The intern and I are caffinating in the office kitchen. The intern is all dressed up in a suit and tie from his interview this morning. The parent company receptionist walks by.
PCR: Is that your Halloween costume?
The intern: Yes. I'm a respectable person.
Friday, October 27, 2006
I Can Make a Federal Case Out of Just About Anything
ring ring.
The bartender answers his phone. “Hello?”
“I need your scientific opinion on something.”
“Ok.”
“Were you the one who told me centipedes can’t get out of the bathtub?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. When you said that did you mean they can never ever ever get out of the bathtub, or they usually can’t, but if they try really hard they could get out?”
“No, they can’t get out.”
“Ok. Are you sure though?”
“Look, it’s not going to get out. I’m not coming all the way home just to kill a bug.”
“No one is asking you to. I just want to know if I can put my makeup on in here, or if I have to take it with me because I need to run away from the house.”
“No, it’s fine. Even if it did get out, it’s going to run to a crack somewhere. But it won’t get out.”
“Ok. Thanks. Go back to work.”
“(audible sigh) Bye.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it. I believed him, that it wouldn’t get out, more so because I’d already seen it try and fail a dozen times before I called him than because of his reassurance. Also I’d already pulled the bathmat and the shower liner outside of the tub so it couldn’t climb onto those and get out. So I wasn’t terribly worried that it would get on me. I was more freaked out over the fact that I had JUST GOTTEN OUT OF THE SHOWER and it was probably in there with me the whole entire time. Also because it was both hideously ugly and ginormously huge. They’re like a dozen spiders fused together into one long strand. I sent a text message to Heather, because I needed someone to feel my pain and not make fun of me: There is a CENTIPEDE in my bathtub!! I considered putting a cup over the top of it so the bartender could kill it when he got home, but realized that meant getting within a cup’s reach of it which was not going to happen.
The theme song from Super Mario Brothers.
I looked at my phone and saw it was the owner calling. “Hello?”
“Hey man! What’s going on in your life?”
“There’s a centipede in my tub.”
The owner cracked up laughing. “I just talked to [the bartender] and he told me if I called you that would be the first thing you’d say to me.”
“It’s huge. I called him because he told me they can’t get out of the tub and I wanted to verify that.”
“And he’s right, they can’t. Are you just standing there staring at it?”
“Yes.”
“You should just drown him. Wash him down the drain.”
“I tried that already.” This was true. “I threw some water on him, but he won’t die.”
“That’s because you have to actually throw water on him and not just spit into the tub.”
“I did! I used a big cup!” The centipede was frantically trying to climb the walls of the tub from every angle. He was so big that every time he fell I could hear him hit the bottom of the tub.
“A cup is not going to work. You need a bucket, or a cup and then another cup, but I already know you won’t do it.”
“Well, because if I use too much water it might splash out on me!”
“It’s not going to splash out on you. You’re a freak. What else is going on?”
I left the bathroom and continued chatting with the owner while I got dressed. When I got off the phone I went back in the bathroom to put my makeup on.
No centipede in the bathtub. I looked everywhere. I checked the walls, the faucet, the ceiling. I looked in the sink. Still no centipede. Stupid tricky, huge-ass, ugly, motherfucking disgusting bug!
I was later assured by the bartender and MrSteve that it had probably accidentally fallen or intentionally crawled into the drain and drowned in there. I’m pretty sure they really believe that and were not just patronizing me so I’d shut up. But I’m not taking a shower in there again until after the bartender does because holy crap.
The bartender answers his phone. “Hello?”
“I need your scientific opinion on something.”
“Ok.”
“Were you the one who told me centipedes can’t get out of the bathtub?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. When you said that did you mean they can never ever ever get out of the bathtub, or they usually can’t, but if they try really hard they could get out?”
“No, they can’t get out.”
“Ok. Are you sure though?”
“Look, it’s not going to get out. I’m not coming all the way home just to kill a bug.”
“No one is asking you to. I just want to know if I can put my makeup on in here, or if I have to take it with me because I need to run away from the house.”
