I needed a laugh today, so I read this, and thought maybe you do too. This isn't an original, but I believe in promoting public (I almost typed, pubic) health (but I fixed it, obviously, ok...), and my contribution to that end (public health, that is) is to laugh, smile, and share both whenever I can. OK, to our very short story:
A U.S. Marine squad was marching north of Fallujah when they came upon an Iraqi terrorist, badly injured and unconscious.On the opposite side of the road was an American Marine in a similar but less serious state.The Marine was conscious and alert and as first aid was given to both men, the squad leader asked the injured Marine what had happened.The Marine reported, "I was heavily armed and moving north along the highway here, and coming south was a heavily armed insurgent. We saw each other and both took cover in the ditches along the road.
"I yelled to him that Saddam Hussein was a miserable, lowlife scumbag, and he yelled back that Ted Kennedy is a good-for-nothing, fat, left wing liberal drunk."
"So I said that Osama Bin Ladin dresses and acts like a frigid, mean-spirited lesbian! He retaliated by yelling, Oh yeah? Well, so does Hillary Clinton!"
"And, there we were, in the middle of the road, shaking hands, when a truck hit us."
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One more thing: if you want another good laugh, hit the link to the video about Stupid People at the bottom of the posting immediately underneath this one.
Please give feedback - leave a comment (don't make me grovel).
:^/
Thanks for playing.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Service, Running, n People That Are That Stupid - 8/28/07
OK so here I am in a sheik (wait; is that word Expired? Probably. Is it the right version of that word? Crap!) – ok, a cool restaurant in The City, in between meetings (my vocabulary could do with a remodel, but that’s a separate topic). Alright, so here I am. Waiting. And Waiting. And WAITING. Yeah. Service. What is that. No one here seems to know. It’s 11:45 a.m., mind you; I’d say that’s about lunch time for many folks. I did the math: at least 37% of the population is digestively needy at this shadow of the sun dial. OK so this place is nice, cool, well set up, and there are seven waiters in sight. And five customers, counting me. But my status as "customer" is in question - at least and apparently only in my mind. Not in theirs, not at all. I don't exist. I don't get it. I have been here before so I know the food is good, which is why I came back. So I am sitting and waiting, still, until finally, after ten full minutes have elapsed, I decide, this is enough. If I hadn’t worked so hard to get a stupid parking spot - and by a stroke of extremely good fortune, I nailed a spot right in front of the building - if that hadn't'a happened, I’d be hitting the door about 17 seconds ago. However, after doing a split second inventory of my parking spot, and of my blood sugar issues, I decide to get someone’s attention and ask for some service. What do I get? You already know, don’t you: the same basic lame confused cross-eyed answer of Everyone assuming that Someone had taken care of me since Anyone could but lo and behold Nobody did, so here I sit, no drink, no receptive ear ready to take my order, no nothing. Of course, as good folks, they now fall all over themselves to right this wrong, but how do people remain invisible? I showered; I don’t smell. It can’t be that. I have no superpowers of invisibility. It can’t be that. I can’t get lost in the crowd because, yeah, there isn’t one. Yet somehow seven people wander back and forth past me, repeatedly, people on the payroll mind you, and not a one does jack til I pipe up. Service. Did it die and I missed the listing in the obituaries? At it’s most primal root, Service means at least that I meet your needs. How hard is that to identify, in a restaurant no less? For some, just grasping the concept for this crew is about as hard as flying to Mars. But at this point, I should probably shut up. The food is here, and it is really good. Wontons in a nice broth, spicy, flavorful, delish. Spinach salad with thinly sliced apples, glazed walnuts, dried raspberries, feta cheese, flower pedals (?), a fresh slice of sourdough bread on the side, vinegarette (sp?) dressing. I have to remember to breath between bites. Didn’t realize I was this hungry. It was worth the initial absence of service, I must admit. Park Chow on 7th in SF. Try it.
