tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34940863149655620962024-03-08T14:56:13.033-05:00Driving Me Insane...and other storiesJust a little rant, here and there, about everything and nothingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-79294646115931966122020-05-22T15:37:00.001-04:002020-05-22T15:37:55.447-04:00Aaaand we're in the future now...Seriously, nearly 8 years have past since my last post. It feels like I blinked and here we are. I will therefore assume that is exactly what happened; an eye blink time machine. What I am gathering from my current surroundings is that the pregnancy I wrote about last resulted in an offspring. To ensure that my DNA survived, I followed up with a second one soon after that. I am now living in London, England with said offspring (and probably the husband) and there is a pandemic messing with the world. Everyone is under house arrest, the economy is taking a nosedive, world leaders are the same (mostly bad), and I am a (homeschool) teacher now (against my will). Oh and toilet paper is on the world endangered spices list.<div><br /></div><div><div>Welcome to 2020.</div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-4072159601398147402012-08-21T13:06:00.001-04:002012-08-21T13:06:48.933-04:00Creators of Superheroes...who have a heightened sense of smell are men or women who have never been pregnant. I know this because a heightened sense of smell is one the worst things about pregnancy. Even the most beautiful smell in the world, is also the worst smell in the world if it is amplified by a million. No one would ever want such a 'superpower' if they knew how it felt. No one.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-47925381866406024482011-12-09T14:38:00.000-05:002011-12-09T14:38:51.734-05:00Video Game Love; A Happy Story.I played my first video game at the age of 8. It was Pong and, I'm not going to lie, I remember being pretty good...eventually. At the age of 9, due to some country swapping, there was a video game drought in my life. It was a hard year. Things were rectified when I met some people who owned a Nintendo, and I entered the world of the Mario Brothers and Zelda. Although, thoroughly in love, I did not own my own console, so my gaming was sporadic and therefore I couldn't become thoroughly obsessed. This was rectified when my parents finally bought a PC. Soon my sister and I were fighting over who's turn it was playing Commander Keen, Wolfenstein 3D, Duke Nukem, Stunts, and our father's personal obsession, Sky Shark. Time passed and we eventually bought a Nintendo, about a decade after it came out, just to get the Mario Brothers and Zelda out of our system. A copy of that pesky Friday the 13th came along with it (which we never wound up beating, and NOT from a lack of trying! For those who share my pain on this topic, you can watch the ending <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfyDRb0apjE" target="_blank">here</a>). By this time I am in high school, and we upgrade our computer (old games still work. Phew!). Half-Life and many more such wonderful games with, at the time, amazing graphics get added to my small but steadily growing library.<br />
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The end of a century comes around, and I start university. No time for games. Adulthood starts. Time to become responsible and focus on my future. I focus on my future, as he walks into the computer lab. His name is Patrick, and he is a gameaholic. We quickly fall in Diablo II love. We spend the next few years battling a life of homework vs games, and finishing school just in time to enter the WoW universe. We take regular short trips into the land of Steam to visit HL2, Portal and many others, until our Steam vacations become a Steam permanent residence. With WoW behind us, we get hitched, pop out a few major consoles, and currently live a happy life of cross platform gaming. L4D2, Portal 2, Dead Island and many more are keeping us warm at night.<br />
<br />
To be continued...<br />
...when we make some baby gamers.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-7177556016394294292011-11-03T14:36:00.000-04:002011-11-03T14:36:12.135-04:00CaffineMakes me want to do crazy things. Typically smash things. Also, I noticed it makes me angry. Yes, those two things are mutually exclusive. I have had urges to smash things without being angry. Perhaps I will start trying to drink decaf to lower the hate, but still enjoy the taste. Surprisingly decaf espresso actually tastes very similar to regular espresso.<br />
<br />
