Things are really slow over here at the office. I should by right pick up some self help book and chisel myself into the 21st century man. But my motivation needle is flirting at the zero level right now. Someone should write a book that teaches you how to motivate yourself, to motivate yourself.
The book you read before you read Anthony Robbins
September 28, 2000, 6:11 pmJust a little blah
September 27, 2000, 6:06 am
1)Sometimes you're sad because you're not happy.
2)Sometimes you're happy because you're not sad.
A" Blah mood" is when you feel 1 and 2 at the same time.
How often do I get like this? Ummmm... on average... about once a month... although I've not felt like this for quite some time now. Blah moods are quite debilitating as you feel helpless in trying to overcome your helplessness... probably what a mad man feels when you put him in a straight jacket.
For a brief moment, I had a dire urge to just hop on my desk and do the Run-Man.
2)Sometimes you're happy because you're not sad.
A" Blah mood" is when you feel 1 and 2 at the same time.
How often do I get like this? Ummmm... on average... about once a month... although I've not felt like this for quite some time now. Blah moods are quite debilitating as you feel helpless in trying to overcome your helplessness... probably what a mad man feels when you put him in a straight jacket.
For a brief moment, I had a dire urge to just hop on my desk and do the Run-Man.
A little out of line
September 26, 2000, 6:02 pm
Lunch break. 1 hour.
1) Consume lunch 2)Sneak over to the Fulton-Magnolia Post Office to mail a CD in a bubble envelope to Sis Bernie in Singapore 3)Get my web designing skills back to my desk at PDS.
Ample time... except upon entering the front door of the post office I was given the impression that Cindy Margolis was giving free blow jobs at the head of the line. Before I could back out of the line, a guy in his mid-thirties, unshaven, black tie, white shirt, took the spot behind me. All of a sudden, my situation didn't look as bleak. As a matter of fact, a sense of pride started swelling in my chest, knowing now that I was the proud owner of the spot in front of the the guy behind.
The loser behind me (we'll call him Mr. X) let loose a burp and his breath reeked of alcohol. I was like, "Hey, dude, it's only 2 in the afternoon." I gave this guy the benefit of a doubt. May be he just had his wisdom teeth pulled out and may be his religion did not permit anaesthesia.
Well Mr. X continued to burp and it was getting intolerable. I had to burst the bubbles that padded the inside of Bernie's envelope for air. What ever the case, I refused to back out of the line because I knew his burping was probably a ploy to force me to give up my VIP spot. There were times I really felt like holding a match in front of his mouth and see if a flame would snake into his belly causing it to blow up, a bit like the plane explosion at the conclusion of Die Hard 2.
Time ticked away. I started looking at my watch and was hoping I would get some crowd participation. I mean, if everyone started looking at their watch repeatedly and back up their teetering patience with a flustered sigh, I'm pretty sure the PO employees would have gotten jarred out of their tedium and up their pace. All of me wanted to rouse the troops by raging a battlecry, followed by a litany of fiery phrases that would give these cowards their knees back... all this as I gallop up and down the line, fists clenched, arms stretched in front of me as if I were riding an invisible horse.
1) Consume lunch 2)Sneak over to the Fulton-Magnolia Post Office to mail a CD in a bubble envelope to Sis Bernie in Singapore 3)Get my web designing skills back to my desk at PDS.
Ample time... except upon entering the front door of the post office I was given the impression that Cindy Margolis was giving free blow jobs at the head of the line. Before I could back out of the line, a guy in his mid-thirties, unshaven, black tie, white shirt, took the spot behind me. All of a sudden, my situation didn't look as bleak. As a matter of fact, a sense of pride started swelling in my chest, knowing now that I was the proud owner of the spot in front of the the guy behind.
The loser behind me (we'll call him Mr. X) let loose a burp and his breath reeked of alcohol. I was like, "Hey, dude, it's only 2 in the afternoon." I gave this guy the benefit of a doubt. May be he just had his wisdom teeth pulled out and may be his religion did not permit anaesthesia.
