floorpie

“I see your ass is progressing nicely…” – Ronald McDonald

Back in the Day, a friend of mine and I were regular followers of the theory of the Vertical Minute. In a nutshell, whenever it’s 1:11 or 11:11, you stand up, put your hands up in the air like an idiot, and wait until the minute’s over. You only do this when you happen to notice that it’s a Vertical Minute, and never actually plan ahead. At the time, it was just a way for my friend and I to disrupt class; but, it’s something I still do, from time to time, to amuse myself.

This weekend, at 1:11 in the morning, I was standing next to my bed (having just gotten out of it to fulfill my Vertical Minute obligations). At first, I was annoyed at my apparent addiction, staring at the clock, and willing 1:12 to come faster than in the usual 60 seconds. After about 20 seconds, though, I stopped being so impatient and just stood there, arms in the air, audience of none.

-pause-

Sorry, 1:11 just rolled by, and I had to get up. As I was saying, I had a moment of Zen, standing there in my boxers, and I realized how awesome the VM really is. It reminded me of how silly and ridiculous Life can be, how you should take a break every now and then to just stand in stillness, and how easy it is to find happiness in under 60 seconds. Vertical Minute…highly recommended.

I have 64 messages in my inbox. *sigh*

So, Tim’s dead. I have nothing much to say about that, as I vacillate in my support of the death penalty. Of course, as a singular event (and pretending that I don’t know that he was put to death) I’m glad that he’s not around anymore.

Oh, and also: ding-dong, the witch is dead…

Yeah!

On a rare trip to the market this evening (being that I prefer the anonymity and solitude of everyone’s favorite Webvan), I spied a father and daughter in the line next to me. All they had in their cart was a gallon sized bottle of cooking oil, and, a small container of Palmolive. This begs the questions: why did they need a cart, just what did they have in mind, and, was dish-soap really going to be enough to clean it up?

The words come thundering out of a greasy, dirty bartender like cannon shot, pounding over the disheveled near-corpse of a wasted barfly that looks about as confused as any man would who just woke up sitting straight up with a still lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. The barkeep�s lamentations make the gold crucifix buried in his voluminous chest hair shake. This a welcome distraction from the sweat soaked wife-beater undershirt beneath it, and, the faded Hawaiian shirt that attempts to cover it up. Besides that, the only thing visible of the master of this domain, is two burly arms, fists resting knuckles-down on the bar, and, an angry red face topped with slick, black hair. He leans in a little closer to the swaying carcass, his voice lowering to a conspiratory whisper, �Listen bub,� he breathes,�I have got to get you off of that stool and out of my bar, OK? You may be one of my best customers Crowley, but God be damned if you don�t stink to high heaven. That may be fine when it�s all night on a Saturday, but, that high-class, big-tipping lunchtime business crowd is about to blow down the street, and, I�m trying to class this place up a bit, capiche?�

My highlighter says that it’s non-toxic; but, it sure does taste like it is.

As a design consultant, I spend a lot of time going to meetings in other companies’ buildings. In one such (HP) there is a uni-sex bathroom tucked on one side of the main lobby, in which resides a machine selling both tampons and condoms for $0.10 each.

…

OK, tampons I can see as a medically necessary, err, accessory, but condoms?! Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for: [public version: spur of the moment sex] [parent version: sexually transmitted disease protection]. It just seems odd to me that a company that would undoubtedly reprimand you, should they catch you in coitus, would also profit from this same lasciviousness.

Son of a bitch!

Jish turned 30 today. Happy Birthday etc, etc. Tell us what it’s like on the other side…

So if gas is so plentiful, why is my 87 octane still $2.06 a gallon?

I’ll tell you why: it’s just another conspiracy by the Man to bring me down.

Well, and YOU, too, if you live near me…