That is all. I will now return to controlling my desire to throw some plates around while working.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-74029128794682792202011-07-10T16:05:00.001-04:002011-07-10T16:06:42.953-04:00In the middle of the bible belt......and still feeling like I am right at home. 'How?', you many be thinking. Starbucks. No matter where I am, Starbucks is always the same. The drinks taste the same, the atmosphere is the same, the baristas have a similar look about them. Typically, I find that not to be a good thing. When I visit a new place, I like to experience the local establishments; see what people do differently based on their geography. And Oklahoma City was no exception. At first I went searching for local gems and found a couple very delicious places that I wish I could bring back home with me. But sometimes you get home sick, so I made the long trek over to a local Starbucks (they are pretty scarce downtown OKC). Stepping out of the inferno that is the OKC weather and into the Starbucks store, I felt like I just stepped through a teleporter and wound up back in TO. Sometime that is a good thing because as much as I hate Toronto, I also love Toronto.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-36621504035333934732011-07-06T14:49:00.000-04:002011-07-06T14:49:09.215-04:00Old Age != Crazy......With the right combination of meds. It is true. Since my last old age related blog, I have witnessed it. The scary thing is that there is a fine line after which those meds can add to the crazy. But hey, there is hope.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-1056657947659760692011-06-10T14:30:00.001-04:002011-06-10T14:31:59.139-04:00And another thing...When you replace words like 'fuck' with 'fudge' or 'fucking whore' with 'flippn boar', you are fooling no one. It sounds ridiculous, and gives zero satisfaction. Don't bother!<br />
<br />
Thank you. Now I'm done.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-91067354938018407962011-06-10T13:00:00.000-04:002011-06-10T13:00:52.248-04:00Swearing; Yey or Nay?For me it has been 'yey' for ... ever. I find it a nice little release when I am angry, frustrated, happy, ecstatic, etc. I can even get quite creative with it. But society frowns up on it. No potty mouth ladies allowed. So what exactly is so wrong with it? Why do people get offended? I would understand if I called someone a Fucking Anal Turd Extractor to their face, and they took offense (even if they deserved it). But if I am cursing to myself as a form of exclamation, then what is the problem? I honestly cannot think of one. They are just words that usually don't even make sense (unlike the one above, which perfectly describes some people). I think some people just jump to the conclusion that because I choose to use a swear word, my vocabulary must be limited. That I cannot get the same meaning across, but with 'proper' words. That, however, is not the case. I can be creative with non swear words as well, but they just do not feel as good. <br />
<br />
In my quest to find what other people think, I googled "why is swearing bad" and quickly found myself on the <a href="http://www.cusscontrol.com/">Cuss Control Academy</a>'s website. The purpose of this site is to help people curb their swearing. They even provide you with a list of reasons <a href="http://www.cusscontrol.com/swearing.html">why swearing is bad</a>. I encourage you to take a look, but in the mean time, I will with you share some of my favourites from the list:<br />
<br />
It sets a bad example - It is bad because it is bad?<br />
It lacks imagination - Like I mentioned before, I can get quite creative with my swearing purely because I have such an active imagination.<br />
It has lost its effectiveness - If the effectiveness is gone, then what is the problem? And what statistical analysis is this loss of effectiveness conclusion based on?<br />
<br />
To say the least, I found the CCA's list weak and easily rebutted. In the end, I did not find the answers to my questions, but I did find is <a href="http://www.noswearing.com/">this</a>: A swear word to non-swear word translator. So much fun!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-69770913905027874162011-06-09T11:30:00.000-04:002011-06-09T11:30:04.650-04:00Old Age = Crazy?I'm afraid so. Is it inevitable? Do we ALL have to mentally go? I really wish this was not the case but I do not believe anyone gets spared. With age, people seem to follow this simple line of thinking that eventually leads them to crazyville: <br />
<br />
If you are older, you have lived longer and experienced more, making you wiser. In addition, as you age, the population of the people older/wiser than you gets smaller, and the population of the younger/dumber folk gets larger. Therefore, the older you get, the wiser you become than most people on the planet. This makes you more special as the years go by, and naturally it becomes your responsibility to impose your wisdom on the young and dumb. This usually comes out in the form of ever growing cynicism. Especially when you see the whippersnappers trying something new and hip. That really gets you going, because you already know it will never work.<br />
<br />
