily falling into that trap, with my 'up with women!' and his 'down with The Man!'), but it's really taken a load off my mind, knowing that I won't have to scrounge up money to buy him silk boxers he won't wear in the first place.I did get some lovely flowers in honor of President's Day, however. He knows it's hard for a gal to let go of the February Holiday thing.Me? I'm going to go celebrate my love with some sweet and stylish gifts. Nothing like some lingerie to say I'm always sexually available, or some makeup to say I could use a little touch-up here and there, right?
I only have one thing to say about her when it comes to this: GOD BLESS INTERNET PERSONALS!!! To everybody out there who has someone half as cool as I do: Happy Valentine's Day.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
The Only Way Out is Through.
For the most part driving cab is not a hard job at all, but it varies from ride to ride. Once that passenger is in your vehicle, for better or worse, the only way out is through.
I'd say approximately 60 percent of all the passengers I take are disabled in one way or another. Today I drove Mrs. G. I was aware that Mrs. G (so named because she used to be a Geography teacher) was afflicted with Multiple Sclerosis, and I had driven her around several times before without much problem. In fact, it's safe to say that I like her very much, I just wish she would use her wheelchair rather than trying to get around with her walker.
As soon as she exited the door of her house I knew that the trip was going to be ill-advised. She just seemed so much weaker and unstable than she had before, but I didn't want to suggest that maybe she stay in today. I should have been a little less polite.
The van I use for a cab has undergone extensive modification and is only about five inches off the ground. Unfortunately five inches was about three inches too high because she was unable to lift her leg high enough to make the step into the cab, and while she didn't quite fall, she did end up on her hands and knees and unable to do anything about it. It happened so quickly that I wasn't able to catch her, but she didn't fall violently enough to hurt herself either.
So now what? What is an appropriate recourse for a cab driver with no medical training other than a crappy CPR class from the military ( incidentally, I was told that I knew just enough to actually hurt someone in that class.)
I did the thing that made the most sense at the time, I picked her up and sat her in the back seat and asked if she really wanted to go out today.
"Yes!! I have to get to Church. They're having communion today."
I loaded up her walker and said OK.
On the way she asked if I had made it to church this morning. I told her that I spend my Sundays making sure other people get to church.
She didn't like that answer.
When I finally got her to the church, she had almost slid off the backseat and it finally dawned on me how bad-off she was. She could hardly move, but was still pushing herself up to make the fifty foot walk to the church doors.
I helped her down the ramp, than at the bottom she gripped her walker and looked up.
"What time is it?"
I told her the time and she asked me, "what time do services start?"
I told her that I had no idea, but that it was kind of late in the day for a church service to begin. I asked her when the service she wanted to go to was supposed to start and she looked up me with these hollow eyes and said, "I don't know."
I was starting to realize that this had all been a mistake when church let out. We were about half way up the walkway when people started to come at us from the doors we were tying to get to, like all of the sudden we were swimming against a current.
At that point her legs had apparently had enough and she mumbled something about sitting down as she gently settled on the cold pavement. I helped her to sit up and caught a glance from one of the parishioners as she walked by. Her face contorted and she didn't stop. In fact no one did right away. I just looked at everyone and they just passed me and Mrs. G by like nothing was wrong. Like the old lady with the walker wasn't actually sitting in the walkway in front of these people's church.
I couldn't believe it and ran inside to find a wheelchair; found an usher and asked for one. He said that they didn't have one. Which I later found to be incorrect. I found a chair with a basket of flowers sitting on it and knocked the flowers over grabbing the chair and received some attention as I ran out of the church with the chair, nearly knocking a fat guy in a Green Bay Packers jacket over.
When I got back out to Mrs. G there was a young man and a young woman seeing if she needed help and about six people standing over the three of them. Since the didn't respond when I said excuse me, the people were moved and the two young people helped me get Mrs. G onto the chair. Before I could say anything to anybody the priest was standing over us...with communion.
He gave it to her quickly and told me that his people would take care of her and make sure she got home OK. Just at that point Mrs. G made a joke about me being Lutheran and Is aw that she was taken care of and realized that I'd had enough...I left.
I still can't believe those people just walked by. Right as they're leaving church, no less. I could have been in the same situation outside of the local bar and had a whole lot more help.
There's no end to this story today because I'm still angry about the whole thing, but I guess it doesn't matter just as long as I got through.
I'd say approximately 60 percent of all the passengers I take are disabled in one way or another. Today I drove Mrs. G. I was aware that Mrs. G (so named because she used to be a Geography teacher) was afflicted with Multiple Sclerosis, and I had driven her around several times before without much problem. In fact, it's safe to say that I like her very much, I just wish she would use her wheelchair rather than trying to get around with her walker.
