Creepy little girls exist in every culture.—
Holy shit, is it true I haven't posted since Friday the 9th? I'm surprised that some of you haven't sent a search party out to find my bloated corpse drifting down the LA river or something. At any rate the last couple days have been pretty rough medically... the fluid in my ear hasn't gone away despite a couple doctor's visits and now I've basically got one last resort to try tomorrow morning. If it works, I'm golden. If it doesn't... I can't get on a plane for fear of bursting my eardrum. Which would mean no Boston trip, no seeing my family, no Han Su's wedding. Right now I'm trying not to think about that.
So rather than a real post, here's a bunch of random shit I've been collecting for LJ transmission over the last few days.
I've just had an interesting chain of events happen to me. I find it rather amusing.
I had to dress in business casual today and tomorrow. Silly me, I packed pants, shoes and underthings, but no shirts. I mention this last night at dinner and initially intended to go buy a couple of shirts rather than drive all the way to Bradford from my parent's house (easily $15+) just for a shirt. My mother actually produces a polo shirt in my size she bought from Job Lot intending to give it to me anyway. Lucky me.
I go to work today, and go to a "Town Hall" meeting. (The very reason i needed to dress up) We sit through a presentation of Metlife stuff, and then get to ask questions. I ask a moderately useful question. Now, all day I've been regretting not having a t-shirt on under my polo shirt, like I ususally do and really wanted one for tomorrow. Low and behold, the pass out little prizes to people with the guts to ask a question. My prize? A Metlife T-shir commemorating 20 years of the Metlife Blimp. Score.
After work, I head to Stephanie's work to say hi. I end up buying some Pirate fruit drink (which are very tasty) and she pays me back for a donation a made to the Children's show a few weeks ago. It was our first joint "purchase". We each donated $50 to the URI radio station during a fund raiser, and this was her share. Actually having some money, I decided to go to the Job Lot near my house to buy another cheap polo shirt for tomorrow. I buy a black shirt (thrillsville) and scope out the place.
I hadn't actually been in a Job Lot for a long time. It was still the same old "fell off the truck" feeling I got in the other stores, but it was weird. The building used to be a Walmart. Which I find very amusing, given that Barry is probably going to be working at that location and given his past Walmart employment.
But now to the last bit, which is the funny part. Upon exiting the store, I see one of those claw machines. You know the ones that have all the stuffed things in them and you try to grab 'em? It cost $1.00 for to tries. In my wallet, I know I've got a 20, and ten, and a 1. Now these weren't your average cheap crap. Some of the stuff looked really nice, so I slide in a buck. The claw comes to life and I scan for something I want. There was a full sized Carebear, some other cute stuff, and a lot of other crap to choose from. Low an behold, in the corner of the bin, in the back is see a blue fuzzy lump. It's a Stitch! Huh. First attempt goes horribly awry, as the claw bumps into some other stuffed thing and grasps at nothing. Failure. Undaunted, I try again. It grabs and starts to life. At first I thought it had grasped at nothing again. However, it appeared that it's leg was caught in the prongs. A few seconds later, I' was staring at my $1.00 Stitch plush. Not bad.
So, 2 new shirts, a t-shirt to comfortably wear tomorrow, and I won at the claw game. Sweet. Even better, now I'm off to see Speed Racer with Stephanie. What a nice day.
In an IM conversation, even!
Tacit: "P
Tacit: s/"/:
visudo: 'DELETE FROM users--/g
visudo: I totally just XSS'd your substitute statement, cause you forgot the terminal slash.
Security is hard.
I still mean to post on the Coed astronomy minihunt, WSC leftovers, and now Shinteki Decathlon 4. Maybe tomorrow for the first of these so that one Carl Gottlieb can see me call him a hero, lest he think I will forget. But I thought I'd first update some more of my USPC training. Here are the last two tests I never competed in, with one being the first Google championship.
( Read more... )
I'm taking another risk here.
I thought I'd healed all the old wounds with time and striving on.
I'm applying for a job at Radio Shack again - and they're interested in hiring me.
And I'm scared shitless. Half afraid I'll come off as a worthless hobo who can't get any other work, so he asks for his old job back.
Half afraid that my teeth will do more damage to my appearance than all my technical knowledge.
Half afraid that Joe will be like my father and see me as I was eight years ago when he hired me in the first place.
But I have trust that because he was willing enough to at least interview me for a rehire, that he will see me as a different man. I worked with him as a sheltered, frenetic geek at first. Now only one of those words still applies.
I did get Part-Time Salesman of the Month, September 2000. Joe taught me how to work a sales floor and make the customer your friend. That went on to help me in my music career as well, and in life altogether.
But I still have to walk up to Joe Cortina and tell him that I am worth hiring again.
Joe Cortina can smell bullshit from a mile away, so every word I say must be true and honest.
And the true and honest words are, Working at RadioShack is a natural fit for me, and it made me a better person.
You can change two letters in the word APPARATUS to make a different common word. The two letters are not consecutive. Can you figure out the other word?
(I stole this one from Ken Jennings.)
Everything has been going so well, and I was wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.
Looks like it finally did.
I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business, when suddenly I get this horrible pain on the right side of my head. Now, I generally brush my teeth at night before I go to bed, so while I realize it is not as much as I should I apparently have an exposed nerve out of freaking nowhere.
Hell, I haven't had problem's with my teeth in months so it just makes since that it pops up the night before I have a long double, when I could really use the sleep.
Adding to this, I have health insurance but no dental. Obviously this is an issue, especially since it will probably need to be taking care of within a week or so before it drives me crazy or I overdose on pain medication. Plus, adding on top of the fact that I really really hate going to the dentist and I'm all sorts of happy.