“No, it’s fine. Even if it did get out, it’s going to run to a crack somewhere. But it won’t get out.”
“Ok. Thanks. Go back to work.”
“(audible sigh) Bye.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it. I believed him, that it wouldn’t get out, more so because I’d already seen it try and fail a dozen times before I called him than because of his reassurance. Also I’d already pulled the bathmat and the shower liner outside of the tub so it couldn’t climb onto those and get out. So I wasn’t terribly worried that it would get on me. I was more freaked out over the fact that I had JUST GOTTEN OUT OF THE SHOWER and it was probably in there with me the whole entire time. Also because it was both hideously ugly and ginormously huge. They’re like a dozen spiders fused together into one long strand. I sent a text message to Heather, because I needed someone to feel my pain and not make fun of me: There is a CENTIPEDE in my bathtub!! I considered putting a cup over the top of it so the bartender could kill it when he got home, but realized that meant getting within a cup’s reach of it which was not going to happen.
The theme song from Super Mario Brothers.
I looked at my phone and saw it was the owner calling. “Hello?”
“Hey man! What’s going on in your life?”
“There’s a centipede in my tub.”
The owner cracked up laughing. “I just talked to [the bartender] and he told me if I called you that would be the first thing you’d say to me.”
“It’s huge. I called him because he told me they can’t get out of the tub and I wanted to verify that.”
“And he’s right, they can’t. Are you just standing there staring at it?”
“Yes.”
“You should just drown him. Wash him down the drain.”
“I tried that already.” This was true. “I threw some water on him, but he won’t die.”
“That’s because you have to actually throw water on him and not just spit into the tub.”
“I did! I used a big cup!” The centipede was frantically trying to climb the walls of the tub from every angle. He was so big that every time he fell I could hear him hit the bottom of the tub.
“A cup is not going to work. You need a bucket, or a cup and then another cup, but I already know you won’t do it.”
“Well, because if I use too much water it might splash out on me!”
“It’s not going to splash out on you. You’re a freak. What else is going on?”
I left the bathroom and continued chatting with the owner while I got dressed. When I got off the phone I went back in the bathroom to put my makeup on.
No centipede in the bathtub. I looked everywhere. I checked the walls, the faucet, the ceiling. I looked in the sink. Still no centipede. Stupid tricky, huge-ass, ugly, motherfucking disgusting bug!
I was later assured by the bartender and MrSteve that it had probably accidentally fallen or intentionally crawled into the drain and drowned in there. I’m pretty sure they really believe that and were not just patronizing me so I’d shut up. But I’m not taking a shower in there again until after the bartender does because holy crap.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
5 Minute Major - For Sucking
I went to the Blackhawks game with the bartender last night. That was a huge mistake. I've never seen such a terrible display of hockey in all of my life. I can't even describe how painful that was, so I won't try. I'll just say that the highlight of the game was a guy about three rows in front of us who screamed out, "Will somebody! PLEASE! Beat someone up!" near the end of the second period.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Rant (Be Careful Reading This, You Wouldn't Want to Put Your Eye Out)
I am so glad I grew up in the 80's and 90's as opposed to right now. We have lost our collective minds in this country about all things children.
I read an article yesterday about a Massachusetts elementary school that has banned playing tag at recess. Um, what?
They've banned it on the grounds that kids might get hurt and the parents would hold the school liable. I was all ready to be mad at the school, but I completely see their point. Parents are both so paranoid and so litigious these days they will sue over anything. Have you seen the story about the girl who lent her iPod to another kid who then lost it? It's become this huge legal battle over who is responsible for losing the iPod and who is due compensation for it, etc. etc. This would not have happened in my house. If I had brought something that expensive with me to school (because we were deprived and didn't have iPods back in those days, you see), and I lent it to another kid and walked away and then it disappeared, my parents would not have sued to other kid. They would have yelled at me and told me if I was going to go around handing out expensive things to people, then it was my own fault and too bad. And then I would have not done something like that again. Lesson learned. But I digress.