As soon as she exited the door of her house I knew that the trip was going to be ill-advised. She just seemed so much weaker and unstable than she had before, but I didn't want to suggest that maybe she stay in today. I should have been a little less polite.
The van I use for a cab has undergone extensive modification and is only about five inches off the ground. Unfortunately five inches was about three inches too high because she was unable to lift her leg high enough to make the step into the cab, and while she didn't quite fall, she did end up on her hands and knees and unable to do anything about it. It happened so quickly that I wasn't able to catch her, but she didn't fall violently enough to hurt herself either.
So now what? What is an appropriate recourse for a cab driver with no medical training other than a crappy CPR class from the military ( incidentally, I was told that I knew just enough to actually hurt someone in that class.)
I did the thing that made the most sense at the time, I picked her up and sat her in the back seat and asked if she really wanted to go out today.
"Yes!! I have to get to Church. They're having communion today."
I loaded up her walker and said OK.
On the way she asked if I had made it to church this morning. I told her that I spend my Sundays making sure other people get to church.
She didn't like that answer.
When I finally got her to the church, she had almost slid off the backseat and it finally dawned on me how bad-off she was. She could hardly move, but was still pushing herself up to make the fifty foot walk to the church doors.
I helped her down the ramp, than at the bottom she gripped her walker and looked up.
"What time is it?"
I told her the time and she asked me, "what time do services start?"
I told her that I had no idea, but that it was kind of late in the day for a church service to begin. I asked her when the service she wanted to go to was supposed to start and she looked up me with these hollow eyes and said, "I don't know."
I was starting to realize that this had all been a mistake when church let out. We were about half way up the walkway when people started to come at us from the doors we were tying to get to, like all of the sudden we were swimming against a current.
At that point her legs had apparently had enough and she mumbled something about sitting down as she gently settled on the cold pavement. I helped her to sit up and caught a glance from one of the parishioners as she walked by. Her face contorted and she didn't stop. In fact no one did right away. I just looked at everyone and they just passed me and Mrs. G by like nothing was wrong. Like the old lady with the walker wasn't actually sitting in the walkway in front of these people's church.
I couldn't believe it and ran inside to find a wheelchair; found an usher and asked for one. He said that they didn't have one. Which I later found to be incorrect. I found a chair with a basket of flowers sitting on it and knocked the flowers over grabbing the chair and received some attention as I ran out of the church with the chair, nearly knocking a fat guy in a Green Bay Packers jacket over.
When I got back out to Mrs. G there was a young man and a young woman seeing if she needed help and about six people standing over the three of them. Since the didn't respond when I said excuse me, the people were moved and the two young people helped me get Mrs. G onto the chair. Before I could say anything to anybody the priest was standing over us...with communion.
He gave it to her quickly and told me that his people would take care of her and make sure she got home OK. Just at that point Mrs. G made a joke about me being Lutheran and Is aw that she was taken care of and realized that I'd had enough...I left.
I still can't believe those people just walked by. Right as they're leaving church, no less. I could have been in the same situation outside of the local bar and had a whole lot more help.
There's no end to this story today because I'm still angry about the whole thing, but I guess it doesn't matter just as long as I got through.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Cold Enough For Me.
So the high today is -8 degrees. Fine whatever, the weather has never really bothered me, but I can't tell you how aggravating it is to hear:
"Cold enough for ya?"
thirty times in a row. No joke...30 DAMN TIMES.
The only thing that could possibly be worse was the phrase that invariably followed:
"I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"
Only to be summed up with:
"So who you like in the Super Bowl?"
Funny thing about cold weather and me is that it makes me completely uninterested in what anybody thinks of me, so instead of the usual fibbing and placating that is involved with my small talk, I just told the truth:
Q: "Cold enough for ya?"
A: It's not the cold that bothers me as much as hearing about it.
Q: "I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"
A: Actually no...it's not.
Q: "So who you like in the Super Bowl?"
A: I haven't seen a super bowl in eight years and was either deployed or underway for the last four. Can't say I'm all that interested.
I don't know why I didn't feel like engaging in the banal nonsense today, but it sure felt good to not act like hearing the same thing over and over was good conversation.
Yeah, so I didn't brighten any ones day, so sue me...it's cold out there, in fact, as it turns out, it IS cold enough for me.
"Cold enough for ya?"
thirty times in a row. No joke...30 DAMN TIMES.
The only thing that could possibly be worse was the phrase that invariably followed:
"I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"
Only to be summed up with:
"So who you like in the Super Bowl?"
Funny thing about cold weather and me is that it makes me completely uninterested in what anybody thinks of me, so instead of the usual fibbing and placating that is involved with my small talk, I just told the truth:
Q: "Cold enough for ya?"
