"We desperately need help burying our dead"

-quote of the year, made by the police chief of some village off the Indian Ocean.

Dead on the inside, Sexy on the outside.

Even though i'm pretty sure there's no point, i feel like i have to mention how the quake/tsunami in the Indian Ocean caused about 30 times as many deaths as Sept 11th... with some predicting it to go as high as like 50 times (some 150,000 dead folks). Yet, i don't feel 30 times as much emotion. In fact, i feel the same numbness; second-hand, removed feeling of watching a very graphic made-for-TV-movie i felt three years ago that early afternoon in college. ( i slept in, had no early classes that day).

So what was different about Sept 11th? For me, i think it was having to experience the effect that Sept 11th had on the people around me, making it 100% more "real." Kind of like having "second-hand emotions." Yet, with this newest event, i have a more intense "why do you feel nothingness?" complex going on. In fact, i'm pretty sure i am indeed dead on the inside.

I'm sure we could start a whole thing about how people are desensitized in one way or another... whatever. the point is that my whole "not feeling ways about stuff" makes me sad.

But therefor, the whole thing is kinda, like, resolved. It's like the proverbial little kid who gets grounded for say punching the cat in the head; everyone knows he's not sorry for what he did, but he's sorry as shit he's grounded, and the fact that he's sorry is all that matters. So the Catholics should be happy with me now.

Does this mean GWB will be sending troop to the Indian Ocean region? (i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself. At least i know i can still feel hate. For the Bush family.)

so this is christmas

and what have we done?


copy right infringement for all

to next year: we'll teach those with wings a thing or two.

dog save festivus

the tradition of Festivus was saved today in Florida

amen

but that's not nearly as important as what we can learn from this article. Especially all you men out there... read those last two paragraphs and save your essence.

that is all.



click for more fun

soggy jeans

i received a phone call this morning at 7:30 from my roommate Rob, informing me that there was a snow emergency where we live and my work truck had to be removed from the street, or heavy ticketing would occur. Keep in mind, I have the day off today. looking out my window, i realized the "snow-death '04" (tonight at 11, only on channel 4, what are local residents doing to deal with white death '04?) had swept over us. Now our driveway is quite narrow and lives precariously close to our house and our neighbor's fence. The work truck, on the other hand, is quite house-like itself, as it is a full size chevy van with no windows and several large objects strapped to the roof. Anyone who drives a behemoth like this knows that you have to back into tight spots or escape will be impossible, especially if the drug enforcement squad is firing rubber bullets at your face and you need to make haste. Add to this size indifference the fact that there's enough snow on the ground to make navigating the rear-wheel drive beast equivalent to driving while heavily intoxicated, and then you've got yourself a good time. Well, to make an exceedingly long story that really has no point, somewhat shorter, i did eventually maneuver the van into the backyard, where it will sit for the rest of the week. (with the whole large van, small driveway thing going on, i kept thinking of different "that's what she said" scenarios in my mind. i couldn't help it. it was very sad.) I also realized that for the first time this season, i had to peel off a soggy, cold, nasty pair of jeans with snow stuck to them and at that moment i had a tidal wave of memories from Houghton wash over me.

A Festivus for the rest of us!

Rejoice young squirrels and put down those nuts, for the mighty winds of Festivus are blowing are way! Is your Aluminum pole ready? (Are elements supposed to be capitalized? probably not, but i think they should be because they are THE WHIP- especially Aluminum and Zinc)

we will begin with the airing of the grievances!

Now that the republicans have soundly won the election, they can drop political f-bombs all over their home boy Donald Rumsfeld with out endangering the grand old party. Yes, turns out even republicans think Rummy's a dick. i have a little song to help us get past these little hang-ups and keep us in the festivus mood:

Bombs are flying
People are dying
Children are crying
Politicians are lying too.

Cancer is killing
Texaco's spilling
The whole world's gone to hell
But how are you?