So tag and all chase games have been banned. And I'll just go ahead and assume that there is already no monkey bars, jungle gyms, swings etc. because kids might get hurt *gasp!* *outrage!*. So these kids are supposed to do what? Stand there on their rubber mats looking at each other? I know, let's all play jacks. Wait no, you could put someone's eye out with those things.
From the article:
"Several school administrators ... took aim at dodgeball a few years ago, saying it was exclusionary and dangerous." Of course it is exclusionary, that is the POINT OF THE GAME. I sucked at dodgeball growing up, being that I can neither throw nor catch. I was always one of the first kids out. It didn't matter, I played anyway. I'm pretty sure it hasn't negatively effected any of my adult relationships or decreased my self esteem. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong.
"Another Willett parent ... said her son feels safer because of the rule." No doubt he does. As his mother is most likely nit-picking at every little aspect of his life because she is paranoid over every single micron of dust he encounters. Having been exposed to this for the last 6-10 years, it's no wonder he's afraid to play tag. You made your son into a big pussy, mom, congratulations. Please don't be startled when he gets his ass kicked and shoved into lockers in high school.
Kids are supposed to get bruised. They are supposed to get splinters, eat dirt, fall off their bikes, climb trees, and swing on swings. They are supposed to play tag.
I read an article yesterday about a Massachusetts elementary school that has banned playing tag at recess. Um, what?
They've banned it on the grounds that kids might get hurt and the parents would hold the school liable. I was all ready to be mad at the school, but I completely see their point. Parents are both so paranoid and so litigious these days they will sue over anything. Have you seen the story about the girl who lent her iPod to another kid who then lost it? It's become this huge legal battle over who is responsible for losing the iPod and who is due compensation for it, etc. etc. This would not have happened in my house. If I had brought something that expensive with me to school (because we were deprived and didn't have iPods back in those days, you see), and I lent it to another kid and walked away and then it disappeared, my parents would not have sued to other kid. They would have yelled at me and told me if I was going to go around handing out expensive things to people, then it was my own fault and too bad. And then I would have not done something like that again. Lesson learned. But I digress.
So tag and all chase games have been banned. And I'll just go ahead and assume that there is already no monkey bars, jungle gyms, swings etc. because kids might get hurt *gasp!* *outrage!*. So these kids are supposed to do what? Stand there on their rubber mats looking at each other? I know, let's all play jacks. Wait no, you could put someone's eye out with those things.
From the article:
"Several school administrators ... took aim at dodgeball a few years ago, saying it was exclusionary and dangerous." Of course it is exclusionary, that is the POINT OF THE GAME. I sucked at dodgeball growing up, being that I can neither throw nor catch. I was always one of the first kids out. It didn't matter, I played anyway. I'm pretty sure it hasn't negatively effected any of my adult relationships or decreased my self esteem. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong.
"Another Willett parent ... said her son feels safer because of the rule." No doubt he does. As his mother is most likely nit-picking at every little aspect of his life because she is paranoid over every single micron of dust he encounters. Having been exposed to this for the last 6-10 years, it's no wonder he's afraid to play tag. You made your son into a big pussy, mom, congratulations. Please don't be startled when he gets his ass kicked and shoved into lockers in high school.
Kids are supposed to get bruised. They are supposed to get splinters, eat dirt, fall off their bikes, climb trees, and swing on swings. They are supposed to play tag.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Amberance Ruins Chicken and Porn
Thanks in large part to my dearest drinking buddy MrSteve, I have finally found my calling in life: Porn Foley.
What's a Porn Foley you ask? Well, I assume everyone knows what porn is. And I think most people know what a Foley artist is. It's exactly what you think it is. My calling in life is to create sound effects for porn.
MrSteve is trying to disassociate himself from this venture, but don't be fooled. He coined the term Porn Foley and he jokingly applied it to my future. He did not envision that I would take his idea and run with it, but that is his own fault. He's known me long enough to know better than to make an offhand remark to me about sound effects and porn. Clearly he was asking for it.
