<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d11890451\x26blogName\x3dTales+Told+By+An+Idiot\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://talestoldbyanidiot.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://talestoldbyanidiot.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d864932073633380842', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Thursday, May 12, 2005

I Really Need Proper Supervision

In my zeal to touch up the formatting of my blog via Front Page, I inadvertently torched the proper hyperlink coding for commenting.

I have since repaired it.

Comment away. I repeat, THE COMMENTS SECTION IS NOW FULLY FUNCTIONAL.

.....it'll actually work now.

.....well, at least until I want to change the slightest something again, and end up causing more damage.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Is This Rod Serling's Floor?

So I get in the elevator to go downstairs for the 5:00 o'clock "almost time to go home/I need a break before I take a hostage" snack.

I hear sort of a muffled grumble before the doors open. Kind of like a bad walkie talkie connection.

The doors open and I dismiss what I thought I heard. I get in and the doors close.

"Hello! ize mahattam grundadad dare or spueaking?", says the elevator.

I step out of the puddle of urine I have just created and immediately downshift from terrified that I may have just dialed into God via an elevator, to normal everyday being courteous to someone who has called a wrong number.

"Um, you've called an elevator", I say as though that kind of thing happens all the time.

"Ohd, den dist noomber not real to de real number", squawks back the elevator speakerphone thingie that I didn't even knew existed.

"Uh, yeah sorry, I think you have the wrong number", I kinda repeat.

"Alright, thank you for your help", chirps back the elevator in suddenly perfect non-accented English.

"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue", I think to myself as I make my way to the chocolate dispensary.

.....and you thought you were scared of elevators before

Welcome To The Swank New Hotel Geriatric Asshat

So we got new neighbors on the lower floor of our office. We occupy the entire top floor above this particular floor and about 2/3 of the floor beneath.

So we have to share with whatever tenant wants whatever parcel of space that remains on this lower floor. This firm moved into a suite on the floor that took up the remaining part of this lower floor.

So, to recap, we occupy 2/3 of the floor, they occupy 1/3 of the floor. Everyone follow?

I don't know what business they conduct, but from the looks of the suits from the new suite, it has to have something to do with Geritol testing or "Murder She Wrote/Matlock" focus groups. The plebeian employees are all fairly young, but the muckity mucks are all fossils.

Anyway...

It takes them a week or so to move in to their newly remodeled gaudy Roman porn palace, but when they finally get settled in the fun starts.

The first thing they did was to put up a shiny new brass sign in front of the doors to our suite that says "Restrooms" with an arrow pointing down the hall.

Now here's my problems with this; First, no one said you could stake your shiny idiot marker in front of an office you do not own or occupy. Second, it's not like this floor is some sort of Herculean death maze. There is one main hallway that connects both suites and the bathroom. If your idiot employees or clients are too daft to know that our suite is not the bathroom, there is a good chance that a sign pointing down the hall is not going to get them to the can either. Your best bet is to put up a series of signal flares or electric theater floor lights to get these wizards to the john. Couple that with the fact that these simpletons you are trying to direct to the loo are more likely to stop and drool over the shine-o-city of your sign than to continue on to relieve themselves. Lastly, how unbelievably lazy are you to not be able to muster enough the four simple words "It's Down The Hall".

The second thing they did was to stock the shared bathroom on this floor up with all the smarmy crap you find in those uppity hotels and restaurant bathrooms. You know, hand lotion, hair spray, mouthwash, silver spoons etc..

Now here's my problem with this; This is not the Plaza. This is not Spago. This is not 1935 Hollywood. What men still wear/use hair spray!? What poor suck from their firm is given the job of making sure all the toiletry bric-a-brac is stocked up!? "Yes Tony, welcome aboard, you'll be in charge of opening the mail, making copies, sending out faxes and making sure there is an ample supply of breath mints and moist wipeys in the men's crapper".

Now, because these monkeys also occupy an entire floor higher in the building, I have myself a little Nancy Drew moment and go up there and see if they have the same arrangement of stupid there. Turns out they don't. They have a flat screen TV in their lobby, but no toilet gift baskets. Which means, the main floor spurned these tools and cast them down to the depths of our floor. Thanks a pantload for that.

And before I forget, don't even get me started on bathroom attendants. I cannot think of a more pointless and degrading job. "Thank God you were here Tito or I'd have had no clue how to turn the faucet on, let alone where to go for a towel to dry my hands." I don't even want to talk to my friends in a public bathroom let alone some random uniformed "there to help me with me post-potty needs" stranger.