I'm super
Thanks for asking
All things considered
I couldn't be better I must say

I'm feeling super
No, nothing bugs me
Everything is super when you're
Don't you think I look cute in this hat

I'm so sorry
Mr. Cripple
But I just can't feel too bad for you right now.
Because I'm feeling
So insanely super
That even the fact that you can't walk
Can't bring me down


Now, the feats of strength:


Thank you Dilbert and please don't sue me :-D

I guess that's all for now. Please comment below. if no one comments, then everything i do here is just an electronic form of mental masturbation, which tho intriguing to an electrical engineer (see above) is still pretty lonely. If things keep going like this, i'm gonna need to invest in this bad bitch.

that you saucer-crab?

what do Eric Estrada, Knife fights and God all have in common?

this clip right here, mutha-fucker!

Q: Why did Ron Artest leave the game early?

A: He wanted to beat the crowd.

born free, haven't been back since

as i was piloting my work van through the barren wast land that is south-central michigan, i began to notice a LOT of signs for "the cracker barrel" restaurant. So i started to think... and i started to wonder... do you think black people look at signs for the cracker barrel the same way white people would look at a restaurant named "the nigger box?"

on a side note, i think i'm going to start referring to any gathering of snooty old/rich white people as "a cracker barrel." basically, the type of people this page was made to spoof.

then again, this whole episode could be brought on by my recent consumption of homemade booze-nog... man that stuff will MESS you up.

haven a nice day

blind man here

[ahem]

so the new nun recruits are sitting around the rectory (rectory... this is funny already) and they're all pretty darn good looking and it's hotter than the hinges of hell. so being young and fairy free spirited, as they were, they decide to strip down naked and cool off a bit.

as soon as they do, there comes a knock at the door, followed by the proclamation, "blind man. Blind man here"

so the nuns, realizing that the guy was blind and obviously needed some sort of attention ran to door and opened it wide.

the man responded "Hey, nice knockers. Where you want me to hang these blinds?"



alright, if that didn't get you, this sure as shit will:

twelve raw eggs?

me news:
I logged all my working hours at Detroit's Western High School yesterday, in the heart of Mexican Town! Let me recap what i gathered from the very informative bulletin board: Western High school was built 1893ish and spend the first forty-odd years of existence in a mediocre state of "meh." In 1930-something a angry and vengeful fire gutted the brick structure, leaving a very well-meaning, but wholly useless shell. After it was rebuilt, the city decided to mandate the best of the best of the day's fire detection and prevention technology. Fast forward 60 years and several patch-job upgrades of an antiquated fire alarm system and you'll find me, ass-deep in shorted wires and broken conduit. My job, without objection, is to render the Western High School Fire Alarm in working order. This is the approximate equivalent of an aircraft mechanich standing over the smoldering wreckage of jet liner, trying to figure out how he's going to fix that darned landing gear. Oh, and the crash site is in the middle of downtown Detroit and people keep trying to steal his tools. Possibly to use as weapons against said mechanic.

release.

In other news:
This guy is crazy in a "fun to stand back and watch the madness" kinda way. it's just good, readin, dammit. I got the address when he linked to my blog somehow. (still haven't figured that one out) In case you didn't know, through the magic of magic, i track all addresses that access this site. That means i see you rockwellcollins.com and you too ameritech.net.

Even better is this shit right here. I challenge you to try to stop reading once you start.

And finally,
I will soon start construction of homemade egg nog (errr... booze nog, as the recipe says). It's a fine little concoction, given to me by rob, stolen from Lee, decoded from the writings of Kant, brought down the mountain by Pikachu. Amen.

write if you want a copy.

MOVIE TIME!!!

check out these bad-ass web flicks:

This is probably my favorite. Some dude mixed a smooth techno beat over top of a controlled plane crash. Those crazy Nasa folks.

Ever seen a real transformer that dances? Well you have now. (Again, love that soundtrack... "tack, tack, tack, ti, bow-ba-bow, bow!!") Im gonna get me one of them there.

Finally, Here's a little movie trailer for you Watching it should be safe, but i'm fairly certain that the movie itself will induce insanity in the weaker minded. (Johnny depp, you are officially creepy, and i respect you for it)

that's an organ, not a muscle

personal news:

I've been working the afternoon shift this week, affording me the time to do some X-mas shopping, get my eyes checked order some new glasses and run various other errands. (there are no comical, sarcastic or ironical statements in that last sentence, so stop looking). I still hate my job, but realized it's been so long since i thunked engineering thoughts, i doubt i could even do it any more. On a side note, I've essentially mastered the skill of being a fire alarm technician in a little under a year and could be state certified by January. This is something that folks spend years trying to (and often failing to) achieve, often apprenticing several years before starting in at the testing process. I'm like "test taking skillz, Be-yatch. learn 'em" So in essence, in the past 11 months, I kinda like learned a career skill because i had nothing better to do, and am now ready to walk away from it. I'm like "The Pretender"- but much sadder. It's all a very ego boosting and yet simultaneously depressing experience.

other news:

"Cowboys from Hell, "Cemetery Gate" and "Hell Bound" are just some of the song titles that become Ironic after some loony caps your ass in front of a live audience. Recognize.