You remain at this level of crazy until you reach some critical age when you get a brief moment to choose: Do you continue on your waaaay fun crazy path causing havoc in the lives of the young until insanity is complete, or do you quit cold turkey and become one of those rare sprung-out-of-nowhere quiet/cute old people?<br />
<br />
Most choose crazy; I know I will.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-86479615681392947772011-05-25T10:29:00.000-04:002011-05-25T10:29:42.436-04:00I Blame Star WarsI have found, over the past decade, that I don't know what I am doing with my life. I had a pretty strong plan right up until I graduated university. Although, in those last few months of school, I have to admit, the plan began to diminish. By the time I graduated, I was confused; and seven years later, I am convinced that there was no plan in the first place, that it was all a figment of my imagination. I sat there on that last day of school, holding a diploma for a field I was not interested in. Hmm. I started working at the first place that offered to pay me (not even in my field). Eventually, I found a job in my field, and, like I suspected on graduation day, I did not like it. Oops. I quit, and spent the next year playing around with my hobbies. But, soon found out that hobbies should be left where they belong, on hobby time. I do not like doing my hobbies full time, under pressure. I really don't. I find them amazing only if done intermittently. I want amazing all the time so I continued to try other <a href="http://drivingmeinsaneandotherstories.blogspot.com/2009/08/introductions.html">things</a> out, and finally arrived a the following crazy/sad conclusion: <br />
<br />
<br />
I want to exist in movies. I don't mean that I want to be an actor, I mean I want to live in the movies. I want to go off chasing aliens throughout the unknown universe, save galaxies, have super powers, and punch bad guys in the face. I doubt, anything short of this, will be good enough. For this, I blame Star Wars, and all following amazing Sci-Fi Action Adventure movies that showed me the awesomeness of an imaginary life.<br />
<br />
Now, what? Now, I realize that reality is a big waste of time; boring, stressful, boring again. Fantasy, is where it's at. Even if your fantasy is to be living the life of someone else on Earth, or that you lived in the 1800's. No boundaries. Whatever your crazy brain wants.<br />
<br />
So where does that leave me? Same place, except that I know what I want, and I don't believe there is a way for me to get it. And let me be very clear. I do not want a job at NASA so that I get to crunch numbers to see if some radio signal that the deep space telescope picked up has a pattern that might possibly maybe be a sign of intelligent life. I don't want to re-design the space shuttle to make is more efficient. I don't want to do complicated mathematical problems to see if there is an Earth sized planet orbiting some gigator star two galaxies over. Boring. I want to go directly to the alien chases, galaxy adventures, and super powers. <br />
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I guess the best I can hope for is choose-your-own-adventure virtual movies. :'( <br />
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In the mean time, I'll stick to designing websites/programming (my current venture) and my hobbies.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-47936544979232723732011-04-14T19:58:00.000-04:002011-04-14T19:58:46.325-04:00The Gym; Still Disgusting?Yep. The cleaning people really do try, but it is a little hard when hundreds of people use the machines and do not bother cleaning their filth. I try to show them the way, but a lot of them must be filth addicts because they are really good at ignoring my helpful gestures and dirty looks. The biggest tools are the trainers. They are there everyday, several times a day. They see a select few people clean the machines after themselves, but do nothing to contribute. Seriously people, even if your parents forgot to teach you to clean up after yourselves, you should have picked it up from other people by now. <br />
<br />
Also, since we're already on the topic of the gym; how do people destroy the machines so quickly? The building I live it is only a couple of years old, and the treadmills look like someone took a rock to the display controls, the fan is cracked open, and pieces of the body have been ripped off. The ellipticals and bikes are in a similar condition. I try to get to the gym everyday and have not yet run into this gym-equipment-destroying ninja-asshole. Who the fuck are you? And, what the fuck?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-21439135407739847172011-04-11T17:01:00.000-04:002011-04-11T17:01:50.772-04:00What's Not to Hate?I love elevator trips for many reasons. Drama, horror, comedy, suspense are just some of the daily things I get to experience on those short rides. A moment ago, I lived through one such adventure, and decided this one must be remembered via written word.<br />