Well Mr. X continued to burp and it was getting intolerable. I had to burst the bubbles that padded the inside of Bernie's envelope for air. What ever the case, I refused to back out of the line because I knew his burping was probably a ploy to force me to give up my VIP spot. There were times I really felt like holding a match in front of his mouth and see if a flame would snake into his belly causing it to blow up, a bit like the plane explosion at the conclusion of Die Hard 2.
Time ticked away. I started looking at my watch and was hoping I would get some crowd participation. I mean, if everyone started looking at their watch repeatedly and back up their teetering patience with a flustered sigh, I'm pretty sure the PO employees would have gotten jarred out of their tedium and up their pace. All of me wanted to rouse the troops by raging a battlecry, followed by a litany of fiery phrases that would give these cowards their knees back... all this as I gallop up and down the line, fists clenched, arms stretched in front of me as if I were riding an invisible horse.
Desert Rain
September 22, 2000, 5:54 am
Rain in LA.
Jeez. Next we'll have peace in East Timor?
While we're on the topic of East Timor. The word Timor, translated in the Timorese language Tetum, means "east"... which would ultimately make the name "East Timor" sound a little awkward... don't you think?
The people of Timor would probably laugh their heads off if they learned that I just claimed rain in LA. "Pfffff! You call that rain?" For a country that gets 1400 mm of rain a year, the 0.005 mm of dampness we got this morning would probably be labelled imposter rain or pussy rain.
And they have a point.
All I know is that I won't be betting my kidneys that it rained today as I didn't hear any thunder, see any rain or lightning.... nope.... no pitter, patter, pitter, patter, rumbling sounds in the sky and all that good stuff. All I know is that on the way to work, I could see the bottom of the car in front reflected off the road.... and the air today was so thick with moisture you could catch a water-borne disease by breathing the air. Actually, the air today kinda reminded me of the time I got back from a weekend in St Louis, stepped into my Waugh St. apartment and realized I did not turn off my humidifier before leaving.
I was stubborn at first, refusing to run the windshield wiper on my way to work. I mean, it wasn't raining. Why use the wiper? Drops continued to accumulate on my windshield to the point it got too thick for me to see. I reluctantly flipped on the wiper. It swung left and it swung right. Now I really couldn't see shit. Paper mache.
Those of you who know me also know that I wash my car.... ummmm... on average once a year. I normally welcome heavy rain with open arms since it saves me the $5.75 I would have to otherwise spend at the car wash. I do not, however, welcome lethargic, half-hearted rain mainly because it eats into that even coat of silky dust on my car's skin, leaving its complexion looking like open pores after a cold shower. The way a car is dressed reflects a lot on the owner of the car and today, I had to deal withthe consequences my car looking neither clean nor dirty... as though it were confused... lost... or still in search of its identity.
And to make matters worse, the new rain coat formed an adhesive base that changed my car into a giant piece of scotch tape, vulnerable to everything in its path. I think I'll adopt a highway.
Jeez. Next we'll have peace in East Timor?
While we're on the topic of East Timor. The word Timor, translated in the Timorese language Tetum, means "east"... which would ultimately make the name "East Timor" sound a little awkward... don't you think?
The people of Timor would probably laugh their heads off if they learned that I just claimed rain in LA. "Pfffff! You call that rain?" For a country that gets 1400 mm of rain a year, the 0.005 mm of dampness we got this morning would probably be labelled imposter rain or pussy rain.
And they have a point.
All I know is that I won't be betting my kidneys that it rained today as I didn't hear any thunder, see any rain or lightning.... nope.... no pitter, patter, pitter, patter, rumbling sounds in the sky and all that good stuff. All I know is that on the way to work, I could see the bottom of the car in front reflected off the road.... and the air today was so thick with moisture you could catch a water-borne disease by breathing the air. Actually, the air today kinda reminded me of the time I got back from a weekend in St Louis, stepped into my Waugh St. apartment and realized I did not turn off my humidifier before leaving.
I was stubborn at first, refusing to run the windshield wiper on my way to work. I mean, it wasn't raining. Why use the wiper? Drops continued to accumulate on my windshield to the point it got too thick for me to see. I reluctantly flipped on the wiper. It swung left and it swung right. Now I really couldn't see shit. Paper mache.