Also, apparently Kid Rock likes to crash frat parties at U of M these days. Check out http://whatevs.org/ for all the playa-hater news.

Finally, thanks to my housemate Rob, I would like you all to enjoy this little movie from our pasts. Atari for life, HOLLA!

note: News items were not sniffed out by your loving author, but were instead fingered from other blogs that he visits. He assures us this pleases the blog gods very much, even more so than a bi-daily update cycle or a fatty tattoo of a big titty naked chick riding a snake.

I don't have morals but i have standards

The morning after

we went to the bar last night. I don't remember many of the details, but here's what i do know: I'm hung over, I'm missing 50 bucks and I have two temporary tattoos on my arms. i remember smoking at least 4 or 5 cigarettes, which is about 3 more than i've smoked in all my time leading up to this point. based on how my head/stomach feels, i must have been doing shots of spoiled milk and then smashing the glass with my skull. I'm not really sure what prompted such an assault on my body, but i think it was because chris and i couldn't find any friends to drink with so we got stupid out of spite.

the phrase of the night, uttered by the drunk stranger next to me: "I don't have morals but i have standards"

it's been about 6 months since i was that drunk and i hope it'll be much longer before i visit that world again. But on the plus side, i do now have a blinking miller light pin that i stole from a waitress who was hot from far away but cracked and haggard up close.

the thinks you can think

Posting has been pretty light lately. I blame myself.

Did anyone out there know that lead singer of Korn has a tattoo on his arm of a priest performing an abortion on a nun? That's pretty hardcore.

Due to lack of material, I'm posting a little photo story i put together a few months back detailing when we played beer-can baseball last fourth of July. I think it's pretty neat. Maybe next time you can come play too.

Dates of interest:
Dec 18: Rob Visits
Dec 25: Observe the birth of Santa Clause
Dec 31: We sack the town of Madison

on with the show...

The Idea

This photo is removed because you sons of bitches keep linking to it.
The Pose and/or Holly wets herself in anticipation

The Ready

The Pitch

The Step

The Swing

The Shag

The producer would like to thank the lovely (and in some photos busty) Holly C, Matt "Billy Idol" R, and himself, Mr. "always willing to shag the foul tips" Z.

wtf?

Who ever wrote this should be given some kind of an award. Hell I'm gonna buy three right now.

what's the matter, turkey? chicken?

This is pretty funny, but it kinda reminds me of this, which is older and funnier.

that second link might be dead.... try http://plif.andkon.com/

“The educated man tries to repress the inferior one in himself, without realizing that by this he forces the latter to become revolutionary.”

more comfort for slaves

this hunter is kill crazy, and not in the state-sanctioned, licensed and socially accepted way.

new word of the week: Pacer (vb) indianous pacerous; to go crazy on, or to beat furioussly. ex: That crazy hunter in Wisconsin pacered their whole family.

Blogging Holly

Andrew and Holly say "Blog it up your ass."

...an excerpt if i may from the lovely Holly:

****Says Holly****
2 things you do every morning:
1)curse the world
2)take my birth control pill

3 things people find wierd about you:
1) My unusual obsession with 80's music
2) My love of video games
3) my personality

4 things you do daily:
1) search for jobs
2) your mother
3) curse the world
4) listen to 80's

5 things you love:
1)Curt...All together now...AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
2)nerdy stuff -- cartoons, star wars, 80's music, video games, etc.
3)Mr. Pizza breadsticks
4)dancing
5)Sex. Come on!! Did you really think I wouldn't put that down?

6 things you could probally do without but won't:
1) Instant Messenger
2) Mr. Pizza breadsticks
3) this damn job search...
4) ballet
5) Pop
6) Sex. Come on!! Did you really think I wouldn't put that down?