<br />
It is rush hour. The building has 50 floors, versus four elevators. I get on at P3, only going up to the 11th floor. I stop at P2. The door opens. No one enters. Seconds pass; it feels like days. I peak my head out. I see some asshole look up from his mail and realize the door is wide open. I stare. He smiles and happily gets in. He fumbles with his FOB, chooses a floor, and we get going. Yey. We stop at P1. The door opens. Again, no one is coming in. WTF? Seconds, feeling like minutes, tick away. The door begins to close. A hand shoots up and stops the door from closing. Another moment passes and an asshole slooowly begins to wobble in, not once looking up from her Blackberry. She takes a rest by the buttons, takes a moment to finish her email, examines the floor options, and finally chooses one. I am bursting with excitement; we're on our way again! We stop at G (Lower Lobby). Door opens, I see Asshole 3 playing with his iPhone. Time passes. My hand starts rising to the 'Door Close' button, and the words 'Hurry the Fuck Up Next Time Asshole!' begin to raise to my lips. Asshole 3 stirs, examines the many dirty looks (mine the most intense), and leisurely walks on to the elevator. Asshole 3 needs a lift to level 2 (Main Lobby). Just one floor. Fourteen steps up.Young, fit, not carrying anything heavy, no obvious reason why he cannot use one of the four sets of staircases provided to him by the builders. It will forever remain a secret, in his asshole brain. We stop at 2. Asshole 3 takes a moment in preparation for his journey off the elevator. We all wave good-bye. Its been a blast. The three assholes and I have had time to bond. He begins moving forward...and gets rushed by fifteen people getting on. Took too long. The door begins closing. He desperately tries to push the 'Door Open' button, but fails to do so in time. Too bad, so sad. No escape now. He gets to take the rest of the trip up. We are finally coming up to the 11th floor. Thirteen people left on the elevator...8...9...I say 'Excuse Me' in advance, so that they know it is I, in the very back corner, who is trying to get off next...10...11...The door opens. No one moves. 'Excuse Me!'. The door begins to close. I do not make the same mistake as Asshole 3; instead of reaching for the 'Door Open' button, I start pushing people forward so that their useless bodies keep the door pried open for me. I see looks of shock and astonishment on their faces, but at this point, I don't give a flying fuck. The elevator starts buzzing and forcibly closing its door (where the fuck where you forcible-door-closer when assholes 1 through 3 were taking their time getting on?). I'm nearly there. I just want to get off this fucking elevator and avoid having to do the 'ride of shame' down with the previous asshole who failed to get off. The door is almost closed. Out of desperation, I pull an Indiana-Jones-style-running-somersault-kick-flip and gently tumble to the safety of my floor. I sit for a moment; catching my breath, reflecting, and swear NEVER to use the elevator during rush hour again. Not worth the twitching eye.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-70322636040561575122011-04-06T13:41:00.003-04:002011-04-06T14:37:01.488-04:00WTF? Music VideosI love music. It makes my life better. Recently, I have been introduced to Grooveshark (http://grooveshark.com). It is a website on which you can listen to pretty much any song ever written, whatever you want, streaming, in high quality, for free (ads on the page, paid subscription if you do not want to see them). The site has a cool radio feature you can turn on that creates a music playlist based on what you have listening to. I have come to love a large amount of new songs in the past few weeks due to this spectacular feature.<br />
<br />
Now to the point. There are times when I accidentally stumble upon a video of a song that I really enjoy. Having listened to it first, my brain creates a certain atmosphere about it. When I watch the video sometimes that atmosphere is kept, sometimes it is altered, and other times I just think 'WTF?'. Today, I happened to stumble upon one of those 'WTF?' videos and decided to put together a short list of ones that I found particularly fucked up over the past little while. <br />
<br />
Enjoy if you have nothing better to do, or even if you do. To get the full 'WTF?' experience, you should watch the full videos. I warn you in advance, some of these are seriously fucked up.<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1017185275"><br />