I can just picture it: Me standing in a sound room, headphones on, larger than life porn playing on the screen in front of me, and there I stand watching the nekkid frolic as I slap two pieces of chicken together to the beat of their fornication. Maybe a turducken. I bet they make awesome squishy sounds.
When I said the same to MrSteve he sighed and shook his head. He claims he will never be able to look at porn or chicken the same way again. I also pictured a conversation at my family reunion. "What have I been up to? I make the sound effects for pornographic movies. Yeah, that's right. I write the songs, baby."
You may be tempted to point out that there is no such thing as a Porn Foley, but I ask you, don't you think there should be? I mean, do you believe any of the sounds that you hear in those things? NO! They're totally faking it! So if it's all fake anyway, why not fake it in a way that makes it sound more real? Enter the long overdue Porn Foley. I will revolutionize the industry!
And when I'm up on the stage in front of all those pornographers excepting my Porny for Best Sound, I'm going to say I couldn't have done it without MrSteve.
What's a Porn Foley you ask? Well, I assume everyone knows what porn is. And I think most people know what a Foley artist is. It's exactly what you think it is. My calling in life is to create sound effects for porn.
MrSteve is trying to disassociate himself from this venture, but don't be fooled. He coined the term Porn Foley and he jokingly applied it to my future. He did not envision that I would take his idea and run with it, but that is his own fault. He's known me long enough to know better than to make an offhand remark to me about sound effects and porn. Clearly he was asking for it.
I can just picture it: Me standing in a sound room, headphones on, larger than life porn playing on the screen in front of me, and there I stand watching the nekkid frolic as I slap two pieces of chicken together to the beat of their fornication. Maybe a turducken. I bet they make awesome squishy sounds.
When I said the same to MrSteve he sighed and shook his head. He claims he will never be able to look at porn or chicken the same way again. I also pictured a conversation at my family reunion. "What have I been up to? I make the sound effects for pornographic movies. Yeah, that's right. I write the songs, baby."
You may be tempted to point out that there is no such thing as a Porn Foley, but I ask you, don't you think there should be? I mean, do you believe any of the sounds that you hear in those things? NO! They're totally faking it! So if it's all fake anyway, why not fake it in a way that makes it sound more real? Enter the long overdue Porn Foley. I will revolutionize the industry!
And when I'm up on the stage in front of all those pornographers excepting my Porny for Best Sound, I'm going to say I couldn't have done it without MrSteve.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Panic Sets In
It is snowing outside. SNOWING. And, as if to mock me, the sun is shining.
I am not ready for this. For one thing, I have no gloves. But it's mostly psychological. The leaves haven't even finished turning yet. I haven't gone on a fall walk anywhere. We're still playing baseball for Pete's sake. It's just too soon. I need more time to prepare.
Snowing. Ugh.
I am not ready for this. For one thing, I have no gloves. But it's mostly psychological. The leaves haven't even finished turning yet. I haven't gone on a fall walk anywhere. We're still playing baseball for Pete's sake. It's just too soon. I need more time to prepare.
Snowing. Ugh.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Hadn't Thought About That.
MrSteve is drinking scotch. I attempt to determine exactly how drunk he is. I fail in this attempt:
Me: How drunk are you? Would you eat a gummy bear off the floor?
MrSteve: What? No.
Me: Hmm. How about the bar? Would you eat a gummy bear off the bar?
MrSteve: No!
Me: What about if I dropped a gummy bear in your scotch? Would you eat it then?
MrSteve: (crinkles his brow at me) NO!
Me: Why not?
MrSteve: Because I don't like gummy bears.
Me: How drunk are you? Would you eat a gummy bear off the floor?
MrSteve: What? No.
Me: Hmm. How about the bar? Would you eat a gummy bear off the bar?
MrSteve: No!
Me: What about if I dropped a gummy bear in your scotch? Would you eat it then?
MrSteve: (crinkles his brow at me) NO!
Me: Why not?
MrSteve: Because I don't like gummy bears.
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