Which brings me to my next topic: running. Why? Because at this moment, with a nicely contended belly, 40 minutes away from a food-coma (if it was Sunday), the absolute very last thing I want to do is run. And since I am half a block from Golden Gate Park, I have seen my share of runners today. I love to run. I hate to run. I hate to run when I am running, and the only thing that gets me through it is the music in my ears providing a cadence to my running, the die-first refusal to grow fat, and the satisfaction of doing something good for my body (except the knees). I just realized that I have to restate this. I don’t love running. I love having run/ran/whicheverworditis. Afterward, when I am done sucking in air like I have been holding my breath two full minutes, when I am done feeling the pain in my side that’s feels like some Ali Babba terrorist stuck me with a sword, when I am done resisting the urge to throw up everything up to and including the cookies I ate in sixth grade, afterward, I feel pretty good. The leg muscles are tight and sore, in a good way. I probably have endorphins floating through my system, somehow lifting me with an exercised-induced high. After it’s all done, I feel great. More energy, more everything. The sky is bluer, the birds sing sweeter, the flowers are more colorful, the air is cleaner, the bills matter less, the cares of life are more easily ignored. I smell more, feel more, see more. I love having run/ran/whicheverworditis.
Not knowing which word (run vs ran) is the right word makes me feel stupid, but since I am too lazy to look it up, I’ll just use it to transition to a particular example I have in mind of People That Are That Stupid. When I say stupid, I mean dumber-than-a-bag-a-hammers, can’t-spell-my-own-name, can’t-pronounce-my-own-name stupid. That stupid. This particular example…wow. How do you get not one PhD, but two – count ‘em – two PhD’s, then go into a selling job – I could stop there and add a question mark. I will. ? There. (I could actually stop there and make my point. But I will go on.) How do you do that? How do you get 2 PhD’s, then go into selling technology, and you have not one, not two, but three conference calls on a particular large opportunity which you are working on with a business partner. You get two emails from that business partner, both expliciting spelling out what inputs are required from you to win this deal. You are told on three calls what is needed of you. How does that all occur, and four days before the bid is due, you ask, what do you (business partner) need of (Company X aka) me? How do you ask that? How can you not know what is needed of you? After having read the emails, how do you say that you were never told what was needed of you? There were witnesses, on the call, and on the email string. In other words, How Can You Be That Stupid? Conclusion: some people don’t have the brains God gave a goose. My dad, who has a ninth grade education, told me that as a kid. Second conclusion: no amount of education, no quantity nor height of degrees will solve the first conclusion. If you’re stupid, and you have an education, you are now an educated idiot. But an idiot, still. It’s your condition. It Is What It Is. The only reason we didn’t figure it out on the first pass is because you are swallowing all your saliva, and blinking regularly, like a person who has good sense. But no worries. We eventually figure it out. Why? Because we’re not That Stupid. Another statement Dad made (to me once when I said something stupid – I have an excuse: I was young): son, it’s better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you are smart, than to open it and remove all doubt. Regrettably, no number of profound nuggets of Okie wisdom will improve the intellectual horsepower of someone That Stupid.
Wait. Newsflash! A majority of a whole nation, it turns out, is this stupid. You HAVE to watch this youtube entry from France: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxmHEGy7JUU. Do not drink anything while you watch this.
OK, I think it’s all out of my system. What is my deal?
:-/
Thanks for playing.
Hey real quick – one last thing. If you enjoy this, hate it, or have ANY feedback, leave me a comment. Show me a pulse!
Which brings me to my next topic: running. Why? Because at this moment, with a nicely contended belly, 40 minutes away from a food-coma (if it was Sunday), the absolute very last thing I want to do is run. And since I am half a block from Golden Gate Park, I have seen my share of runners today. I love to run. I hate to run. I hate to run when I am running, and the only thing that gets me through it is the music in my ears providing a cadence to my running, the die-first refusal to grow fat, and the satisfaction of doing something good for my body (except the knees). I just realized that I have to restate this. I don’t love running. I love having run/ran/whicheverworditis. Afterward, when I am done sucking in air like I have been holding my breath two full minutes, when I am done feeling the pain in my side that’s feels like some Ali Babba terrorist stuck me with a sword, when I am done resisting the urge to throw up everything up to and including the cookies I ate in sixth grade, afterward, I feel pretty good. The leg muscles are tight and sore, in a good way. I probably have endorphins floating through my system, somehow lifting me with an exercised-induced high. After it’s all done, I feel great. More energy, more everything. The sky is bluer, the birds sing sweeter, the flowers are more colorful, the air is cleaner, the bills matter less, the cares of life are more easily ignored. I smell more, feel more, see more. I love having run/ran/whicheverworditis.