If I ever get to work and there is a bathroom attendant here, you'll read about it in the papers.

The Genius Of Beck

......loves me the Beck.

I got a beard that would disappear If I'm dressed in leather

Love machines on the sympathy crutches

Driving my pig while the bear's taking pictures

Community service and I'm still the mack

Talking trash to the garbage around you

Got a couple of couches sleep on the love seat

So i'm picking up the pieces, and i'm puttin' them up for sale

Matchsticks strike when I'm riding my bike to the depot

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Zoom Colored Glasses

I am going to be in the new car market this September. Ironically, it will be only 2 months before I get married (more on that as it develops).

One of the cars I am considering is the new Chrysler 300. I am sort of a car snob in a lot of ways. This is really only the first American car I've ever liked. I can't describe it, I just like the look of it. I have yet to test drive it, but I do like the way it looks.

I've been trying to sell Zoom on the various cars I am interested in with limited success. She has an opinion on the Chrysler 300 as all other car buying whims I run by her.

"I guess I'd like it more if it weren't for it's wide toothy grin".

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Zoom Colored Glasses

So we're driving to lunch the day after I got my new iPod shuffle.

FYI - If you're in the market for a flash MP3 player, I cannot recommend it enough. The sound quality is superb. It weighs nothing. It is a great solution for taking music with you to do anything active. Well worth the money.

So we're in the car and I am yammering on and on about how I can't get over how small the thing is and how it is so surreal to use it because it literally feels like music is coming from nothing. Having used Walkmans all my life or other disk drive based MP3 players, it is just weird to have something that plays such high quality music, has no moving or vibrating parts, weighs nothing, and doesn't need a case or a belt clip or a carrying case.

This is when Zoom dubs the Shuffle the "Musical Q-Tip" and goes on to say how frightened she is of the Q-Tip and that I should keep it away from her. She knows how much I loves the thing, and is nervous around it because she is convinced she'll swallow the thing. I thought the thing looked more like the little sugar dipping sticks form the old Lik-M-Aid Candy things, but likening the thing to an actual foodstuff does't help with the whole swallowing phobia thing.

"What's the next step for Apple, the Apple iPod Aspirin? Yeah that'll be great, you'll get one of those and then we'll be talking and then all of a sudden it'll be ooooops! I just swallowed 800 dollars of technology".

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Five Five Five

It's Cinco De Mayo kids. But not only is it Cinco De Mayo, it is the fifth day of the fifth month of the fifth year.

Or,

05.05.05

Kinda weird. You may be asking, why is it any different than other recent date alliterations like 01.01.01 or 02.02.02 etc.?

Here's how.

I am by no means a religious person. Though I attended church regularly (under my parent's regime) until I graduated from high school, went through 2 years of confirmation classes, went to Sunday School every Sunday, those days are behind me. I'll go to Christmas Eve service or Mother's Day service now and again for my mom's sake, but I soured on religion of any kind a long time ago. When the church I grew up in started handing out statements to all the members on how much they had put in the offering plate every week, I could feel the lightning bolt wrath of God was upon us. It gave me the money changers at the temple vibe. Remember how Jesus got his whoop ass on when that happened? How was this any different? Or as Bono (the aging pop star, not my duckie traveling companion) once so eloquently put it, "The God I believe in isn't short of cash mister!"

Which brings me to my point (sort of). I am not religious at all and those who push and peddle religion and wrap it around themselves like some sort of "justify anything/get out of jail free card" blanket make me ill quicker than any carnival ride that spins.

But, that is not to say that I do not believe in God or a God. I am not one of those monkeys with a "I'm Not Religious, I Just Love The Lord" bumper stickers. These are the self affirming and self congratulating morons I am talking about when I say how much I loathe organized religion of any flavor.

I believe in God because I have to. I have to believe that there is some greater power or control or judge over things. I have to believe that there is some great supernatural power that holds you accountable for your life after it's over. I simply could not go on if I didn't. If I thought for one minute that all the inconsiderate/pompous/blowhards of this world could act the ass for their entire life and treat everyone and everything in this world like their own personal toilet paper and get away with it, I'd go mad. I have to believe in a God because God is there to cash in all the Karma after these human pimples finally punch their ticket. Some power has to exist to bring them back as toilet brushes or to spend an eternity with fresh paper cuts and hemorrhoids.