</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ybufq1T5io&feature=related">Hot Chip - I Feel Better</a> (Just plain old wft)<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ybufq1T5io&feature=related"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOZ6ptqcbUc">VAST - Pretty When You Cry</a> (Creepy)<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOZ6ptqcbUc"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1017185285"> </a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4hFwJm41h4">Basement Jaxx - Where's Your Head At</a> (Creepy)<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4hFwJm41h4"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1017185290"> </a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cB7IAXrCkO8">MTMG - Congratulations</a> (Wtf is that thing, and why is it falling apart?)<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cB7IAXrCkO8"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1017185297"> </a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoJeiRVnlu8">Apex Twin - Widowlicker</a> (It doesn't start being messed up until about the 4th minute)<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoJeiRVnlu8"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDDnuZAL9ps">Plaid - Itsu</a> (All of these guys' videos are a little weird, but this one wins the creepy award)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-24855238367515306402011-04-04T12:27:00.000-04:002011-04-04T12:27:15.621-04:00Just KiddingSome sort of cloud has passed, but was it the dark one? Clearly, I have not written in a while, but things have changed. I have quit. I no longer teach the art of driving in the middle of a ruthless downtown core. I have moved on, just barely missing my braking point. One more Lexus cut-off, one more BMW honk for following the law, one more Honda tailgating me, and someone would have had regrets. Definitely, not me, I would have instant gratification followed by pleasent memories, but someone would have regrets. So, from now on, I will be focusing more on "...And Other Stories" BUT things will definietly still be "Driving Me Insane". That is inevitable. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-4816985259130481852010-11-18T09:41:00.000-05:002010-11-18T09:41:12.673-05:00Has the dark cloud passed?Maybe not exactly, but its definitely intermittent, which is better than constant.<br />
<br />
I have had a very large writer's/painter's/sculptor's/life block for a while. I love writing/painting/sculpting/living, but for a while now, whenever I sat down in front of a computer/canvas/clay/mirror, the object remained blank, no matter what dirty looks I kept giving it; except for the mirror.<br />
<br />
Over the past few weeks however, things have picked up. First, I started up my Yelp reviews again, followed by some sculpting, followed by some enjoying life again, and now the blog. I can't promise a constant stream of posts to this outlet, but things are definitely moving in the direction with the better weather forecast.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-54873096523684826362010-07-21T20:31:00.000-04:002010-07-21T20:31:17.465-04:00Stop Sign; Optional?No. Asshole.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-48995159566232212622010-06-09T20:55:00.000-04:002010-06-09T20:55:12.026-04:00I Do Not Assume; It's Just Statistics.Not all BMW drivers are uneducated pricks on the road. I know this statement seems to go against everything I have written so far, but it is true. The misunderstanding occurs because I only really write about the pricks; and I only write about the pricks because all uneducated pricks happen to be attracted to buying expensive cars, making the odds of seeing a "reasonable" BMW driver one-in-a-million. I am not that lucky. So, an apology to all those one-in-a-million-"reasonable"-BMW drivers; you are better off spending your money on a Tesla anyway.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-60440497502567468152010-03-22T22:57:00.002-04:002010-03-23T13:52:22.768-04:00I Have Developed A Twitching Eye Over The Past Few MonthsI think that the biggest contributors to this physical response to my hate for all things stupid, are BMW drivers. Out of everyone on the road, they are the most creative with breaking traffic laws.<br />
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I was teaching a new student today. We were driving up to a four-way stop only to find a BMW parked diagonally in the middle of the intersection. Parked: the driver had secured the vehicle, shut down the engine, and left it. Just like you would in a parking stall, except with out the parking stall. My initial thinking was that there must be an emergency near by that the driver is attending to, so I started looking around to see if anyone needed help. A few feet to the left of the abandoned BMW, I noticed a cab stopped half way through a turn. My next thought was that perhaps the two vehicles had just been in a collision. However, as we drove closer to the intersection I could see that neither car looked damaged. I continued examining the site. About 10 loooooong seconds later, the cab started to drive away, revealing the BMW driver happily moving towards her parked SUV. It turned out that the BMW genius decided that she needed directions. So she parked her car in the middle of the intersection, diagonally (god forbid anyone get by her vehicle in such a dire circumstance), and hailed down a cab (aka human GPS) to assist her. With her mission complete, she jumped back into her meant-to-be-off-road-vehicle-that-will-never-see-anything-but-pavement, started it up, and, since it was not pointing in the direction she required it to, turned it around. Immediately. A 7-point turn in the middle of the intersection later, she was on her way.<br />
