overheard

guy to cook: Hey man, sweet fucking shrimp!

if I only had a blog

Recently folks have been asking me to blog things. Or they tell me to blog something very specific to blog about. "Oh, you should blog about how that guy is annoying," that kind of thing. Well, this blog is not about what I want to blog about, it's about the people. Whoever you are.

RS2 emailed me to say "if she had a blog," she would post about how much Ohioans like to drink. Alas, she doesn't have a blog and they take like 18 seconds to create, so, ok, here you go. Ohioans like to drink. Suck on that Indiana!

I'm sure RS2 has noticed two immediate problems with this method of getting information "out there." 1. She sent me this link exactly one week ago. She probably thought (and my writing reinforces the theory) that I just log into blogger and start going nuts, posting things willy-nilly all over the internetial tubes. That's not how I roll. Each post must gestate in my mind . . . for at least a week. Especially posts about my love of drinking. The second problem is that I can't remember things and have forgotten the second immediate problem with having me post things for you. See how easily I could forget the vital information that the people need to know? Whenever you have me post something for you, this is something you need to keep in mind.

able to leap strunk and white in a single bound

I try not to be a super-grammar Johnny. I almost never correct flubbed phrases, whether written or spoken. Firstly, it's not my place to be policing everyone's sentence structure. That's a LOT of work and I am exceedingly lazy. Secondly, I butcher the language often enough. And once you police and then start butchering, all the people you so correctly corrected will come crawling out of the woodwork to rub your face in your use of "our" for "are" (or "are" for "our" - I do these all the time for some reason). Thricely, should I be so presumptuous so as to want to correct someone, the nature of the English language dissuades me. You see, there are 1.5 billion grammatical rules in English. I do take interest in the language and various rules out of general curiosity, but my knowledge is FARRRRR from comprehensive. But for argument's sake, let's say I know most of these grammatical rules. Knowing those rules is all well and good, but that's only half the battle. Do I know the 1.75 billion EXCEPTIONS to those rules - the other half of said battle? Not so much. So you see, as soon as one tries to sound authoritative on the subject, here comes an exception to smack them right across the face.

There is only one thing that I notice consistently and that's the "you/I, you/and" construction. I don't particularly notice, nor care, if someone says, "You and me should go to the store." Sure, it's supposed to be "You and I," but I understand and I'm not super-grammar Johnny, so I won't even blink nor vaporize the speaker with my x-ray vision. I understand that it is the nature of language that that which is used becomes the rule. If no one ever says "whom" for objective "who" then "whom" will cease to exist. Trying to prevent this is like complaining about the weather - soothing but fruitless. Maybe I correct your subjective "me" on the very day society decides that subjective me is acceptable. Who looks stupid then?

Regardless, one "English thing" that does grate me is when a wannabe SGJ uses the subjective case (you and I) when the compound phrase should be taking the objective case. For instance, WSGJ might say, "The car hit you and I." Technically, this should be "you and me," the phrase being acted on by the subject "car" via the "hit" verb. (The easy way to figure it is to remove the "you" and then think of the sentence. "The car hit me," not, "The car hit I.") When I hear this, WSGJ always seems to really put a huge emphasis on the "I" when speaking. "The car hit you and **I**." The implication is, "I'M A SGJ. I KNOW HOW TO SPEAK GOOD ENGLISH. NOTICE HOW I SAID I. I AWESOME!!!!!" It's usually only this type of ignorant ostentation that bothers me. Until today . . . .

Today the cafeteria was selling salmon patties. This is the usual Wednesday breakfast item. I ordered a "sam-men" patty. The woman behind me ordered a "saul-men" patty. It was like a kick in the head. I had heard it before in the same line, but my patience had been steady. Not today. Today, I really wanted to turn and correct her. I wanted to fly high as SGJ and save the language universe. But I did not. Instead I went back to my desk and enjoyed my delicious . . . fishy patty.

Woe is me.

giving passersby joy . . .

lady: Well, I'm just gonna put 50 dollars aside so he can take me out to dinner. Then I'm gonna beat his ass.

jimmy dean special

Couple of comic-type links to pass along to you, dear reader. I found both of them via Neatorama.

• youyesyou is a one-panel cartoon and their are also t-shirts and cards and other fun stuff.


• Fresh Spam is a weekly drawing inspired by spam email subjects.

i'm still at work

Notify Guinness. I shall be listed under marathon computer dorkery.

I'm assuming this is some sort of new world record, right? Almost 11 hours at work. Lunch at my desk - minus 1 hour for workout. NO? But it's really close, yes? If I can hang in for another 10, 15 minutes I've got it?

I blog because they're cleaning the bathroom. The bathroom is tiny - one stall, one urinal. I mean, how long could it take? What are the chances I would go down during the exact moment it was being cleaned? It'd say slim. There are other bathrooms of course, but one things stands in my way of traveling to them. Stairs. 'Nuff said.

To pass the time I'm about to go nuts on the community bag of popcorn. Yah, somebody brought in one of those theater sized bags of the kernel and I am about to have my way with it. (Yes, it's totally a sexy thing with me and popcorn.) I no longer question why people bring in the foodstuffs that they do. It's not for me to know. I accept that. Ok, back to work.

