Month: August 2001

More people I wish I knew:

  • The guy in the boyscout ski cap wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Smoke crack, worship Satan.”
  • The beautiful girl in the pale pink sweater running back to her construction site with hardhat in hand.

12:42 p.m.

Just read about a Japanese arcade game called
Boong Ga Boong Ga. A description from the linked site: “You, the player, try to cram a plastic finger up a virtual woman’s ass. The harder you shove, the more reaction you get from the computerized face on the screen.” The world is an odd, odd place.

(via eatonweb)

[P.S. Luke wrote in to point out that the game is actually Korean, and it has eight characters: ex-girlfriend, ex-boyfriend, gangster, mother-in-law, gold digger, prostitute, child molester, and con artist. Quentin says that, “The mission isn’t to ‘cram a virtual finger up a virtual woman’s ass.’ The idea is just to poke their butt really hard in a kind of spanking-esque way.” Good clarifications. And my new mission is to work “spanking-esque” into polite conversation.]

2:02 p.m.

I just joined the Top Ten Blog. Stop by, won’t you?

3:53 p.m.

Yesterday, I had stir fry for lunch. Last night, there was rice in my bra.

(That could totally be a haiku.)

3:53 p.m.

The actual headline of a press release I received a few days ago:

Collaboration and Web-Based Self-Service Access to Brand Assets and
Marketing Collateral Enable Tighter Brand Control for Enterprises and
their Partners

11:30 a.m.

Fun trip. My cousin married a Boy Scout troop leader; I fell down a flight of basement stairs in Toledo without breaking any bones; then I drove to Chicago where I met most of the 37 Signals crew–all of whom are as smart and fun in person as they are on screen.

The highlight of the trip was my drive from Cincinnati to Chicago. Indiana radio… how can I say this tactfully?… bites monkey butt. If I hear “I Hope You Dance” one more time, I’m going to find Lee Ann Womac and exchange a few of my own affirmational phrases with her. And who can forget Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam’s “Head to Toe”? Apparently not the Indiana DJs, because I haven’t heard that gem as much since 1987.

But there were a few things I’ll always cherish about the Midwest:

  • Restaurants called Beef and Brandy.
  • Lewd camera poses with Bob’s Big Boy statues.
  • The woman in a denim top with a matching bunny-print denim bag.
  • Seven Bucks for a steak, and Krispy Kreme Lemon-filled donuts.
  • The way natives say “Chicahgoh.”

I’m home now, which means that I’d have to search long and hard for a country music station on the radio, and I can talk smack about American cars in crowded restaurants without getting the crap kicked out of me.

12:03 p.m.

Someone once said that Toledo sounds like something winged monkeys would sing. And it does, “Toh-lee-DOH, weeeoh-WHUM.” Every corner that doesn’t have an Applebees or a Perkins has a funeral parlor. Two brief Ohio related conversations I had with Fred, who is a certifiable Toledo resident:

Me: Rudy’s Hot Dogs. Oh, my God. That place only serves hot dogs?

Fred: No, they also have omlettes.

Fred: So I’ve already taken some hassling because the new truck’s an import.

Me: What? Please. [I look around the restaurant and whisper:] American cars are crap.

Fred: You know you’re in the Midwest when you have to say that in hushed tones.

Now I’m in Chicago. The humidity is such that I don’t need to rewet my contacts. It’s like heaven, except with more toll booths.

10:30 a.m.