7things that annoy the #%$! out of you:
1) People who spell my name with an -ie instead of a -y
2) President Bush
3) searching for a job
4) moving back in with my mom
5) people who are shocked, then appalled, when they find out I'm in a sorority
6) Slow drivers
7) filling out online surveys
****Said Holly****

it's true... i love her. But probably for all the wrong reasons.

"I didn't see the kill floor, but i saw plenty of lamb parts"

My housemate is in my room telling me about his day at work as a union rep for the slaughter houses of Detroit and the surrounding area

I guess never realized that places in Detroit still slaughter animals right on site. Apparently when a truck load of fuzzy little lambs rolls up, they use a goat to lore the lambs to their death. This is obviously a perfectly sensible thing to do, for if I were approaching a foreign and suspicious building, awash in blood and screaming lamb, should the entrance feature a goat I would think to my self, surely no one will kill me here. They have goats.

This brings me to an interesting point. If you can't explain what you do for a living in six words or less, you have a shit job. (Note: you may also have a shit job if you CAN explain it in six words or less. For example: Hi, I'm Neil Downaneater, licensed Corpse Fluffer)

Take my typical conversation:
them: What do you do?
me: I do service... I drive a van.. for this company, National Time and Signal.
them: ummm... Is that Glen Frey over there?

As far as kill floors go, well grandpa can tell you that the old way is the best way.

naked time!!!

I should take a moment to mention how a wonderful girlfriend is a good thing.

Everyone knows why it's great to have a "special buddy" in life, but it just occurred to me what i was really missing all these years; there is finally a person in my life that doesn't care if i wear clothes. Ever.

Think about it, the only real reason you wear clothes is to appease the people around you. Now i don't have to make the terrible choice: Naked and Lonely or Chaffed and Personable. Of course... Right now I'm both clothed AND alone.

*sigh*

After re-reading what i've just typed, it's also occurred to me that i am insane with exhaustion. I will sleep now.

www.fuckthesouth.com

www.fuckthesouth.com
www.fuckthesouth.com
www.fuckthesouth.com

oh yeah- also check out the cartoons on this site, especially those dealing with bush

www.fuckthesouth.com
www.fuckthesouth.com
www.fuckthesouth.com

-Stu

rock and roll ain't noise pollution

An impromptu survey: (Wholly independent of the "what the hell am I doing with my life," thing, i assure you)

The Data:
Consider four close friends from high school and then four more friends from college, all men, and then divide the stages of marriage into three parts, distributing the subjects into the appropriate categories:
1) Married, engaged, or having at some point been married.
2) Involved in a relationship that everyone around them can clearly see will lead to marriage.
3) Clearly not going to be married anytime soon/possibly gay

The results:
Three men in the first group
Two men in the second group
Three men in the third group

The Analysis
Honestly i don't really have anything to say about all this. It's just an interesting trend. If i was feeling really spry i would re-calculate the results for 2 years ago and 4 years ago and get some trend lines up in this bitch. Hell, i might even be able to predict new relationships. I've got some really nice graphs and charts that go along with all this text, but i'm too lazy to post 'em.

sunshine and eternal happiness

10Am this morning i was supposed to be at the Dirt Mall with my housemate Rob. I woke up at 12:56p. That was about the same moment i was washed over with that old familiar feeling; "What the hell am I doing with my life?"

But I'm missing he point here: The Dirt Mall!

The Dirt Mall (AKA Gibraltar Trade Center) is heaven on earth for the discriminating bargain shoppers, people watchers and child molesters. It's basically a big-ass warehouse full of venders and shops and foods, all competing for your coveted Dollar. It's a place where the Car Stereo Venders out number the tattooist 3 to 1, but when combined represent 27% of the total goods and services offered. It's a place that has T-shirt shops where the product ranges from "Jesus is my Homeboy" to "If you see that ni&&er Bitch, tell her that baby ain't mine." (I have one of each) It's a place that has monthly gun and knife shows and if you play your cards right, you can walk out of there with a 50 cal. machine gun and a 15 ft boa-constrictor. (Just the necessities, please) Yes, THIS my friends is where i was to kick off the Xmas shopping season. Just not today.