Man, I really have to pee.

overheard

lady1: She thought she was going to be cute and hipcheck me.
lady2: She like totally threw you.

you don't know JACK . . . . still? For Serious?

I was watching 24 last night. I watched the first season and then parts of the second season. Back then it was kind of understandable that the higher-up government types didn't get on-board with Jack's crazy conspiracy theories and seeming clairvoyance.

It's now season 6 and I have to wonder, when are these people going to realize that Jack Bauer KNOWS EVERYTHING? Dang. Besides that mystery, one of my other favorite parts of the show is when some CTU person has written Jack off for dead when suddenly Jack calls in on his cell. The CTU person will say, "Jack, I can't believe you're alive. How did you get out of that horrible and terribly dire predicament?" And then he says something like, "We don't have time to discuss [how awesome I am at not dying]."

At any rate, just a heads-up to all of Jack's bosses: If Jack says don't blow up that guy's house because he's not the guy you want to blow up - don't blow up that guy's house. I don't care if you're the president (who is the brother of the old president - I think) just do what Jack says. And if Jack says he hates the sun, you say, "Yah, fuck the sun. I fucking hate it too."

a running log of things I've spilled on my shirt (which I stupidly wore despite the fact I had to iron it)

7:45 a.m.: pineapple scraps. No stain.
8:23 a.m.: water on the collar.
9:49 a.m.: blue ink (why do I still bite my pens?)

The ink is a daily ritual for me. I will write something, then need to type-type and hold the pen in my mouth; I forget about it; whistle. You know - something happens that makes me open my mouth - down goes the pen, business end first and marks up my clothes. It's good times.

12 :00 - 1:00 p.m.: SOMEHOW managed not to get anything on my clothes. I was eating a "wet" burrito (pureed salsa and cheese on top - first time I had one like that) and usually this type of food is a "recipe" for hilarity. Pun very much intended - LOL! :) :^) Normally I am more messy of an eater than your average toddler, but I got through lunch, so I might turn out all right. Just to be sure, I'm eating dinner naked. Even if I go out.

5:37 p.m.: A little sweat. I hadn't completely cooled down from my workout upon putting my work clothes back on. My shirt's day is almost over and it's survived pretty much unscathed. Way to go shirt!

Delurk skulkers

Sarah tells me (well, not directly, but via the magic of blogs - oh, Sarah, RS2 is a lurker! Root her out!) that is it "De-lurking" week or "De-lurk" week or "Durk" week, whatever. The theory is that everyone who reads my blog (currently 16 of you all day, every day according to sitemeter) and doesn't comment regularly (or at all) is supposed to give a shout out and reveal yourself to the tens of people around here. Not only do you get the innate satisfaction of durking, but you also have the chance that'll I'll like you and I'll buy you a dummy.

Now, this is a week-long event and truth-be-told, I don't have that kind of stamina (or readership). Let's make this a durk day and be done with it ahead of time. That's like 7 times the productivity of every other blog out there.

So, fire up your keyboards and let me know what's what and who's who. And hey, free dummy.

It took me 3 hours to work that free dummy joke in there. I hope you appreciate it.

the mullet is dead; long live the mullet!

The office mullet is no more. Office Mulletee has flirted with disaster before. Pruning his mullet to a dangerous, near non-mullet state, feathering the top, disguising the mullet's length and width. Was he obscuring the mullety goodness? I don't know, but the mullet would have none of that insolence and soon returned to its full glory. Long the days I thought her say, but now . . . now, alas, she is gone. I called her Susan.

Surely this is much more difficult for me to swallow than the mulletee OR Susan herself. Mulletee wasn't JUST a co-worker; he was a "character." A character about which I could tell stories to my loved ones. A character whose every white see-through dress shirt provided a laundry list of hilarity. A character whose awkward jokes and beady eyes made great campfire tales. A character whose stories all began with, "So mullet guy . . . "

No sans Susan, Mulletee has been demoted to just a co-worker. No longer do his Lil' Debbie snackcake binges seem so charming. No longer do I count the cigarette breaks. And most horribly, no longer do I see the soft Lake Erie breezes blowing through his proud mane.

Farewell Susan . . . until we meet again.

can't think; will blog

I am tired, my peeps. I haven't been getting enough sleep is all. And I have a headache. The number one exacerbator for this conditions is staring at a computer screen, eyes strained, brain scrambled. You can look it up; it's science. I also have a bit of the coldsees - sniffling and whatnot. And it's giving me the cottonmouth really bad. Not sure what that's all about. I haven't been taking any decongestants, but all the fluid has been sucked from me bulbous head.

So are the days of our lives, I guess. Anyway, it's late and I'm getting out of here. Just need a little blog action to clear the non-medicine-medicine head.

babyfaces are good!

Just check it out!

news on the march

Somebody brought in cookies . . . like a suitcase full. It's this (at least) 2' x 1' tupperware container WITH a handle. That makes for some serious cookie carry-age.

Why am I telling you this? I've just been at work a lot lately, eating cookies.