floorpie

I think it’s weird that sour cream can go, errr, sour. For that matter, that sourdough bread can go stale, or that raisins can get a little too old. Or beer. Or wine aged beyond perfection.

OK, so it’s not weird per se, I realize what’s happening: the foodstuffs are decaying beyond palatability. It’s just odd to me is all. In most cases, you eat food when it’s fresh; if you don’t catch it in time, it goes bad…end of story.

With these other foods, however, we want them to decompose and decay (and let’s not kid ourselves, despite the kindly term “aged” it’s “decay” that’s really happening). It’s as if there’s this Window of Decomposition where the food we eat has rotted just enough, but not rotted too much. I think that’s funny.

PS I’ve been making steady changes here and there, so let me know if something seems wonky. Auto-archives are finally set-up, and rotating blog-links (stolen without permission but with admiration from geekafied) are there on the left

So I’ve moved again, as you can see. Seeing as this is the page that I update most often, and that the most of you are aware of, it made sense to make this the main page (most of you probably don’t even know I had another main page).

For those of you that have linked to me, thank you, I greatly appreciate it. If you could take the time to redirect your links to this page (last time I swear), I’d greatly appreciate that, too.

Seeing with new eyes

I used to hate CostCo.

Well, hate is a strong word; and, in truth, I love CostCo. You can buy cheese in 5 pound blocks there. Anywhere you can buy cheese in near-weight-lifting-units is OK by me. So, to be more specific, I hate the people that go to CostCo (and lest you think you can catch me in a logic-loop by pointing out that I go to CostCo and could not possibly hate myself and therefore cannot hate all CostCo-ites, don’t bother. I do hate myself… loathe me in fact, so my reasoning is sound. But I digress…).

The people there tend to be entirely too slow, completely devoid of peripheral vision, and carrying in tow one to two *twitch* children that take it upon themselves *twitch twitch* to scream uncontrollably for no apparent reason for minutes on end *twitch twitch twitch* to the point where you can hear them from every corner of the store even though you’ve been there for over an hour and it then infuriates you to the point where you start yelling SHUTTUP to no one in particular especially as said children really are all the way on the other side of the store so your remonstrations seem to be directed to the grandmotherly 80 year old that seems startled and saddened that you are now for some reason yelling at her! *twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch*

But all that’s in the past. Now I look at CostCo like it was always meant to be viewed, and I’m much happier for it: a seductive siren that draws sadists in to torture themselves for one to two hours.

I must admit, it is astoundingly good at its job.

A couple of new Plates submissions brought to you by Erica and Linda

My friend Jules reads this site from time to time, and has searched for her own name to no avail. “I searched for myself,” she said “but I didn’t find anything.” Laughter ensued. Well, Julie, now you will.

It was Julie’s birthday a few days ago; and, while I didn’t exactly miss it, I didn’t exactly not miss it, either. Sorry about that, Jules, I’m a self-absorbed jerk sometimes; and, thanks for being my friend anyway. So, in an effort (partially) to make up for my being remiss, and even more to forcefully inject some unwanted internet-fame onto those friends of mine who I know read my blog I present:

The Story of _______: First in a Series

Today’s Feature: Jules

Freshman year I lived on the third floor of San Miguel dorms. From the 1st on up, the floors alternated: guys, girls, guys, girls, girls, guys, girls For some reason, we only looked up, and were friends mostly with the 4th and 5th floor girls…which has nothing to do with Julie as she lived in another dorm altogether. She was, however, friends with a guy on our floor nicknamed Penis (mostly because he was tall and skinny, but also because he was a grade-A world-class DICK).

At any rate, Julie would appear on the floor from time to time, and of course be beset upon by the raging hormonal antics of an entire floor of 17-18 year olds. I was one of them, of course; and, this being prior to the acquisition of the mad-smoove-skillz that helped me with ADG, I was absolutely horrible at it. I’m positive that Julie found me terribly annoying (she made no secret of this fact), and I suspect that she pretty much hated me. And that was pretty much that.

3-4 years later…

Being an engineer, I was in the library. Actually, I spent a surprisingly little amount of time in the library, as there were no parties or pizza there, so it’s fairly coincidental that I was there at all. I assume it was Dead Week. Anyway, while looking for a place to sit and fall asleep over my engineering books, I ran into Julie while she studiously worked on some calculus… which she was hating, and said as much, and we talked about it, and then took a break outside for a few and talked about some other stuff. By this point, my hormonal activity had been tempered by both years and the existence of a long-term girlfriend. So, I was much less annoying, and much more genuine, and much more capable of haing a freindly conversation without being overtly flirtatious or shallow. And that was cool.