A: It's not the cold that bothers me as much as hearing about it.
Q: "I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"
A: Actually no...it's not.
Q: "So who you like in the Super Bowl?"
A: I haven't seen a super bowl in eight years and was either deployed or underway for the last four. Can't say I'm all that interested.
I don't know why I didn't feel like engaging in the banal nonsense today, but it sure felt good to not act like hearing the same thing over and over was good conversation.
Yeah, so I didn't brighten any ones day, so sue me...it's cold out there, in fact, as it turns out, it IS cold enough for me.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Sunday Quote Service.
"I'm a college graduate. I told them that I don't work for less than fourty dollars and hour."
-The Crazy Fox (So named because 1. The guy is the worst kind of crazy, and 2. fox is the name of the trailer court I pick him up at.)
"There's a hundered and two year old woman in there who's frisky as hell."
-Cassanova-90 (So named because...well...he's ninety. It should be noted that I picked him up going home from the (wait for it) HOSPITAL.)
-The Crazy Fox (So named because 1. The guy is the worst kind of crazy, and 2. fox is the name of the trailer court I pick him up at.)
"There's a hundered and two year old woman in there who's frisky as hell."
-Cassanova-90 (So named because...well...he's ninety. It should be noted that I picked him up going home from the (wait for it) HOSPITAL.)
Monday, January 22, 2007
Today's programming brought to you by the letter 'R'
I have found myself astounded by the versatility of language recently. Particularly in speeling and regional accents.
I'll give you an example:
It amazes me how, despite excepted spelling, certain letters can be dropped or added to spoken words. Speak these two words aloud:
1. Library.
2. Wash.
OK...very good. Now that's the correct spelling. (I spell checked, just to be sure.)
When you spoke, if either of the words sounded like this:
1. Libary.
2. Warsh.
YOU ARE WRONG.
Please fix yourself.
I'll give you an example:
It amazes me how, despite excepted spelling, certain letters can be dropped or added to spoken words. Speak these two words aloud:
1. Library.
2. Wash.
OK...very good. Now that's the correct spelling. (I spell checked, just to be sure.)
When you spoke, if either of the words sounded like this:
1. Libary.
2. Warsh.
YOU ARE WRONG.
Please fix yourself.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
MAKEUP is to FACE as...
Maybe it's because I'm hypersensetive to bumperstickers since my little scavenger hunt on Sunday, but I seem to see them a whole lot more than I did before.
Like today I saw one that read:
MARY KAY: ENRICHING WOMEN'S LIVES
Maybe it's just me, but the only thought that went through my head for almost a half hour was,
"Enriching women's lives like farmers enrich fields with fertilizer."
...and now, thinking about it, just like too much fertilizer on a field makes it toxic rather than enriched...well, you figure the rest out for yourself.
Like today I saw one that read:
MARY KAY: ENRICHING WOMEN'S LIVES
Maybe it's just me, but the only thought that went through my head for almost a half hour was,
"Enriching women's lives like farmers enrich fields with fertilizer."
...and now, thinking about it, just like too much fertilizer on a field makes it toxic rather than enriched...well, you figure the rest out for yourself.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Lipservice Wisconsin ( A photo essay.)
I came out of work one day to see that one of my coworkers had on his dashboard two figurines. One was of Stuey, the malevolent little turd from the TV show, "The Family Guy," and the other was of Uncle Sam. Both were pointing in the same general direction and it made me wonder if the car owner quite got the nature of satire that Stuey was based upon. (Not that I know anything about satire, but come on...the two together? Not quite what I would think of when I would think of someone with a little bit of perspective. Unless the car owner was being IRONIC...in which case...they should be shot.)
Regardless, it made me think of car decoration and bumper stickers and air fresheners and all the little ways we try to give personality to our vehicles.
So...on a boring Sunday morning shift, in between taking old ladies to church and lecherous young adults back to their OWN homes, I decided to go on a little scavenger hunt.
89 miles, 5 hours, 3 Mountain Dews, and countless pieces of gum later:
I love that...On a MAZDA. It's like saying, "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS! BUT SCREW OUR AUTOWORKERS!!!"
Jesus is coming back, and he's driving a HONDA.
You know...I hate to think that this has actually happened, but I would lay money down that this guy has gotten some tail out of this sticker
Funny...I saw the owner of this truck walk into a GAY bar. Naaaawww....just kidding.
It's like Jesus is 'winking' at you.
hmmmmmm...
I like that, actually. Don't know if this is the point that is supposed to be taken away, but I've never responded well to the whole "born again" ideal. Someone who has taken a completely abrupt, 180 degree turn in lifestyle telling me that I'm not leading my life right. Ex-crackheads don't make good authoritarians.