Those of you who know me also know that I wash my car.... ummmm... on average once a year. I normally welcome heavy rain with open arms since it saves me the $5.75 I would have to otherwise spend at the car wash. I do not, however, welcome lethargic, half-hearted rain mainly because it eats into that even coat of silky dust on my car's skin, leaving its complexion looking like open pores after a cold shower. The way a car is dressed reflects a lot on the owner of the car and today, I had to deal withthe consequences my car looking neither clean nor dirty... as though it were confused... lost... or still in search of its identity.
And to make matters worse, the new rain coat formed an adhesive base that changed my car into a giant piece of scotch tape, vulnerable to everything in its path. I think I'll adopt a highway.
Of wedding pictures
September 18, 2000, 12:29 pm
I get my fortune handed to me in a cookie about 3 times a week down the street from where I work. This is what I peeled open today: "The luck that is ordained for you will be coveted by others." I don't know about you but that there doesn't sound right.
Oh some guy decided to tuck another flyer under the arm of my windshield wiper today. My protest against flyers(I've opted not to remove any flyers from my windshield) has reached its one and a half week anniversary now. However, if these paper pushers push on, 4EGB573 would soon look like it was parked in Madison Square at the turn of the century. I would have thought that it would dawn on these guys that it would be a waste of their time to pay any attention to my car, that it would probably be more worth their while to move on to the next car. But it just dawned on me that they may be getting the wrong message. They're probably thinking, "Jeez, this guy is actually saving his flyers." I think the smart ones will start putting their flyers face down on my windshield so that I would get advertised to while on the road.
Joshua is in a knot. For pictures, click here. When you're done, return to this page.
Welcome back. Now, weren't don't pictures gross. Josh, if you're reading this, this isn't an attack against you but against the way wedding pictures are shot around the world.
First off, why do all wedding pictures have to appear cloudy. The only time a wedding picture should appear cloudy is if you have a photo-shot through the glass of a misted up car -- where the bride and groom have opted for a little pre-marital appetizer in the back seat. Those with a more creative side would probably just capture an image of the sweaty male and female hand meshed against the glass... in Titanic fashion. Because wedding photographers seem to have run out of ideas, I took the liberty to storyboard some ideas I may be implementing a few years from now when I marry my one special someone.
Oh some guy decided to tuck another flyer under the arm of my windshield wiper today. My protest against flyers(I've opted not to remove any flyers from my windshield) has reached its one and a half week anniversary now. However, if these paper pushers push on, 4EGB573 would soon look like it was parked in Madison Square at the turn of the century. I would have thought that it would dawn on these guys that it would be a waste of their time to pay any attention to my car, that it would probably be more worth their while to move on to the next car. But it just dawned on me that they may be getting the wrong message. They're probably thinking, "Jeez, this guy is actually saving his flyers." I think the smart ones will start putting their flyers face down on my windshield so that I would get advertised to while on the road.
Joshua is in a knot. For pictures, click here. When you're done, return to this page.
Welcome back. Now, weren't don't pictures gross. Josh, if you're reading this, this isn't an attack against you but against the way wedding pictures are shot around the world.
First off, why do all wedding pictures have to appear cloudy. The only time a wedding picture should appear cloudy is if you have a photo-shot through the glass of a misted up car -- where the bride and groom have opted for a little pre-marital appetizer in the back seat. Those with a more creative side would probably just capture an image of the sweaty male and female hand meshed against the glass... in Titanic fashion. Because wedding photographers seem to have run out of ideas, I took the liberty to storyboard some ideas I may be implementing a few years from now when I marry my one special someone.
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Green eyes
September 13, 2000, 12:21 pm
You could melt a boiled egg with today's heat. What was worse was that I did not have my sunglasses with me. I was like, I can't see a mother fucking thing and I probably ran over innocent women and children on the pavement. And the inside of my eyes were getting blow torched even when after I welded my eyes shut. I think some one has to invent on of them silver sun shade things we use for our car windshields for our eyes. Eyelids don't work anymore for me. I can see a silhoutte of the veins in my eyes when I'm in the sun and I have my eyes shut. Somedays, you try to be a smart ass and challenge nature by glaring straight into the sun. The only thing you'll accomplish by this is that you get to walk around with a targeting system, them green circles, in your eyes.
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