Unfortunately, some of the few things you cant find at the dirt mall include a sense of meaning, a goal to work towards or an albino slave.

oh yeah- check out www.sorryeverybody.com

cats up

This cat's got the funny.

Munky Stephens has my back on this one

grumpy

this was taken directly from my house-mate's site:

GOOD MORNING!

A little under fifteen minutes ago I was abruptly awoken from a deep sleep by two of the most horrible sounds I have ever heard in my life.

The first was the sound of housemate/landlord's alarm clock going off. It is the traditional high pitched siren-esque shrill sound that serves its purpose; which is to wake your ass up and become so intolerable that you slam on the snooze button six or seven times, which said housemate usually does until all parties are forced to rise alongside him. While this normal does not please me in the slightest, my ears have grown callous to said shrill noise..but after only ascertaining 3 hours of sleep thus far, I was less than thrilled to hear of its unexpected arrival...as I have my alarm scheduled to wake me up around four hours post press time (ie: right now).

This was nothing in comparison to the second noise, which was the sound of my second housemate screaming at the first housemate (who was now in gleefully in our shower) to shut his fucking alarm clock off. Now normally this wouldn't have phased me either, had he not sounded like a Nazgul that decended from upon high, waiting to kill housemate #1 the moment he got finished with his shower. Shaken, I did what any responsible mediator would have done: I got up, mumbled several things semi incoherently in the hallway, and attempted to return to sleep..feeling confident that the negotiation spirit of Jimmy Carter had passed through me, and that I had done the responsible thing.


However, I haven't been able to get back to sleep since that event, and now I am telling this story to you. Housemate #1 is getting ready to leave for work, and Housemate #Nazgul is still in his room. I fear for the safety of Housemate #1's alarm clock, but not so much for his life anymore, as I have diffused the situation with as much utmost professionalism one can muster up after only accumulating three hours of quality, golden slumbers. I now look forward to returning to bed and rising a few hours from now; refreshed, sound and ready to take on the day with the zest of something that is..zesty.

News bullitens will be issued as further events warrant.

Posted by rob at 06:44 AM

oh yeah...

i forgot to tell one outstanding story from this weekend... the one about the band.

Picture this: Half time at the "Bash at the Big House" and 52,000 people are sitting on their bums waiting to be entertained. First at bat, the Grand Valley State Marching band does a stunningly mediocre performance with some very uninspired drill work. (Hey, third place at state finals, 1997, fool. Their shit was bad) Now the crowd has a craving for the funny and here comes the Tech pep band. Releasing their best sarcastic impersonation of a drunk marching band, they stumble onto the field and start playing the hits of Monty Python... And i'm talking about the real hits. Camelot, the lumber jack song, sit on my face, every sperm is sacred... you know , the family songs. just... try to picture the Michigan Tech Pep Band, on the U of M football field, in front of 55,000 fans playing "Every Sperm is Sacred," while forming a giant egg on the field. Folks, the Tuba players were the sperm and they were trying to penetrate it's outer shell. Then one tuba DID get in, and the egg was fertilized. in front of 60,000 people the Huskie band fertilized an egg in marching drill.

At least now the whole world knows that Tech students are a bunch of drunken, horny nerds.

They finished the set by creating a giant beer stein on the field and slowly lowering the level of beer in the mug as they played the drunken swagger song.

i was laughing and crying at the same time.

Visualize Whirreled peas

Today the Monday-monster raised it's weary head from the cold depths and smiled it's black-toothed grin.

Let's recap.

Thursday i met up with an old college housemate that was in town; yes folks I'm talking about the lovely and always environmental sarah. it's hard to argue against the theory that when two people get together after a long period of ill communication, an always popular topic of conversation is the goings on of common acquaintances that also haven't been heard from for a long while.

Example:
A: "did ya hear X is engaged?"
B: "Yeah, isn't she's marrying that Cannibal from Wisconsin with the snaggle tooth?"
A: "Yeah! Remember when we were drunk in Wisconsin?"
B: "Best freakin year of my life, man!"

