Tag: observations

Ack! I love the “12 Galaxies United in Protest” guy! For those of you who didn’t know who I was talking about awhile back, here’s a site devoted to him that Mr.Kottke tracked down.

4:19 p.m.

Found this fantastic email on a bowling newsgroup. It was a search engine thing, don’t ask:

Kathleen,

Hi sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I would love to se some of
your cross stitch patterns. I am always looking for new project for the
house or the kids. I am finishing one for the bathroom right now and do a
lot for the kids rooms and little Christmas project and stuff. Bowling takes
up a lot of time and so do the kids but I try to get everything in. Anyway,
if you have a scanner and want to EMail them to me that would be great if not
we can do it another way.

Thanks Again,

Sharon

12:18 a.m.

When I’m really tired, my contacts grow fur to keep my eyes warm. Ug.

10:18 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Scenario:

A friend who wants to start crashing more dot-com parties.

Excerpt:

Dot-com parties rule! Ok, so I’ve
only been to one, but it ruled! Ok, it was the most
homogenous party I’ve ever been to but it was oddly
comforting! And they played Pump Up the Jam!

1:55 p.m.

You always know something cool has died when your parents get into it. “Oh, Margaret, I bought that rap album by the blond boy named after the candy? M and M? Anyway, I love it. Just love it. ‘I am Slim Shady, yes I am the REAL shady!’ ” Along those lines, yesterday I saw a Burning Man symbol painted on the side of a … Jeep Grand Cherokee.

12:15 p.m.

Let’s play the “worst way to die” game for a second. Acid bath, wheat thresher, slow consumption by hungry caged lions. (Stolen from Peex. )

9:55 a.m.

The Myrtle Beach Fire Department plans to return a large donation they received at a recent ham rubbing. But this wasn’t just any ham rubbing, this was the Fourth Annual Ham Rubbing (all caps) at which “women danced on stage while having their bare chests rubbed with a ham. ” Now that’s entertainment once you get that pesky gag reflex under control, anyway.

2:30 p.m.

People I wish I knew:

The guy on the train who had a patch sewn onto his jacket sleeve that read, “Missouri is for lovers.” He also had a piece of material pinned to the back of his sweatshirt hood that said, “nomeansno.”

9:54 a.m.

What I think of first, when I think of you:

  • Jake got really annoyed whenever someone told him their dog’s name was Jake.
  • Katy wouldn’t drink rootbeer because she thought it tasted like toothpaste.
  • Geno wouldn’t go into Port-A-Pottys because of an overwheming fear that the booth would blow over–door side down–trapping him inside.

2:54 p.m.

Guy in a pickup passes me with his Mensa bumper sticker affixed upside down. Oh-ho. Such wittiness.

10:09 a.m.

The photo that goes with this article is worth the link. Freekay. Seems that during WWII, a Nazi sympathizer planted a bunch of trees in the shape of a
swastika. It’s only visible from the sky when the leaves change in autumn, but they’re still cutting it down.

2:07 p.m.

I’d be willing to bet that when most people let their minds wander, they think of something more interesting than:

Labor-Intensive Unshelled Legumes: A Short List

  • Brazil Nuts
  • Pumpkin seeds
  • Pine Nuts
  • Sunflower Seeds

My computer has SETI. What I need is a project that harnesses my brain’s unused resources for the good of humanity. Perhaps I could power a very small light bulb or something. How ’bout it, science?

11:54 a.m.

Portraits in Stupidity, first in a series

The bus driver was a typical morning commute bus driver, stopping suddenly for no apparent reason, letting more passengers on the bus despite the laws governing volume, density, and morning coffee breath. The woman standing next to me had one arm wrapped around the pole for support. In her left hand she held a compact mirror, she was applying eyeliner with her right. The driver would slam the brakes, she’d wobble and narrowly avert skewering her eye. It made me nervous. Not because I’d mind having her out of the gene pool, but I have no idea what kind of detergent you use to get brain out of a new sweater.

3:44 p.m.

The people in my neighborhood:

  • The guy with retro “I listen to indie rock” glasses whose dachshund always wants to know if he’s just bought something edible. Last time I passed him, he was letting the dog smell a CD.
  • The old lady who lives behind me and teeters around her sun room. Watching her, I realized for the first time that old people walk slowly because every step hurts.
  • The perpetually surprised girl who tweezes and tortures her tiny eyebrows until she looks sufficiently terrified.

10:07 a.m.

Are things really this bad in SF? Do guys with IQs high enough to code software need a guide that tells them how to approach a woman at a networking party? Um… you’re networking, it’s a party. Try “So, what do you do?” This is not rocket science, my friends. Then again, this article did have an brilliant piece of general advice for men on the prowl:

“Take a look at some of the spreads in Details. Do
you look like that? No? Get yourself down to the
Castro or whatever gay district exists in your
town, march into the most fashionable and snooty
clothing store you find and demand that a gay
male employee find an outfit for you. ”

11:07 a.m.

Someone gave me some “Tea Leaf Soap” as a gift awhile back. I finally opened it when I ran out of regular soap and used it this morning. It’s a pretty deep green with little brown tea leaves embedded in it, and it smells nice. Of course, I was covered with little brown tea leaves when I finished washing. When I mentioned to a friend that a debris-laden soap seemed counter productive, she looked at me incredulously, as though I’d missed an entire chapter in the girl handbook. “Rinse it off,” she said. Oh. Right.

11:07 a.m.

The best magnetic poem I ever saw was on the office fridge of a little gamer company called Click :

Who is best?

I am.

10:50 a.m.

te>Couldn’t we all use a little John Denver right about now? We could:

Aye Calypso!
The place's you've been to
The things that you've shown us
The stories you tell
Aye Calypso!
I sing to your spirit
The men who have served you
So long and so well

Right. Why am I still at work?

8:47 p.m.

San Francisco Moment:

Guy in a Jeep Cherokee passed me this morning with his radio blaring. He stopped for the light and as the engine roar quieted, I heard, “THE NASDAQ COMPOSITE INDEX PLUNGED TO ITS LOWEST LEVEL IN 15 MONTHS…” He was blasting NPR. Rock on, suburban white guy.

10:16 a.m.

Stuff that creeps me out, in order of creepiness:

  • Russian grandmother sells her living grandson for organ harvesting.
  • Japanese men are signing up for an online service that lets them woo a virtual woman over email. They must court the woman, and if they’re good enough the relationship will, ah, progress. If not, the “woman” dumps them.
  • This museum has an exhibit on the human body that includes fake human feces floating in a toilet. Kids love it.

2:11 p.m.

With my ears plugged from the cold, I mistook an ambulence siren for an aria and looked around for the fat lady.

10:28 a.m.