But it is the pain that gets me the most. You would think if it was just a nerve around my tooth it would just affect the area. But no, it's the whole right side of my head, and particularly around my ear.
I'm really hoping this isn't something major like Bell's Palsy.
Ojouchan said it.
I should note that by saying "mild sunburn," she's comparing it to the full range of sunburn, the kind of dangerous sunburns you'd see at a hospital. By the standards of us mere beachgoers, this is a bad sunburn, a don't-pat-me-on-the-shoulder-for-another-w
So I just got back from lunch at Schlotzsky's. If you're not familiar with it, it's a deli chain--they make sandwiches and pizzas on sourdough crust, that kind of thing. Very tasty. I don't eat there nearly often enough.
Anyway, the Schlotzsky's near my office has a huge mural on the wall over the cash registers, which pretty much dominates the internal decor. It's quite a piece of work, though I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
The style of the piece might best be described as "Stalin-era Soviet Russia mets American Dustbowl." I apologize for the quality of these snaps; I took 'em on my camera phone. The more I look at this mural, the weirder it gets.
It has that kind of flat color scheme and weird perspective of the old Cold War-era Soviet propaganda, but with a few odd little twists that just kind of make my head go all asplodey-like. Take the woman selling vegetables, for example:
Doesn't look too happy, does she?
"Things just haven't been the same since my husband died of gout. That was in...let's see, must have been the summer of '02 or '03. I've been chipping out a life for myself since then by selling vegetables I raise out back behind the shed, and turning tricks in town for fifty cents. Most times, the only thing that gets me through the day is quiet thoughts of suicide. My husband left a .12-gauge in the shed; it's a little rusty, but it might still do the job. But then, who would feed the kids? Screaming little brats they are, and they eat me out of house and home. I could give them to my sister, before I do the deed, but you know, she just hasn't been the same since Bobby went to jail. What? Oh, yes, three cents."
Now the baker, on the other hand:
"I bake bread! Good bread, for strong people! My bread feeds workers in glorious Worker's Paradise! Much bread, for day of Soviet triumph!"
Except that, y'know, his eyes are closed. He still sees images of his father, up against the wall, cut down in a hail of gunfire after the Revolution. But it had to be done; all the bourgeoise stock brokers getting fat off the backs of the proletariat needed to be swept aside to give way for glorious worker's paradise. He still remembers the family mansion in the country, and when he returns home every evening to his cubicle in worker's dormitory #137, he stares at the blank wall and sobs...
So. Two Problems. The first: I'm not creative enough. (I mean, I guess, I'm not too terrible with the math stuff, but I want to be writing more stories and songs and IF.) The second: I need more friends.
Proposed solution: Find creative friends who will stimulate me into being more creative.
New problem: I don't know how to do that. I mean, there are writers' groups out there, but they kinda require you to already be writing. (Quite reasonably.) And internet based socialization doesn't work for me. I need real in person contact to feel that friendship is real. And I suck at making and keeping friends generally, but the first step is figuring out where or how to look.
It's funny how I can be so "in between" that it feels like my life just hit intermission. Graduation is coming up on Sunday the 18th. I stopped working at the RI Democratic Party and handed in my keys. I just moved out of the dorm and handed over my key for the last time ever. Tomorrow, only an hour away from being today, is the last day I ever work at the Ram's Den. After work, I hand in my manager card and register box key.
I had been working at the Democratic Party for 4 months. I've been in college for six years, and working for the Ram's Den for a solid five years. Every diminishment of my keyring and every goodbye that gets said brings me a little closer to the day I graduate. It feels like everything I do has some sort of symbolism.
It's sort of depressing, and at the same time it's not. It's depressing in a sense, but also exciting and new. Things are about to be very different than they used to be, I can be proud that I pushed myself to make that happen.
Yes, I've lost a few keys from my keyring that I'll never see again. On the other hand, I know that I'll be adding to that same keyring in the months to come. A few days ago, I added the key to my self storage unit. In the next few months, I'll be able to add the key to the house that Cliff buys and rents rooms from to myself and Bob. And if all goes well, in the next month I'll be adding whatever keys I receive from my new job.
Speaking of which, I have a job offer, right out of college. Ocean State Job Lot offered me a job as an Assistant Manager in Training, which I accepted on my end, and just have now to wait for the obligatory background check and such. I'm happy, though, since it means not only financial security, but also a sort of vote of confidence for my abilities and my future.
Still, it feels odd to have an intermission between parts of my life. I'm about to have 2 1/2 weeks of nearly nothing going on, before life ramps back up to full. I suppose I'll just have to catch up on anime and gaming. Odd.
Overall, I suppose I just find it strange to be completely content about how things are going. I would never have expected that. I guess it's sort of like my keyring- no matter how many keys get taken off, new ones get put back on to reflect my future and the continuation of life. Life goes on.
The Chronicle of Higher Education has a brief story today, but it was the story that had the most interesting photoshoot done for the article by a free-lance Bay Area photographer, Alison Yin.
( Read more... )
Oh my fucking god EPIC WIN AWAITS ON JUNE 14, 2008
I am SO there.
"But what if he compares me to somebody else?"
That's a question I hear, often, in conversations about polyamory. Oh, I get the usual questions--how do you decide who's sleeping with whom, don't you get jealous, how do you find poly folk, that sort of thing. But surprisingly often, someone will ask "What if he compares me to somebody else? What if he has two lovers, and he compares me to her?"
Now, honestly, I think that's a good thing. I want my lovers to compare me to their other lovers, for reasons I'll get to in a minute. But first, let's unpack the question a bit.
In Puerto Rico. Large room. Bad sunburn. Stealing wi-fi. More later.
First, identify each picture below. You can then drop one letter from each picture name, run the remaining letters together, and get the name of a famous celebrity. Who is it?
Click the image to enlarge.
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