Saturday another college chum, Kelly from Holly came into town and we all went down to Ann Arbor to watch Tech get played out by GVSU. Kelly's truck, obvious distraught by the results of the game decided at that point it was no longer going on as a functioning member of society, thus making it un-functional. Luckily a local witch-doctor/CVS manager was near by and did coax the reluctant beast back to life. Later we all watched Gary Tungstall, Houghton's very own acoustic 12-string master strum harmonies that would make a hardened republican cry tears of joy. Plus i ran into a plethora of people from college. Dirty Andy, Kill Crazy Curtis, Big Jason and that guy who's name i don't know were all there... Remember those guys you would only see at the bar, but pretended they were your best friend in the world when you did? It was pretty much those guys.

so basically, many sentences were started with the phrase "remember when"

Speaking of which, remember when...

college
Moments later we all died...

Be sure to tune in next week for our special report on... The Clavicle: Low-Pass Inverting Filter of the Skeletal System!

Express Yourself

The soul of Monty Python lives on with this little ditty by Eric Idle.

In other news, i'm still finding it difficult to see colors, thanks to tuesday-goodness. but the booze helps.

MTU/GVSU tomorrow, plus Gary, the UP's very own acoustic master is playing in A^2 (9:30 pm, Mitch's Place). rawk.

rain

All i can say is, if you don't see the problem here, you're probably a part of it.

Aside from that, I have nothing to say about what happened this week, so i'll barrow something from our old buddy George Carlin.

I feel betrayed by religion
I feel betrayed by society
I feel betrayed by the species

now you're living the high life

looks like the wheels are coming off this bitch.

time to get drunk and screw.

this is not America

top three victory songs:
T Rex, 20th Century Boy
DJ Chip Man and Ray Lo, Peanut Butter Jelly Time
MC Breed, Ain't no Future in Your Frontin'

Honorary Mention: George Straight, All my Ex's live in Texas

top three defeat songs:
Radiohead, Karma Police
The Moody Blues, A whiter Shade of Pale
Peter Gabriel, I Grieve

Honorary Mention: NIN, Help me i am in hell

A gentle hand upside yo face

i know you're all worried about this and you've been thinking a lot about this, that and the other. (Thanks Rob for doing all the Leg work.) It's understandable, believe me.

But I'm here to say, baby, it's gonna be alright. When i look into those scared eyes, i cant imagine wanting to live in a world were sweet, sexy things like yourself have to live in fear of biological annihilation. No darling, don't fight it. Just wrap yourself up in my big arms and let *my* missile defense system blanket your regions. I'm gonna put on some Al Green now and let you in a little secret- You know the new honky? Well i know a few people and i put some folks on the case, right. Dig it baby, we're gonna get it done, you see- work it from the inside; all grass-roots 'n shit. You just let Sexy C take care of all your worries. Now, how 'bout you shimmy yourself over here and help me out...

Hi. We're your neighbors.

rob

I have roommates. tho i seldom to never see them, i know they exist much the same way i know a pet monkey would make me the happiest kid on the block. Rob has a blog. I recommend it because everyday he goes through the drudgingly torturous task of noting the day's events and then commenting intelligently on them. The people he works with also have a blog. It reads about current events as well, but combines the wittiness of several contributors. Rob enjoys long walks to Little Ceasers, turning obscure sound clips into hot techno beats and digging up/burying things under the cover of darkenss.

chris

Stos, my landlord and second roommate, isn't just a tool of the democratic machine. He's the biggest tool. I first met Stos in the 3rd grade when we realized we were both trying to ram-rod a pro Paul Tsongas agenda down the throats of illiterate classmates. Later that year, we were able for a brief time to institute a regime change in a third world country, but lost playground privileges for a week because of it. You can check out his going ons here. At present he's logged 67 consecutive hours on garage-couch waiting for The Great Pumpkin.

i am jack's withered sense of accomplishment

--previously--

9:14am
Pump the gas

9:25am
Passerby's never seem to notice a white van parked in a lot. It's much the same way they never notice a guy carry a clip-board wearing a blue collared shirt. They pretty much let that guy go about his business because where ever it is he's going, it must be important. He Looks very official.

9:32am
Free Cell is my bitch. Gotta love the company laptop.

9:35am
You can't fake it with Free Cell. I mean, your mind has to be free and your chi has to be focused or else free cell will FUCK you up. And then you know what you got? A shitty statistics page. Think about it, if you want to maintain an 80% success rate, you have to pull off 4 wins per every 1 fuck-up. I think i need to put the free cell away before i hurt myself.