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The twitch doubled in strength.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-65431244146856154192009-12-22T18:47:00.001-05:002009-12-22T18:47:48.443-05:00Work Meetings: A Waste of LifeThey truly are. I do not think there are may people out there that will disagree with the title of this blog. Frequently, we are called into meetings in order to go over things that are deemed "important" by someone who deems themselves "important" and our time, not.<br />
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At the company I work for there is a general meeting once every 3 months and, as you will soon see, this meeting can very easily be avoided. Last time we met, we spent half of our two hour meeting listening to one of our mini-bosses read a public web page to us. We all had seen this web page many times before, at the company's request, and most of us happen to be literate. The next 45 minutes were spent on our mini-boss answering questions that had just been answered in the hour long reading - a good chunk of time in these meetings is wasted on the illiterates-in-denial, who are apparently deaf as well. Only the last 15 minutes were spent on new material, such as how the company is doing. In summary, 2 hours were spent on what could have taken 15 minutes to go over, and the information discussed over the last 15 minutes could have been sent via email. Precious minutes I will never get back.<br />
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Under scrutiny my meetings seem like a big waste of time, however they do only happen once every 3 months. That's not too bad if you think of it. My sister, on the other hand, sits in conference-call meetings almost all of her day, everyday; and since she frequently works from her home, I have from time to time, while visiting her, sat in those meetings out of morbid curiosity. Let me tell you, most of them could have been condensed; probably into one sentence emails. Unfortunately for her, she too has to deal with illiterates-in-denial, and, since most of them seem to be deaf as well, on top of her 40+ weekly phone meetings she still has to go into the office a couple of times a week to explain things with hand gestures and diagrams. Absolutely amazing. Imagine if everyone learned to read, all meetings were turned into condensed emails, and we all used the saved time for vacations. For me it would not make too much of a difference, but for people like my sister it would add a few of months of vacation time per year.<br />
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One can dream.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-7146106842114625802009-12-15T22:45:00.001-05:002009-12-23T19:43:19.251-05:00White Socks: Why Do You Upset Me?Ever since I could remember, I have had an aversion to white socks. I am not sure why, but I feel like they never match. The only time I do not get bothered by them is when they are worn with an entirely white outfit; if, however, there is any colour or shade in an ensemble, I am against them. Similar to red cars; I do not approve of their existence. <br />
<br />
I had to put it out there. White socks upset me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-42661292903379942462009-11-22T12:19:00.001-05:002009-11-22T12:22:57.221-05:00Re: Häagen-Dazs®Dear Mrs. and Mr. Mattus,<br />
<br />
This blog entry originally started out as a love letter to Häagen-Dazs® Baileys® Irish Cream Ice Cream, the love of my taste buds' life. But as I started writing it, and it did come easy, I decided that perhaps instead I should be writing a thank you letter to the Häagen-Dazs family for creating this ice cream that I love so much. I proceeded by first researching this wonderful Scandinavian family. If you are reading this, Mrs. and Mr. Mattus, I am sure you know where the rest of this letter is going, but I would like to spell it out for you anyway.<br />
