Have you ever wondered how many trees are wasted, in the name of Christmas?
Across the street from my house is one of the Christmas tree dumps. Its in the parking lot for the mall. I had occasion to go to the mall today and this question struck me. There are hundreds of trees piled up over there. And this is only one dump, of several, for a city of only modest size, globally speaking. How many trees do we cut down, sell, and then throw away, having a useful Christmas purpose of maybe a month? Two at the most? Isn't that just a little too wasteful, in a time in history where we are taxing our resources?
Just a thought.
Toodles!
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Friday, January 23, 2004
I think people's stupidity can be summed up by one example. And this example involves parking lots.
Why is it that people lose their ability to think rationally in a parking lot? I'm trying to park at the arena tonight, and I'm driving up and down the aisles looking for a spot. When its summer, and you can see the lines painted on the asphalt, no one has any trouble parking neatly in rows and columns. Throw a little snow on the lot, and everyone seems to lose their mind.
For example, lets take the idiot that, despite having more or less dilineated pair of vehicle facing each other, to form a row, takes it upon himself to park across the space that would normally be filled by two cars. As well, he places his beat up, crap ass truck slightly skewed, thus taking up even more room that he does not need.
Then there are the geniuses that can't grasp the concept of an exit lane. The break in the curbing that CLEARLY exists to allow exit from the parking lot. The first three rows of cars all notice and allow for the exit lane. But then there is that winner that figures, there's an empty space here, I'll just park. Or the next couple hundred people that follow Swiftey's maneuver, and turn the whole parking lot into one of those hedge mazes.
Let us not forget the buffoon that swings his car into the parking lot and leaves about 5 feet between him and the car next to him. Its well more than plenty for exiting the vehicle, but is too small to allow for another vehicle to park in between. And somehow these twits know just how much room to make the spot tantalizing, but just small enough to not allow an attempt. So you have that elation at finding a spot, and the subsequent crushing defeat of it being too small. Which is inevitably chased by raging thunder as you curse the simple minded fool.
I swear, my blood pressure would go down 15% if I didn't have to drive anywhere. Other people seem to give me a rash.
Toodles!
Why is it that people lose their ability to think rationally in a parking lot? I'm trying to park at the arena tonight, and I'm driving up and down the aisles looking for a spot. When its summer, and you can see the lines painted on the asphalt, no one has any trouble parking neatly in rows and columns. Throw a little snow on the lot, and everyone seems to lose their mind.
For example, lets take the idiot that, despite having more or less dilineated pair of vehicle facing each other, to form a row, takes it upon himself to park across the space that would normally be filled by two cars. As well, he places his beat up, crap ass truck slightly skewed, thus taking up even more room that he does not need.
Then there are the geniuses that can't grasp the concept of an exit lane. The break in the curbing that CLEARLY exists to allow exit from the parking lot. The first three rows of cars all notice and allow for the exit lane. But then there is that winner that figures, there's an empty space here, I'll just park. Or the next couple hundred people that follow Swiftey's maneuver, and turn the whole parking lot into one of those hedge mazes.
Let us not forget the buffoon that swings his car into the parking lot and leaves about 5 feet between him and the car next to him. Its well more than plenty for exiting the vehicle, but is too small to allow for another vehicle to park in between. And somehow these twits know just how much room to make the spot tantalizing, but just small enough to not allow an attempt. So you have that elation at finding a spot, and the subsequent crushing defeat of it being too small. Which is inevitably chased by raging thunder as you curse the simple minded fool.
I swear, my blood pressure would go down 15% if I didn't have to drive anywhere. Other people seem to give me a rash.
Toodles!
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for 5¢ each. I thought that was odd since
they were normally a couple thousand dollars each. I decided not to look a
gift horse in the mouth.
I bought 200.
I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home.
I have a big car.
I let one of them drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded.
In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in
their genitals.
I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals.
I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my apartment.
They didn't adapt very well to their new environment.
They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam
into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its
third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they
all died.
No apparent reason.
They all just sort of dropped dead.
Kind of like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap monkeys.
I didn't know what to do.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my apartment.
On the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase.
It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet.
It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals.
That worked for a while.
That is until they began to decompose.
Then it started to smell real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to
call the plumber.
I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them.
Unfortunately, there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time, so I
had to change them every 30 seconds.
I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them.
Little did I know my bed was flammable.
I had to extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my
freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed.
The odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys or use the
bathroom.
I severely beat one of my monkeys.
I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him that I had a wet one.
He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution.
I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say.
They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying.
Ingrates.
So I punched them in the genitals.
I like monkeys.
The pet store was selling them for 5¢ each. I thought that was odd since
they were normally a couple thousand dollars each. I decided not to look a
gift horse in the mouth.
I bought 200.
I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home.
I have a big car.
I let one of them drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded.
In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in
their genitals.
I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals.
I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my apartment.
They didn't adapt very well to their new environment.
They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam
into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its
third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they
all died.
No apparent reason.
They all just sort of dropped dead.
Kind of like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap monkeys.
I didn't know what to do.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my apartment.
On the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase.
It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet.
It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals.
That worked for a while.
That is until they began to decompose.
Then it started to smell real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to
call the plumber.
I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them.
Unfortunately, there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time, so I
had to change them every 30 seconds.
I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them.
Little did I know my bed was flammable.
I had to extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my
freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed.
The odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys or use the
bathroom.