9:45am
i'm parked at a Mobile Station on Washtinaw St. in Ann Arbor. apparently there are no fire alarms or clock systems in the greater detroit area that need attention of any kind at this particular moment and as a result, I'm left with nothing more than passing traffic and my thoughts to pass the time. The only thing worse than a job that leaves you less than satisfied, is a job that leaves you unsatisfied with plenty of time to think about how you ended up where you are.

Aww Shit, Here comes Pac-Man...

DSC_0025
Originally uploaded by cszackie.

Here is the i mac in all it's slender Glory. This is the kind of computer you can grab on your way out the back window when Elron comes rollin in and he's looking for his mutha fuckin money and that bitch from Chi-Chi's still got ya ends.

Curiousity killed the cat but for a while there i was a suspect...

I have a map of the United States, it's actual size.

1 mile = 1 mile.

Thank you, Steven Wright

son of Jor-El, kneel before Zod!

Breaking News: I am your God now, imac.

i have finally mastered the multi-platform home network beast that is my house, thus allowing the imac to access the ludicrously large collection of obviously legal music files on my old PC. Unfotunately i can't take much credit. Indeed, the mac operating system is quite user-friendly, especially once you learn to embrace the shortcut keys.

TMI for the day: watching imac seamlessly pull music files from an antiquated win2k machine in the living room while SIMULTANEOUSLY retrieving photo archives from a wirelessly networked winxp laptop caused me so much joy i was tap dancing my way though the house like a school girl on crack. i am in engineer nirvana. i think my pants are getting smaller.

There's a new law in town

Finally, the imac is upon us and i am a mac user.

The good: The imac is like a fine woman, being both cute and sexy at the most appropriate times. (i may be attributing WAY too many human characteristics to the computer on my desk rigth now, but you have to see it to truly understand.) At night, the LED on the front pulses like a heart, slowly fading on and off.

The bad: I've spent all my free time the last 3 days setting up the old PC in the living room and trying to familliarize myself with the strange workings of the crazy mac world. I also single-handedly eliminated possibly millions of seemingly countinuously reproducing spyware programs when i re-installed windows on the old PC. I like to imagine that hundreds of monitors in some remote underground bunker, manned by a team of super monkeys, simultaneously went blank when hit that "format" command. But in all likelyhood, there was only two or three monkeys monitoring my goings on.

The ugly: I am a graduate of engineering. I went to college for electrical engineering. I *WILL* make OS-X and WIN2K commnuicate. Probably just not anytime soon.

Bombs Away

This is why i choose driving over flying.

Well, that and the whole "it feels like my brain is bleeding out of my ears" thing.

You can't spell caddy without P-I-M-P

Well shit. I was going to post a fine, nostalgic picture of the caddy in all her glory here, but since my computer is just once step of functionality above my washer, it's not going to happen. (When will the Apple Gods see fit to deliver me to my imac?)

Anyway, let me paint you a picture:
Shipping weight: 4156 lb
Length: 221 in (or about 19 ft)
Width: 76.5 in (or about 6.5 ft, i can lay down in back)
Bhp: 140 @ 3200 rpm (couldn't pass you on a bike)
Torque: 346 lb.-ft. @ 2000 rpm (can pull your house off it's foundation)
Compression ratio: 8.0:1 (comp this low typically seen on cars with, say a BLOWER!)
Fuel Tank : 25Gal

Everything about this beast said "look here world, i'm gonna throw a fist right in the face of convention and economy. Oh yeah, and i'm a BIG FUCKIN PIMP and your shit might get shot or run over if i see you lookin at my chrome crooked. And could you lend me some money because my ass is broke and i gotta fill this bitch up. P.S. Did ya check my neon, BITCH!"

Things that tried to stop the caddy:
-state cop
-hill behind Lee's Apt.
-(now famous) tree
-neighbor's car
-Wisconsin
-off road trails of various slopes
-a local cop
-lawn couch
-some ford's rear end on College Ave.

And even in the face of all these challenges, the caddy rode on. I see it from time to time, since the neighbor kid owns her now. I can always hear her coming down my street, calling out in her raspy, smoker's voice. I gotta say, she's looking sexy for her age.

Freedom. Terrible Freedom.