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First off, I found that Häagen-Dazs is not a Scandinavian family name. Nor is it two hyphenated Scandinavian family names. Häagen and Dazs are actually two made up words that just look Scandinavian (to everyone except for Scandinavians, who just assume they must be German). I read this, and thought to myself: 'Hmm. Maybe the actual Scandinavian family behind Häagen-Dazs® just wanted to make up an original company name instead of using their own last name. I can understand that.' But at that point a spark of doubt formed in my head and I decided to research further, just in case anything else was not what it seemed. Guess what I found out.<br />
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Häagen-Dazs® ice cream was created by a Polish-American family from the Bronx of New York and is produced in North America. In fact, absolutely nothing about Häagen-Dazs® has anything to do with Scandinavia.<br />
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What the hell?<br />
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I have been eating this magnificent combination of deliciousness, filled with 250 calories per half a cup (minimal possible ingestion at one sitting being four times that), telling myself that 'It's ok. I can eat these Scandinavian calories; they are foreign, so it's like being on vacation. Everyone needs a vacation!' <br />
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Ignorance was beautiful beautiful bliss. But now that reality has hit I know that I have been consuming American ice cream calories all this time, a lot of them. Apparently what I thought was a semi-liquid vacation, turned out to be a trap. A delicious American-fat-ass-making trap. Furthermore, since I have been consuming this frozen once-upon-a-time-a-vacation-recently-discovered-trap for so long, I cannot even stop myself from future consumption; although your product is not physically addictive, it certainly is emotionally. I have been tricked, and now I am stuck.<br />
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So thank you, Mrs. and Mr. Mattus, for creating this bliss-destroying lie. Perhaps next time you should conceal it a little better. <br />
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Driven (and now also Sad)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-7473448717757485922009-11-17T11:55:00.000-05:002009-11-17T11:55:28.014-05:00The Power of a Crossing GuardOne of my students and I were driving around today, practicing turns at intersections with lights. We were coming up to a red light at which we were planning to turn right. As we got closer, we noticed a crossing guard standing at the corner, observing us. We approached the light, made our stop, and slowly began moving up to see if the lane we were intending to turn into was free. As soon as we set the car in motion, the crossing guard's hand (occupied by a stop sign) went up. We stopped, assuming someone was about to cross in front of us. We waited; no one crossed. A couple of seconds later, the stop sign was lowered. I looked to the crossing guard for an eye-contact explanation, and instead received an intense blank look.<br />
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We began moving up again, and immediately the stop sign was flipped up. We stopped; however, this time we made it far enough into the intersection to notice that the side walk was empty, in both directions. Very very empty. No people; no cars. I again looked to the crossing guard, who was now staring at me very seriously while continuing to firmly hold the stop sign up, for an explanation; none was given. My student, slightly confused, looked to me for advice; I, less confused, told him "Ignore the crazy".<br />
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We proceed to turn while I continued to stare down the guard who, once we were half way through our turn, faced the stop sign in another direction and began to wave us on as if the only reason why we could even perform the turn was because she was doing us a favour by holding back all other traffic.<br />
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Thank you Crazy. Just imagine what a terrible turn my life could have taken if someone insisted that crossing guards had to pass psychological evaluations prior to receiving their Mighty Scepters of Stopping.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-29725935412098781692009-11-15T00:32:00.000-05:002009-11-15T00:32:12.316-05:00Saying "Thank You" On The RoadIt is a simple gesture. Just lift one hand high enough so that the driver that deserves your thanks, can see it; similar to when you lift a hand and extend a finger to those that have pissed you off, but without the finger extension.<br />
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Why would you do this thanking thing? To show people you appreciate them doing something nice for you, and to encourage them to continue doing these nice things and passing on the love; just like showing those that have done you wrong, that you hate them and to remind them that people will hate them as long as they continue on doing stupid shit.<br />