Not knowing which word (run vs ran) is the right word makes me feel stupid, but since I am too lazy to look it up, I’ll just use it to transition to a particular example I have in mind of People That Are That Stupid. When I say stupid, I mean dumber-than-a-bag-a-hammers, can’t-spell-my-own-name, can’t-pronounce-my-own-name stupid. That stupid. This particular example…wow. How do you get not one PhD, but two – count ‘em – two PhD’s, then go into a selling job – I could stop there and add a question mark. I will. ? There. (I could actually stop there and make my point. But I will go on.) How do you do that? How do you get 2 PhD’s, then go into selling technology, and you have not one, not two, but three conference calls on a particular large opportunity which you are working on with a business partner. You get two emails from that business partner, both expliciting spelling out what inputs are required from you to win this deal. You are told on three calls what is needed of you. How does that all occur, and four days before the bid is due, you ask, what do you (business partner) need of (Company X aka) me? How do you ask that? How can you not know what is needed of you? After having read the emails, how do you say that you were never told what was needed of you? There were witnesses, on the call, and on the email string. In other words, How Can You Be That Stupid? Conclusion: some people don’t have the brains God gave a goose. My dad, who has a ninth grade education, told me that as a kid. Second conclusion: no amount of education, no quantity nor height of degrees will solve the first conclusion. If you’re stupid, and you have an education, you are now an educated idiot. But an idiot, still. It’s your condition. It Is What It Is. The only reason we didn’t figure it out on the first pass is because you are swallowing all your saliva, and blinking regularly, like a person who has good sense. But no worries. We eventually figure it out. Why? Because we’re not That Stupid. Another statement Dad made (to me once when I said something stupid – I have an excuse: I was young): son, it’s better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you are smart, than to open it and remove all doubt. Regrettably, no number of profound nuggets of Okie wisdom will improve the intellectual horsepower of someone That Stupid.
Wait. Newsflash! A majority of a whole nation, it turns out, is this stupid. You HAVE to watch this youtube entry from France: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxmHEGy7JUU. Do not drink anything while you watch this.
OK, I think it’s all out of my system. What is my deal?
:-/
Thanks for playing.
Hey real quick – one last thing. If you enjoy this, hate it, or have ANY feedback, leave me a comment. Show me a pulse!
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Meaning of Things - 8-27-07
Greetings, World! The Big Ninja is open for business, er - the business of thought exchange, the business of displaying feats of verbal kung fu wit and strength, the business of dumping random thought flow into my computer to prevent perilous drops in dopamine or seratonin levels, or whatever chemical it is that keeps me on a nice wacky even keel. Perhaps I should have called this spot the Pressure Valve. Hmmm... anyway. So why did I call this blot spot "Your Kung Fu Is Weak"? In a phrase: my little (or rather younger) brother. Has to be among the top 3 hilarious people I know on earth. He drops this line from time to time, at the moment of maximum hilarity, and it just cracks me up. So instead of asking him, Who's the Man? I have adopted the phrase/question: Who's the Big Ninja?
OK so here comes my first random cranial output. Today is one of those days where you just peer longingly into your cup of coffee, and somehow expect or weakly hope for answers to life to reside in the next sip. I have a few different sayings that just seem to bring meaning, or rather explain the absence of meaning, to many things that happen in life:
1. "It is what it is." It's there. You can't really change it. It just happened. You just-have-to-deal. The rules have been laid down. The eggs have been dropped. Unstoppable forces of nature have caused seemingly unpreventable events to occur. It's like when you step in fresh crap. Why did the dog have to crap right here on the edge of my front lawn? Why was I stupid enough to not see it? Where was the stinkin' owner of said canine at the time he/she was pinching off the last terd? Ask all the questions you want, buddy. Ain't gonna do no good. It's there, on your shoe, it smells beyond awful, it's instantly and nastily (is that a word? it is now) worked it's way into every crevace of your tread. You don't even want these shoes any more, it's so nasty. I also refer to this as I2WI2, stated as "I-squared W I-squared". However, there's no verbal efficiency in shortening it at all, so most the time I just revert to saying "It is what it is." I2WI2 is useful for text messaging, but that's about it.