I know this belief is fraught with questions and problems. What if the universe or all existence is simply not fair? What if God is nothing more than some sick Loki playing a lifetime of pranks on all of Earth's hairless monkeys? I don't have answers for all the angles and questions and problems with my beliefs. I just know that a certain number of truly good and amazing things and people have happened to me in my life that make me cheer and hope that the God is fair and good.

So I believe in God and that he uses his power for good.

Which brings me back to my point (sort of) again.

This year we get 05.05.05.

Next year we get 06.06.06., or 666. Because this year's 555 is only a year away from next year's 666, that is why I decided to bring up this year's cool date of 555. It's just because it is closer to a number that means something than the previous cool dates of 111 or 222 etc..

So here's my hot water time machine stream of consciousness diagram for today;

1. Heard on the radio that they were having a Cinco De Mayo party
2. That reminded me that it was 555
3. 555 means that next year is 666
4. 666 is the number of the beast
5. God doesn't like that number
6. But that's just what a religion says
7. I don't believe in religion
8. But I do believe in God
9. Begin tireless cycle of personal introspection and let those thoughts spill into a rambling post on the internet

Maybe I should start taking cold showers instead?

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Pink Dot Piddle Peddler

We got new life insurance at the job
We had to take a "test" before getting it
We made a phone call to the medical lab
We made an appointment for them to come to the house
We had them come on a week night
We had them come at 7:00
We made with the pee in a cup
We signed forms
We waved goodbye as the Pink Dot Piddle Peddler finally left

Here's my point.

I can't get the cable/gas/electric/water company to come to the house without promising them my right testicle and first born child.

Yet,

I can simply pick up the phone and call a place that will make an appointment for whenever I want, to come to me at my house to collect my urine. They COME TO ME TO GET MY PEE. This is the kind of Pink Dot service I did not know existed.

But it begs the question, why can't stuff I need or want by brought to me where I am whenever I want or need it? If some random woman can come to me and fill up two vials of my piss, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO GET A FATBURGER BACON EGG SANDWICH MESSENGERED TO MY DOORSTEP WHENEVER THE MOOD STRIKES ME!

I'm just saying. Someone needs to take this customer service epiphany and run with it.

On a side note, I will never EVER complain about my job again. Well, at least not as much as I do now. At the very least, I'm not going door to door to collect random strangers wee-wee.

Perhaps this is one of those karma whiplash/purgatory jobs we all fear. Right up there with jizz mopping at a sleazy porn theater or working at the DMV.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Zoom Colored Glasses

It is another typical night in the life of Zoom and Supa C.

We find our heroes at the hardware store, buying windshield wiper fluid so the damn car will stop warning light screaming at us every time we turn the key. They happen upon the juice in question and pick out two gallon size versions of the stuff.

Cash Register Guy: That'll be $3.42, do you want a bag for these
Zoom (who, unless it involves making me squirm, is mortally terrified of strangers) without skipping a beat: No, that's alright, he wants to be able to show off his Jugs
Cash Register Guy: Um......er......um.......oh

Spinning The Wheel O' Pictures

I gots' to keeps my internet peeps entertained. I may flail now and again. I may espouse this or that. But I'm a sucker for pretty color pictures too.

Every so often you just need to zip it with the talky-talk and make with the pictures YO!

My beloved internet, this batch of random pictures is for you.

This was taken in beautiful Yosemite valley. I'd seen a gagillion Ansel Adams El Capitan ripoffs and I wanted something different. I figured a spooky dead tree would make a good frame.




Skillit makes a certain grinny face when she's sass smiling. Here's me trying to imitate it. "Trying" being the key phrase here.



Even waterfalls should have sexual freedom. Don't you think? This one is certainly asserting it's independence.



It's normally too damn hot to go out to the land of really good U2 albums, but there are certain times you can get out there and make with the rock hop. It's really good times. It's a good way to launder your Karma or any other spiritual thing that's grown dingy over time.



Dead lone standing tree. Sentinel Dome. A rubber duck named Bono. Pure photographic magic.



This is as close as Bono and I got to Half Dome. Isn't it cool how rough and angular Half Dome is close up? Thanks to my stooooopid brand new Nike "hiking" boots, we were not able to make it to the top. The damn things would not grip the rock up the side of the dome. Mr. Nike President, DO YOU HEAR ME!?



Bono's bravado the day before we took the Half Dome trek. He was gushing to all his duckie chums about how he was going to destroy Half Dome. He was going to climb it as no duck had ever climbed it before. Yeah, not so much. You know what they say about the best laid plans of ducks and boys?