From that point on, Julie and I have been very close friends, helping each other through various relationship issues, getting the scoop on what a girl or guy means when he says this or that, and generally just being how close friends are. As with most guy/girl friendships, people question the motives from time to time, as genuine friendships of that kind are rare. Nevertheless, it exists between us, and that’s a good thing.

And so there you go, The Story of Jules, my best girlspace space spacefriend, who’s birthday I didn’t quite forget, but didn’t quite remember, either. Forgive me?

In a fanfare of trumpets and to the heralds of angels, the Anna Nicole Show debuted last night.

Best. Show. Ever. (next to The Osbournes, of course)

Be it when she got her ass stuck in a table, her grunting and panting when trying to get out of various bathtubs, or the fact that she was walking around in what had to be a substance-induced daze for the better part of two days, every moment was like a well-developed pearl. It was a train-wreck, ladies and gentlemen, you couldn’t help but stare.

I think this show announces the zenith of reality-based programming. From this point on, it can only go downhill, because, baby, we’ve seen the best.

Case in point, a quote from the Ask Anna section of her site:

From Dean Fava: Would you ever consider dating a blue-collar worker, such as a New York City fireman? I’m just curious–and single.
Yes, I’m just desperate–and horny!

Ah, Television…is there anything it can’t do?

So here’s what I’ve come up with. I think it’s definitely better than my first re-design attempt (below)…and I think it’s better than my old design. I’m a little coding-punchy, though, so I don’t really trust my judgement right now. Thoughts?

re-design?

Well, I don’t know. What do you think?

I was only twelve or thirteen at the time, still riding the third bike of my life (fifth if you count the tricycle and Big Wheel), a big red Diamondback; and driving was still a mystery to me, save for the 5 second trips around our cul-de-sac when I “had” to pull the cars around after I washed them. I had a lot of friends back in those days, as almost everyone does, not having yet culled back the “acquaintances” to leave the “true friends” as we often do in later life. Some were better than others, of course, and I mean that literally and figuratively.

One of the not as good ones, I suppose was Jerry. He was fun to be with, though. Small guy, blond hair, funny as hell…and a kleptomaniac. Wherever he went, it didn’t matter where, he’d come out with his pockets or his jacket or his fanny pack full of stuff. Usually candy, sometimes water balloons, often lighters and candles. He never seemed nervous about it, which is probably what made him so good at it; and, as long as we hung out it remained a staple of his existence.

And therein lies the pressure. Jerry was cool. I wanted to be cool, too.

There was a small liquor store a few blocks from my house. I’d usually stop there either on the way somewhere, or coming back from it, to get a drink or some SweetTarts, or whatever I could afford with what was left of my video game and pizza money. I’d been hanging out with Jerry that day, reaping the benefits of his guilefulness, and feeling sheepish for never contributing. Now was the time for action.

I walked around the tiny store at least a half a dozen times, sweating bullets almost literally, and feigning interest in god knows whatever I was looking at. On my third lap through the candy aisle, I finally squatted down and perused the selection. I picked up a handful of blow-pops and considered them carefully, mugging for the imagined cameras and eyes that I thought might be on me, as I mimed disinterest in grotesquely exaggerated expressions before putting them all back…except one that I thought I palmed well and slipped into my pocket as I stood.

Then, in what is in retrospect a textbook example of bad thievery I walked briskly to the door. Somehow, I thought my excessive loitering, and then quick exit, would not be incongruous in the eyes of the liquor clerk. I breached the door and made it into the sunshine. Everything was going to be OK. I had made it and it wasn’t that bad after all.

“Sir, what do you have in your jacket?”

gulp

“Sir, please come in the store and show me what you have in your jacket.”

“I..I..it’s just a…I can pay..I didn’t mean to..I..can…”

One three-month ban, a call to my parents, a terrifying ride home later, and my career as a shop-lifter had ended. My parents gave me the worst punishment that I can imagine: no punishment at all. Their simple disappointment in me was more effective than years of groundings.

So, for you kids out there, take heed: stealing is wrong and crime doesn’ t pay…and remember, take things from your friends instead, they won’t press charges.