2. "It's all fun and games til the flying monkeys attack." First time I watched the wizard of oz, it was in black and white, and I was perhaps 6 years old. The flying monkeys ruined my sleep for a week or so, maybe more, but I probably blocked that out and don't know it. Creeped me out completely. But isn't life like that? It's all good in da hood until BAM! Something goes crazy! SomeONE goes crazy! The bus comes by while you are standing in the street! Or, you have just lost track of time, and, standing on the curb near the bus stop, you are oblivious to its approach, while someone (who has the bus schedule and) zooms in to push you right into the street at the last second - in front of the bus, as it's doing 35 mph. Whack! You get hammered to crap'n back. Nothing you can do. Coulda been on accident, coulda been on purpose, can't really tell. Things just happen. In other words, the flying monkeys attack.
3. "You know what?" This tee-up phrase is nice-speak for either: a) a preamble to ...hey, clueless wonder, you who can't find your butt with both hands, I with my iron-toed boot am about to help you identify the precise geography of its location, or b) a preamble to ...hey, I really like you, so I want to let you in on something really good about you, or me, or us, or the world, but something really good. In either case, I find that tact, whether possibly wasted on the dullness of the hearer or not, does me therapeutically immense good. And I find that if I am doing good overall, I am a nicer guy, and even when waxing a bit hostile, don't revert to blunt instruments when I have a moment of hostility. Not that you particularly care about me and that and temperment issues. Sorry about the narcissistic moment.
Ok that about raps it up for now. Seems like I am out of gas. Time for another cup of coffee. Like I need the caffeine.
:^/
Thanks for playing.
OK so here comes my first random cranial output. Today is one of those days where you just peer longingly into your cup of coffee, and somehow expect or weakly hope for answers to life to reside in the next sip. I have a few different sayings that just seem to bring meaning, or rather explain the absence of meaning, to many things that happen in life:
1. "It is what it is." It's there. You can't really change it. It just happened. You just-have-to-deal. The rules have been laid down. The eggs have been dropped. Unstoppable forces of nature have caused seemingly unpreventable events to occur. It's like when you step in fresh crap. Why did the dog have to crap right here on the edge of my front lawn? Why was I stupid enough to not see it? Where was the stinkin' owner of said canine at the time he/she was pinching off the last terd? Ask all the questions you want, buddy. Ain't gonna do no good. It's there, on your shoe, it smells beyond awful, it's instantly and nastily (is that a word? it is now) worked it's way into every crevace of your tread. You don't even want these shoes any more, it's so nasty. I also refer to this as I2WI2, stated as "I-squared W I-squared". However, there's no verbal efficiency in shortening it at all, so most the time I just revert to saying "It is what it is." I2WI2 is useful for text messaging, but that's about it.
2. "It's all fun and games til the flying monkeys attack." First time I watched the wizard of oz, it was in black and white, and I was perhaps 6 years old. The flying monkeys ruined my sleep for a week or so, maybe more, but I probably blocked that out and don't know it. Creeped me out completely. But isn't life like that? It's all good in da hood until BAM! Something goes crazy! SomeONE goes crazy! The bus comes by while you are standing in the street! Or, you have just lost track of time, and, standing on the curb near the bus stop, you are oblivious to its approach, while someone (who has the bus schedule and) zooms in to push you right into the street at the last second - in front of the bus, as it's doing 35 mph. Whack! You get hammered to crap'n back. Nothing you can do. Coulda been on accident, coulda been on purpose, can't really tell. Things just happen. In other words, the flying monkeys attack.
3. "You know what?" This tee-up phrase is nice-speak for either: a) a preamble to ...hey, clueless wonder, you who can't find your butt with both hands, I with my iron-toed boot am about to help you identify the precise geography of its location, or b) a preamble to ...hey, I really like you, so I want to let you in on something really good about you, or me, or us, or the world, but something really good. In either case, I find that tact, whether possibly wasted on the dullness of the hearer or not, does me therapeutically immense good. And I find that if I am doing good overall, I am a nicer guy, and even when waxing a bit hostile, don't revert to blunt instruments when I have a moment of hostility. Not that you particularly care about me and that and temperment issues. Sorry about the narcissistic moment.
Ok that about raps it up for now. Seems like I am out of gas. Time for another cup of coffee. Like I need the caffeine.
:^/
Thanks for playing.
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