Today is Thursday, arguably the most bitter-sweet of all the days a typical week has to offer. On one hand we're so close to the weekend you can almost taste the tender juices of total freedom lurking just around the bend, and yet the reality is your lazy (and probably soon to be hung-over) ass still has to wake up at the crack of existence tomorrow and make it in to work.

I ordered my tickets for the Bash at the Big House today. Section 21 in case anyone cares. It should be a fun day because not only is Tech's football team mysteriously undefeated, but also because Gary the acoustic master will be playing TWO action packed shows. The very idea makes tingle with excitement.

Finally, ever wonder why shit things tend to fall upon good people, or have you come to simply know it as nature's law, like i have?

Reason #37 to vote against Bush: My Girlfriend can't find a decent frickin job.

hello there little fella

Here i am, blogging again. It's a strange feeling to have just dumped myself into the world of the blogs. I still feel like i'm in that awkward "getting to know you phase" of my relationship with my blog. You know, not really ready to expose myself fully, but kinda wanting to get all up in that? Honestly, how do i even know who's out there reading? Can i just hop up on stage and start philosophizing on life like a whiney teenager or a drunk toga-wearing Greek? Isn't this the equivalent of talking to yourself? And why are there so many questions in this paragraph?

Such is life. I see no evidence indicating that there's anything more out there than cops pretending to be little girls and porn dealers anyway. Oh, and political propaganda.

so much political propaganda.

Free Washer. No Refunds

Now i will begin the "there should be a law" portion of the blog.

Why would someone put a washer on their front lawn with an enticing sign that says "free" when they know damn well the thing doesn't work? And not only does it not work (i was well ready to put a little effort into making my new free washer road worthy) but the item this person is imparting on the world is the appliance equivalent of the Titanic AFTER it hit the ice burg. And you know how to determine that your new washer would be better suited at the bottom of the Detroit river? You put it in your van (by yourself, whistling "Eye of the Tiger" for motivation), drive it home, convince a friend to help you load it into your house, hook it up, scratch your head in confusion and finally disassemble and prod it's mechanical innards with a pointy stick. Again i ask, Why? Do my neighbors get a sick pleasure knowing that poor, washer-less people like my housemates and i would carry that damned machines on our backs if it meant we no longer had to leave the house to do laundry?

But i digress. That's the past and here's the future: What do i do with the washer? As i see it, there are three equally appealing choices

1) re-attach the "free" sign and toss the washer in front of my house, thus perpetuating the spin-cycle of hate and misery.

2) Fill the washer with gas-soaked rags, return it to the original lawn from which it was plucked and torch the bitch.

3) Hollow out the space-consuming insides of the washer and use the white cube as my own little isolation chamber.

Ultimately, i think justice would be best served by returning the washer to it's home with it's original sign proclaiming it's greatness to the world. But i'll be sure to put an amendment on that sign, in an attempt to save future passerbys from the woes i have suffered. It's the only Christian thing to do.

This is not a test

This photo was taken moments before the great cloud invasion of 1989.

Visa is your God now

I ordered an iMac yesterday. I'm so excited i could puke.

I've never owned an apple product before, but the simplicity and minimalist nature of the iMac is too much to pass over. Plus my PC, old faithful, has been rendered useless through a highly effective combination of spyware and old age. I seriously considered getting a Dell, dude, but then i visited an iMac at the mall and was seduced by that highly regarded apple operating system.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one coveting the new Mac, so i have to wait in line with the other kids. None the less in 3 to 4 weeks i'll officially be "one of those people" who use Apple computers. To an engineer, this could be more socially traumatic than coming out of the closet.

In the beginning there was rice in a bag. And it was good.

Picture this: My roommate and I are standing in the kitchen, watching a pot of water attempt to boil. One of us narrates aloud; "here we are in our mid-twenties, watching water boil." In a furry to avoid the dreary road of observation this comment could lead to, i choose the "hey, what's this in my hands" method of conversation alteration: "you know, i really like these Rold Gold Honey Wheat Pretzel Twists," which is true. They're damn good.

"Why don't you have a blog yet?" he asks.

"You really think people are interested in my favorite pretzels?"

"sure," he says, prying the melted rice-in-a-bag plastic from the side of the sauce pan.

hmmmmm....