whiney

You know your blog is dying when Alan goes, "Hey, good to see a couple people commenting on your blog." Alan was politely hinting that maybe it was time to hang it up. I imagine those who love Trot Nixon are saying pretty much the same thing to him right about now. "Hey Trot. Good to see you hit the ball out of the infield yesterday - on the fly - solid." (Aside: Christopher Trotman Nixon - ha.) It's not an intentional rip; the effort is seen and appreciated and those who care try to find the good. It might not even be accurate, but at some point you're looking for ANY sign of life.

Which brings me to the blog. I started this thing as an exercise in casual writing, something I've done my whole life. I didn't pimp the blog out to people, very few knew of its existence, but over time (and the occasional friend I told) people found it. As time goes on, I am losing blog friends at a far greater rate than I'm gaining new ones. That's ok too.

What is the point of this post? That is a good question. I started writing it this morning and now it makes little sense and I forgot how I was going to tie it in to some cool stuff. At any rate, there are way too many words to simply throw away. Bottom line: You are stingy typers. Despite that, the blog goes on - much like the desert tumbleweed.

he got to get got

Work people are talking about bands they love and song lyrics: KISS, "my wife threw me out and I'm with the dog," Kenny Chesney, something about burning, but that might be a UTI discussion, the Eagles. Apparently "they" are trying to make someone the "new" Jimmy Buffett - I think a pile of vomit I spotted on the way in? One guy is really defending Jimmy Buffett . . . a little too much, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, it's way too early to be listening to this. And they're in front of the breakfast club spread. Oh the horrors I must endure.

johnny wontshutthefuckup

We had a staff meeting earlier.

News of Note:

• Burgandy shoes/white tube socks.


• Dude that kept talking and talking non-stop, single-handedly taking a 30-minute meeting and making it an hour and a half. This is grounds for castration in my book. My book is called, "When It's OK to Castrate A Co-Worker."


• Warm pop. This is like kissing your cousin, but she's kind of hot.


• Awkward eating meeting. No one comes out smelling like roses after one of these or without food spat on them.


• Unfortunate lack of fifth notable piece of news.

But all was made right by it being a pizza party. Woot. Seconds are to be had, friends . . . seconds to be had by me forthwith.

shiver me timbers

A guy in the office has suddenly done his facial hair up Jack Sparrow style. (Full disclosure, the goatee isn't exactly long - or ratty - enough yet, but it's getting there. Initially, the moustache reminded me of Vincent Price - you can see why I'm so disturbed/confused).

I'm sure this was in-process for awhile, unbeknownst to me, but it didn't become apparent until he walked into the bathroom as I was out. I did my best to suppress my, "WTF did you do to your face?" face. I most likely failed.


Now before you ladies go a-swooning, let me say that he in no way resembles Jack Sparrow/Johnny Depp/Edward Scissorhands, nor the character Johnny Depp played in 21 Jump Street. He is much more like Ricky Smith from Better Off Dead. (If fact, he's a lot like that guy. Oh, new nickname, fun).

Anyway, I'm glad I don't talk to him ever because how could I not make a comment about such a ridiculous thing.

Note only to be read by John Cusack:In this interview with Savage Steve Holland, director of Better Off Dead, it is asserted that you hate Better Off Dead. You are insane. This is the best movie you have ever been in and probably your best performance. It is the perfect mixture of being pathetic without being whiny. Too often your characters are only whiny . . . and smug.

Johnson, Navin R., typical bastard.

I've taken to greeting my buddies this way. Not so much with the last name first, but with the name and then "typical bastard."

The only reason I mention this is that it's strange that I decided to do this now. Sure, I, just like every other red-blooded American, am a big fan of The Jerk. There was a time in my late teens when I watched it just about every day. But, I haven't seen it in a while. Hadn't even thought about it until one day I said, "Johnny John-John, typical bastard." And so it goes I suppose.

The mind is a funny thing. Don't you agree? What say ye, typical bastards?

even cleaning ladies get the blues

So in the office there was a note left near the coffee machine. It read, in effect, that our cleaning lady was sorry her cleaning hadn't been sufficient lately and asked for our patience as her husband has recently passed away.

This has got me thinking about the possible scenarios under which someone would write this note.

Someone complained. Ok, this is beyond my realm of comprehension. I don't notice these things. Sometimes, if I unknowingly drop some food on the floor and then grind it into the carpet, I'll notice if it hasn't been swept up the next day. But, I'm not about to complain. When would I? Probably when the roaches infested my computer and prevented me from accessing the internet.

The other possibility is that cleaning lady takes so much pride in her work that, feeling her work had suffered, she actually felt sorry for it. This is another thing that I can't comprehend.

Cleaning lady, I could never understand you, but it is ok. Be as messy as you want to be.

d'oh!

Great fun to be had over at the Simpsons' Movie site. It's all Flashy, which I find kind of irritating, but I was able to create an avatar of me - a Rogatar, if you will. Sweet.

hey - one of your eyes is bigger than the other!

theMonica . . . still discovering major facial deformities after all these years!

We actually decided my eyelid was droopy dog for some reason. Maybe poison ivy related. Yes, I have me some poison ivy - not severe, but sometimes itchy.

3rd of July

Parents must have a genetic predisposition to warning their children about things on a completely arbitrary, non-episodic specific basis.

Case in point, last night I was leaving my parents' house (fyi, avoid the "bean salad" - unless you want a smörgåsbord of pickled beans) and my mom told me to "be aware of my surroundings." I think they have the impression that I live in a rough neighborhood. I mean, sure, I dodge as many bullets as the next guy, but I feel relatively safe. Besides, I've been living in the same place for nearly 7 years. But last night, "be aware of my surroundings."

Sure enough, as soon as I got home, I tripped on the sidewalk.

Watch your backs people . . . watch your backs.