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So now, lets review: Thanking people is just a hand lift; hating people involves a hand lift and a finger extension. Clearly, showing hate takes double the work of showing thanks; so why does nearly every person on the road have the energy for the hate, but hardly anyone has the energy for the thanks?<br />
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Because, when it comes to the core of our existence, most humans are selfish pricks who expect respect. Since there is an expectation, when it is given, there is no appreciation; however, as soon as there is a lack of, it is immediately noticed.<br />
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Unless we all put in a bit more effort to be nice, eventually everyone will feel the effects of the free flowing hate; and free flowing it is. So, instead, lets try not to be pricks all the time. If you are a driver, try to say "thank you" if someone does something nice for you on the road; start a crazy chain reaction. If you do not drive, try to say "thank you" for some other reason. We do not have to be assholes. I am almost positive.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-17468187201015986112009-10-15T11:44:00.001-04:002009-10-15T11:45:48.098-04:00Cyclists vs. Drivers: The Drama ContinuesMost cyclist do not believe that, when they are riding on the road, they are legally expected to follow traffic laws. These laws include stopping at stop signs, obeying traffic lights, going the right way on a one-way street, passing slow moving (or turning) vehicles on the left, etc. Disobeying any of the above, when you are on two small tires attached by some metal sticks while everyone else is inside a metal exoskeleton, is like facing off with an elephant: sounds like fun but, you will inevitably die a squishy death.<br />
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Not to stray any further, today, we will discuss passing cars on the left. The breaking of the first three rules I mentioned earlier, is a conscious disobedience; breaking the last rule is mostly just ignorance of the law. To clarify: when a car is making a right turn at an intersection, the cyclist is not legally allowed to squeeze in between the car and the curb to pass. Even when the car has to block a bike lane to make the turn, it is still illegal for the cyclist to try to continue on in their lane. In that situation the cyclist, like any other vehicle, is expected to 1) wait until the car turns or 2) do a lane change to the left and pass. Law aside, it is also very dangerous to perform the act of 'squeezing in', as the car is already watching for traffic coming from other directions and any pedestrians crossing the road; checking for illegally passing bikes is at the end of the list. Even if you are not a fan of obeying laws in general, take a minute to think about the following formula: CAR > bike; therefore, CAR will win.<br />
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Most cyclists, who do not know the proper sequence of events, become extremely hostile when a car does blocks their path while turning, and so, as a hateful act of revenge, they try to squeeze in between the car and the curb to show the car who is boss. Yet, still CAR > bike. Hence, these acts frequently lead to someone getting hurt, and it is usually is not the person protected by a metal exoskeleton.<br />
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In conclusion: learn the laws, because apparently ignorance is not always bliss. In some situations, ignorance is the cause of the end of your genetic lineage.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3494086314965562096.post-48057984642722326002009-10-12T11:44:00.003-04:002009-10-12T11:47:10.219-04:00Rage Block: I Think They Call It HappinessI have not posted in a few days.<br />
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Most of my blog entries are driven by some sort of rage induced event, and rage has been coming in very small doses lately. At first I did not even notice; flags were not raised until I looked at my last post date, and so I began exploring why. After several long minutes of deep thought I have come to the conclusion that lately people have not pissed me off...as much.<br />
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I blame it on the weather; it has been really cooling down lately. Maybe cool weather makes people less stupid. Or maybe cool weather tames the ever burning hateful fire within me.<br />
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Either way, hopefully this down time will not last too long. I would rather not have to change my name to Driven Insane by Happy! That might slightly affect the entire mood of this blog.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0