Weird that people always put those things right next to the gas tank...
OK...so forgive me.
I wish it were that easy...I'd LOVE for it to be that easy. We'll see. (...and I'd bet that it takes more than 100 hours to find out.)
I need one of my Catholic friends to tell me who the patron saint of lost causes is so that I can give this guy an idea for a personalized license plate.
Trying not to editorialize here, but I gotta say this: 1. The dog comment sounds a lot funnier in your head than it does to the rest of us. 2. The nose ring and spikey hair doesn't piss off anybody. It gives everbody a common cause in wishing you would shut the hell up...thanks for doing you part in bringing us all together.
I was planning to make all this into a really snarky remark about hypocrasy and the things that we do to try and make our lifestyle platforms have more merit, particullarly revolving around the War in Iraq; and ask what exactly patriotism is.
I would be doing that right now, except for the fact that the other night I saw a yellow ribbon sticker with the phrase, "Keep them safe." In the end we all want the same thing when it comes to the War, we just have differant ideas about the best way to get a good end result. So I'll save the snarky comments for another time.
However, I would like just like to point out that all these pictures were taken within five hours. In these pictures you will find 88 instinces of either an American flag or a yellow ribbon. That's roughly 34 dead combat veterans for every sticker that claims to support the soldiers as of January 16, 2007.
Regardless, it made me think of car decoration and bumper stickers and air fresheners and all the little ways we try to give personality to our vehicles.
So...on a boring Sunday morning shift, in between taking old ladies to church and lecherous young adults back to their OWN homes, I decided to go on a little scavenger hunt.
89 miles, 5 hours, 3 Mountain Dews, and countless pieces of gum later:
I love that...On a MAZDA. It's like saying, "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS! BUT SCREW OUR AUTOWORKERS!!!"
Jesus is coming back, and he's driving a HONDA.
You know...I hate to think that this has actually happened, but I would lay money down that this guy has gotten some tail out of this sticker
Funny...I saw the owner of this truck walk into a GAY bar. Naaaawww....just kidding.
It's like Jesus is 'winking' at you.
hmmmmmm...
Heh...sometimes you just gotta shake your head and close your eyes.
You know, looking at the last four pictures...sometimes you have to wonder whats more annoying, the person or the person's persona.
Not to be condescending...but making something rhyme doesn't necessarily make your point carry more weight.
Yes...the tire is flat. Input metaphor here.
I like that, actually. Don't know if this is the point that is supposed to be taken away, but I've never responded well to the whole "born again" ideal. Someone who has taken a completely abrupt, 180 degree turn in lifestyle telling me that I'm not leading my life right. Ex-crackheads don't make good authoritarians.
Weird that people always put those things right next to the gas tank...
OK...so forgive me.
If you can't tell what this is...let me fill you in. The ORIGINAL sitcker reads "W '04" and has a little american flag. It has been covered by another sticker saying, "I -heart- the OC." Either this is the best act of grafitti, or someones way of supporting ongoing education.
Equal rights? Yes. Equal sense? Prove it and stop trying anger me into running you over...
Why yes, I DID find this vehicle at a Soroity house. How did you know?
Equal rights? Yes. Equal sense? Prove it and stop trying anger me into running you over...
Why yes, I DID find this vehicle at a Soroity house. How did you know?
I wish it were that easy...I'd LOVE for it to be that easy. We'll see. (...and I'd bet that it takes more than 100 hours to find out.)
I need one of my Catholic friends to tell me who the patron saint of lost causes is so that I can give this guy an idea for a personalized license plate.
Trying not to editorialize here, but I gotta say this: 1. The dog comment sounds a lot funnier in your head than it does to the rest of us. 2. The nose ring and spikey hair doesn't piss off anybody. It gives everbody a common cause in wishing you would shut the hell up...thanks for doing you part in bringing us all together.
Strange that at one time bikers were considered counter-culture, and are now just grown up frat boys who glorify a kind of annual redneck Las Vegas in South Dakota...
...and apparently they are so badass that they drive Toyota Corollas.
I was planning to make all this into a really snarky remark about hypocrasy and the things that we do to try and make our lifestyle platforms have more merit, particullarly revolving around the War in Iraq; and ask what exactly patriotism is.
I would be doing that right now, except for the fact that the other night I saw a yellow ribbon sticker with the phrase, "Keep them safe." In the end we all want the same thing when it comes to the War, we just have differant ideas about the best way to get a good end result. So I'll save the snarky comments for another time.
However, I would like just like to point out that all these pictures were taken within five hours. In these pictures you will find 88 instinces of either an American flag or a yellow ribbon. That's roughly 34 dead combat veterans for every sticker that claims to support the soldiers as of January 16, 2007.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
