SouthFresh

I was required to be at work on Christmas Eve until 10:55pm. Not that I was all that dissapointed about missing my family for dinner and getting to know one another. if I had shown up for dinner with my family, nobody would have understood… we don’t celebrate Christmas.
“I’m home mom!”
“Great! What for?”
“Christamas Dinner?”
“You must have us confused with your other famliy.”
No matter what your faith is, or lack thereof, working Christmas Eve is dreary, slow, annoying, and you can’t wait to get home. As the clock turned to 10:55 I was running out the door and on my speedy way home. It is impossible to find good driving music, Christmas Eve, on the radio.
Radio Station 1: Christmas Music
Radio Station 2: Christmas Music
Radio Station 3: Christmas Music
All of my preset radio stations were playing Christmas music. Now, Christmas music isn’t bad just because it’s Christmas music, it’s just horrible for driving. Driving 80+ miles per hour is not helped by hearing “White Christmas”. It was time to start hitting the dreaded Scan button to see if there was a bastion of non-Christmas music, preferably somewhat fast. After scanning through almost the entire range of radio stations I was lead to a station just in time to hear the DJ say, “We’re about to begin another 18 hour set of commercial free Christmas music.”

At that point, I gave up.

Received spam with a title I’d not seen before:
“Urinate Less at Night”
…
Wha?

We’ve all heard the axiom, “Good fences make good neighbors.” I guess that if you haven’t heard that specific axiom, at least now you’ve read it. My old neighborhood must have been chock-full-o’ the best o’ neighbors – most of the fences were concrete and could stop a bullet. Not that they had to stop a bullet, at least I don’t think they had to ever stop a bullet. I guess being made of cinder-block is slightly different than concrete, but you get the idea. The good-fences/good-neighbors ratio concept sounds pretty horrible in a purely ideological sense. More of a “I love my neighbors because when they shoot at me I don’t know it, well not except for the constant aural barrage of gunshots. God bless America. Lets eat steak.” (this would be the point where our fictional character-of-example gets into his SUV with DVD, video game system, and BBQ attachment)

Now I’m on the other end of the ratio. I’m living in an apartment where the only thing separating me and my direct neighbors is a common patio which I don’t think has the stopping power of the previously mentioned cinder-block dividing line. Across the way used to live a lady that apparently ate light bulbs and did other weird things, and right near them is the old couple who’s male portion has a liking of nudie soap-operas that we’ve as of yet been unable to figure out what channel they’re showing on.

When living with my parents, not once did I get surprised by multiple police officers with weapons drawn running up the driveway (analogous to the parking lot where this actually happened) and hear one say, “Hey, I think I’ve been here before.” Now, if there had been cinder-block walls for residents to use for protection, the guns wouldn’t do much good. But with only our neighbor-patios… Still, I fail to see how guns could be much of a deterrent to someone who fancies eating light bulbs, but descend upon her they did.
“Put the light bulb down, or we’ll shoot!”
“Ha! This patio will protect me!” muncha muncha muncha “ow.”

someoneasian: Giant Robot has a bunch of Domo-Kun AIM icons.
me: What’s Giant Robot?
someoneasian: It is a zine that has a store in LA.
someoneasian: giantrobot.com
someoneasian: Mainly centered on Asian culture.
me: I wish that Asian culture would love me as much as I love it.
someoneasian: Hmm. Although only half, I’ll like you as much as you like Asian culture.
someoneasian: How’s that?
me: No deal
someoneasian: Why?
me: I want to be loved by an abstract concept.

Each instance during which a customer of mine takes the time to spell out “y’all”, I place another slash on my cubicle under the heading: “Nukes to use on ‘The South’”

someone: Is this a “worms” special crate i see falling on the soldiers in your battlefield doodle?
me: Nope.
me: It’s a Mario Bros. chance box
someone: Oh, i see.
me: Just in case a soldier wants Fire-Flower power.
someone: no, he should stick to the leaf.
someone: like me.
me: I like the Tanooki suit as well…
me: But I can’t remember what it does
someone: it makes you swim perfect
me: That’s the frog suit
me: It does that, or makes you French
me: One of the two

Poker Night is this friday. Effectively we’re replacing “sit around, drink, and play video games” with “Sit around, drink, and play games you can lose money at”. As I’ve never played poker for anything other than jelly beans or Eminems, “I’ll raise two Slim Shady’s”, I assume this will be somewhat similar to me handing friends money (my money) without all the mysterious playing-card transactions getting in the way.

There’s a bit of semi-outlaw mystique associated with playing poker (there’s also the balding, elderly man with a drinking problem and a penchant for smelly cigars mystique). With the semi-outlaw mystique in mind, I’ve been entertaining the same thing that everyone who’s ever seen the movie Rounders has entertained (that doesn’t involve any sexual encounters with Edward Norton or the other guy… John Turturro) – namely, becoming a professional poker player.

Upon doing some research on how to play poker without having buttons to say which cards I would like to “Hold”, I found that I know absolutely nothing about the game and found that many of the terms used in poker can be either associated to money or prostitution. I also found that to become a professional poker player I have to be either over-weight or fashion a handlebar mustache (both which may make prostitution a necessity). Oddly, both the mustache and the weight problem require much less attention than actually playing poker does.

Being overweight and having outdated facial hair is bad enough, but the resume may take some damage by having “Overweight Poker Player with Outdated Facial Hair” placed below “I chat with people on the internet and get paid, don’t you wish you had this job?”

I don’t have a scanner so I had to take a picture of it, and due to that, the drawing is a bit hefty for download. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a good scan of the Battlefield Doodle up so you can view it in all of its glory.

Was just in a 2 hour training class to go over an upgrade to a database I use at work. Ever-studious, I had a pen and a sheet of blank paper that I stole from the printer (with someone’s work on it… so it was blank on one side) with me. After the realization that very little of this two hour training was going to be of any use, I started taking notes. Right now they include a doodle of one die (with correct pips facing), and a battle scene with some stickmen. One stickman has a machine gun, another has a bazooka… there’s a tank that I think they may be fighting with, but their linguistics are very lacking so i can’t be sure who’s on who’s side (though there are lots of spare straight lines indicating stick-man limbs strewn about everywhere from the carnage-that-is-battle). There is also a space ship that apparently has the same propulsion system as the Jetson’s family car. Above this battlefield from hell is also a Good Year Blimp. The blimp (also known as “The Blimp” or “Veronica”) is dropping one large bomb on a place on the battlefield (also known as “The Battlefield” or “The Battlefield”) that is already on fire. “The Blimp” (you know) is wearing a beanie with a propeller on top, a big smiley face (to intimidate whatever is on the opposing force’s side) and a glowing nose to light the way through the fog-of-war (and to deliver presents to kids who don’t deserve presents, throughout the known universe, the unknown universe, and some parts that you might consider good aquaintances).