I severely beat one of my monkeys.
I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him that I had a wet one.
He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution.
I gave them out as Christmas gifts.
My friends didn't know quite what to say.
They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying.
Ingrates.
So I punched them in the genitals.
I like monkeys.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
This is an episode of Newlyweds I'd never seen!
We open with a moment so hilarious it should be illegal. Nick and Jessica are making out in the pool. (why do they get a pool and I don't!?!) Nick asks for a 'hummer'. Just hearing him say it made me spit. Its a shame they were talking about the Humvee. I have a feeling Nick wasn't 'necessarily' talking about the vehicle. :-P
The trip to Home Depot was amusing. Jessica doesn't do suburban chic very well. She is not hip to Home Depot.
Moving on its all about Jessica. It is her Mad Hatter 23rd Un-Birthday. WTF!?! Can't they stupid chicks do anything normal? Jessica invites all her friends, and as this is a TV show about normal life, we have to have the obligatory friends from grade school jet in for that all important 23rd birthday. It must be nice to have a budget. Jessica acts like 23 is old. She also manages to point out her lack of mental agility by saying that 25 is 'almost' mid twenties.
Shift to the night of the party. In a poorly chosen decision, Jessica goes in costume in what appears to be, vampish call girl. Its either that, or she's a time travelling Ronelle. Mucho drinking in the limo. a) why are we doing a limo to a birthday party and b) these people drink a lot.
Scenes from the party? BOR-ing. The dance, or some semblance of what passes for dancing. There is, of course, lots of alcohol. Jessica auditions for the part of drunk stripper. She pulls it off in convincing style. As you'd expect, this being a show about celebrities, that there would have to be celebrities at the party. We cap with, Jessica stumbling into the limo, and as they go to sleep in their bed, Nick again asks for that mysterious 'hummer'. ROTFLMFAO!!!!!!
The morning after, Jessica gets Louis Vitton accessories. Yawn. On the upside, Nick's plan to kill the bees is a success.
Summation? Yes, Jessica is a ditz. But we love her for it. What a great show. :-D
We open with a moment so hilarious it should be illegal. Nick and Jessica are making out in the pool. (why do they get a pool and I don't!?!) Nick asks for a 'hummer'. Just hearing him say it made me spit. Its a shame they were talking about the Humvee. I have a feeling Nick wasn't 'necessarily' talking about the vehicle. :-P
The trip to Home Depot was amusing. Jessica doesn't do suburban chic very well. She is not hip to Home Depot.
Moving on its all about Jessica. It is her Mad Hatter 23rd Un-Birthday. WTF!?! Can't they stupid chicks do anything normal? Jessica invites all her friends, and as this is a TV show about normal life, we have to have the obligatory friends from grade school jet in for that all important 23rd birthday. It must be nice to have a budget. Jessica acts like 23 is old. She also manages to point out her lack of mental agility by saying that 25 is 'almost' mid twenties.
Shift to the night of the party. In a poorly chosen decision, Jessica goes in costume in what appears to be, vampish call girl. Its either that, or she's a time travelling Ronelle. Mucho drinking in the limo. a) why are we doing a limo to a birthday party and b) these people drink a lot.
Scenes from the party? BOR-ing. The dance, or some semblance of what passes for dancing. There is, of course, lots of alcohol. Jessica auditions for the part of drunk stripper. She pulls it off in convincing style. As you'd expect, this being a show about celebrities, that there would have to be celebrities at the party. We cap with, Jessica stumbling into the limo, and as they go to sleep in their bed, Nick again asks for that mysterious 'hummer'. ROTFLMFAO!!!!!!
The morning after, Jessica gets Louis Vitton accessories. Yawn. On the upside, Nick's plan to kill the bees is a success.
Summation? Yes, Jessica is a ditz. But we love her for it. What a great show. :-D
Monday, January 19, 2004
Well, its been an . . . interesting morning.
As far as I can tell so far, nothing monumental happened while I was on vacation. However, that assessment of the situation is on hold because . . . there's no one here.
At the current time the front door to the office is locked. The boss is still at the cabin, by the lake, and may come in this afternoon. The office manager/accountant is just, not here. The secretary was here, but she had to leave to go to court. Thus, on my first day back from vacation, there is nobody here to tell me what's been going on. And because no one has told me what's been going on, I can't do anything because, I don't know if its already been done!
Thus, we are faced with a situation where I'm right back to where I was when I left a week and a half ago. I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for something to fly apart. I really hate being in that mode. It always makes me nervous and sick to my stomach. I'd almost like it better if things had flown apart and I could be in 'fix' mode.
Reporting live from a deserted office, I remain . . .
As far as I can tell so far, nothing monumental happened while I was on vacation. However, that assessment of the situation is on hold because . . . there's no one here.
At the current time the front door to the office is locked. The boss is still at the cabin, by the lake, and may come in this afternoon. The office manager/accountant is just, not here. The secretary was here, but she had to leave to go to court. Thus, on my first day back from vacation, there is nobody here to tell me what's been going on. And because no one has told me what's been going on, I can't do anything because, I don't know if its already been done!
Thus, we are faced with a situation where I'm right back to where I was when I left a week and a half ago. I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for something to fly apart. I really hate being in that mode. It always makes me nervous and sick to my stomach. I'd almost like it better if things had flown apart and I could be in 'fix' mode.
Reporting live from a deserted office, I remain . . .