17 September 2008
so far, buddha is winning and the bee is a close second.
12 September 2008
11 September 2008
like the parking lot at work. just an example. there are like 4,000 people that work in this particular building of giant conglomerate "we are taking over the world six city blocks at a time" bank. and for those 4,000 employees there are three parking lots - two close to the building that hold about 12 vehicles each and one across the street that holds the remaining 3,976 vehicles. and in this parking lot, this vast see of shiny metal and glass and plastic, there are about 1,400 handicapped spots. now i'm not picking on handicapped people. AT ALL. and it's never really (seriously, anyway) crossed my mind to use my (fake) handicap tag at work. what bothers me is that these are handicapped spots across the street from the building. for real, they're about 26,000 feet from the front of the building and only 500 feet from the back of the parking lot - so how is that any help for anyone who may be physically disabled? explain that to me.
something else? we have badges at this job - badges that id us as cogs in the machine, building blocks forming the foundation of this giant corporation, human batteries in the matrix. these badges allow us entry into the building, right? we have to swipe at like three different doors before we can get to our desks, and then we're subjected to retinal scans, fingerprinting, blood tests and trivial pursuit "graduate school" edition trivia questions before we can logon to the system. and i'm not even going to tell you what that entails (not because i don't want to, but it's classified and they'll come over and kill me, leaving my dead body at my desk as an example to all the others that may be attempting contact with the outside world).
what? what happened? i think i blacked out...
right. badges. back on track. so then, at the end of the day or any other time you try to escape these walls, there are red "exit" buttons on the inside of the doors that you have to press before you can actually leave. hmmm... so everyday, right, EVERY FREAKING DAY, when it's time for me to leave, i'm all walking out in a stream of people. and if i happen to be first, it ends up like that visa check card commercial where one person throws off the entire machine due to stupidity. yeah, that's me. because i never remember to push the button. i want to sue just based on the fact that this is a fire hazard. or because if i were at the front of a very long line i could completely be killed in a riot/stampede of angry bank workers.
and wouldn't that be embarassing, killed in a sea of business casual khaki and polo shirts? that's not how i envisioned myself going out of this world, you know? and what if i were color blind and couldn't see that the button is red? then what? what if no one were around and i stood there pushing on the door until my body gave way from weakness and dehydration. because i KNOW none of these khaki-clad sonsabitches is going to help me out, the bastards.
solution? at the end of the day i make sure that i'm one of several employees in a line out the door, which brings up another problem - how long is too long to stand and wait and hold the door for someone?
so while camping i got a bit of sun, right? quite a bit, actually. i was beet-freaking-red for a while - forehead and all, it was hot. i was hot. literally, hot to the touch. just hot in general. my organs were baking, that's how hot.
anyway. so too much sun gives way to sunburn which eventually gives way to peeling skin. gross, isn't it? in fact, that was what, more than 10 days ago and i'm *still* peeling. which i don't really mind, it gives me something to do while watching tv. i leave little bits o' skin all over the place, sometimes i try to see just how big the chunks can get, right, and so i hold them up and i'm all, "BEE! look at this! that's the biggest one EVER!" and he gets a little grossed out with me. i got to thinking the other day, if giant conglomeration bank ever turns into the movie "gattaca" (which if you've not seen it, it's a weird movie with jude law in a wheelchair, which i tend to think is a huge waste of jude law, but whatever. i'd take that guy wrapped in aluminum foil soaked in rotten potato salad, he is that yummy.) i am fucked hardcore, man. not kidding. there are little pieces of my dna all over the place.
not that i've done anything wrong, but...
whatever. what was i talking about? oh yeah. so the reason that this one spot on my leg won't heal (other than the fact that i'm constantly picking at it) is because my jeans rub on it all day and it's actually physically impossible for it to grow back. at this rate, my knees will be skinless until i'm in my late 40s. so i propose, in addition to an ice cream day next friday, that we at giant conglomeration bank, have a pants off work day. similar to pants off dance off, but hopefully not as sweaty.
because sweat + work = not good. actually, the more i think about a pants-free day at the office, the more i think i might call in sick that day. work - pants = not good.
yeah, so i really should be working. more laters, taters.
10 September 2008
but today, long squawk silver met his demise. i'm not sure of the exact time of death but i can tell you it was quick and painless.
poor long squawk. he will be missed.
speaking of puddies, here are some recent mugs:
don't be fooled. they're both going through the terrible twos. i say "lay down" they just stand there and bark. they co-conspire in making awful messes, destroying furniture and eating us out of house and home and pretty much the neighbor's house too.
and for those of you that don't believe that the janel can camp (because it *is* hard to believe, i know), here is photogenic proof:
and speaking of mug shots, here's the bee rocking his (prisoner) polo shirt:
this is one that i do think is cute:
and this one's just for fun, because my legs look nineteen feet long here...
sort of the same premise, but not really. either way, i'm not feeling too talkative.