Broken toilet and Random Thinks
So, the roomie/landlord called a plumber to check out why my toilet wasn't flushing properly. The plumber, whose job it is to plumb, correctly deduced what I've known for well over a month. Namely, my toilet won't flush all the way down. He then discovered something else I've known for well over a month. Namely, if you pour two gallons of water into the tank while you flush, the toilet will flush entirely. Diagnosis? Broken toilet. He didn't say exactly what was broken, mind you, he just said the toilet was broken and left it at that. So, the roomie/landlord is going toilet shopping this weekend. I feel bad for her, because toilet shopping always strikes me as being a tad embarrasing.
CLERK: Can I help you find anything?
ROOMIE/LANDLORD: I need a toilet.
CLERK: Towards the back of the store, and take a right.
ROOMIE/LANDLORD: No, no. I need a toilet for my house. You see, my roommate has a broken toilet and he needs to pour two gallons of water into his toilet any time he flushes and. . .
CLERK: Security!!
I realize that the toilet broke due to the everyday wear and tear that toilets are subjected to, and I know that my use of the toilet over the past year probably has little to do with its current state. Still, I like to think that the toilet broke because of my defecatory prowess. That makes me strangely proud.
After a brief period of withdrawal, I have relocated the brilliance that is Plain Layne. For those not familiar with her blog, I highly suggest a visit. She dabbles in "geek work," but her true talent lies in her writing ability. She's been offline for a few days, but she's back and I'm much relieved. Welcome back Layne.
Due to an unfortunate entanglement of circumstances, my officemate is slated to be axed at the end of the month. IBM's eServer Magazine is in a transitional state that apparently does not include a future for her. This bums me out and also reminds me how tenuous my own grasp is on the ledge that is IBM employment. I shall miss our mindless daily banter about everything from The Sims, to Mystery Science Theater 3000, to our fantasy worlds of the evil Slenlor and the righteous Chinsnub. Mostly, I'm dreading being in this office all alone, forced to actually complete work for a change. *gloom*
For some reason, I realized earlier this week that I didn't remember putting on new license tabs yet this year. So, I pulled into the driveway, ambled out of my car, and looked at my current license tabs. They expired in May. Humph. That's not good. So, after a few calls, I found out where the nearest local license bureau is and drove my way gingerly to the office, lest I break a traffic law and expose an officer to my woefully outdated tabs. I made it without incident and asked the bubbly clerk for new tabs. She toddled over to the computer, entered my information, and said, "So, which car do you want tabs for?"
Which car? I wasn't aware that I had more than one. She said I was registered with a '96 Cadillac and an '89 Cavalier. Well, I'll be a monkey's distant cousin, twice removed. I sold my Cavalier two years ago to a friend of mine, Marc, for $80 and a case of beer. Marc then built a makeshift racetrack around his yard and raced my old car brutally around it daily, as if he was somehow beating me up through my former vehicle. Eventually, he drove the car into the ground and had to have it towed away for scrap. As far as I know, the Cavalier is now a crushed cube sitting forlornly in some Iowa junkyard. At any rate, despite his assurances, Marc apparently never got around to transferring the title from my name to his. So, on paper anyway, I'm the proud owner of a '96 Cadillac Eldorado and an '89 Chevy Cavalier cube. Again, this makes me strangely proud. I should buy a whole bunch of junky cars just so the Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles has me listed as an owner of over 20 cars. That would be so cool.
And, finally, I see that somebody came to my site after doing a Google search on "Pictures+of+an+80+Year+Old+Man's+Penis." Sometimes you really have to question whether the Internet is all it's cracked up to be.
"What I Believe" c. Ryan Rhodes, June 13, 2001
I believe that I'm a smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness.
I believe that my definition of "smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness" may differ considerably from the rest of the American population.
I believe that this population is rapidly becoming a society of victims.
I believe that if you spill hot coffee on your lap at a drive-thru, you are not entitled to a multi-million dollar settlement. Rather, I believe you should admit you're a clumsy
doofus and drive away with hot coffee in your lap.
I believe in holding doors open for people when I get the chance.
I believe that some people take way too long to walk through doors when somebody is holding them open.
I believe that Bill Gates is an incredibly shrewd capitalistic businessman.
I believe that Microsoft products should be a lot more reliable given how incredibly shrewd Bill Gates is.
I believe that, if it were not for fast food establishments, I would have died eight years ago.
I believe that, thanks to fast food establishments, I'll probably die eight years from now.
I believe it is far more valuable to have a small number of friends who will go out of their way to help me than to have a large group of friends who make excuses.
I believe that, far too often, I may be the friend who makes excuses.
I believe that the best way to keep a part of my friends with me forever is to attempt to enjoy their music, their books, and their food.
I believe that many of my friends have horrible taste in music, books, and food.
I believe that guns do, indeed, kill people.
I believe that knives kill people too, it's just harder to do from 10 or more feet away.
I believe in running and doing other daily exercise because I believe my body truly is a temple.
I believe I maintain one of the hairiest temples on the planet.
I believe I was at my most unproductive in college.
I believe I had the most fun in my life when I was in college.
I believe I've been hurt in relationships and have hurt others in relationships more times than I care to remember.
I believe I'm due to be hurt in relationships and hurt others in relationships more times than I care to imagine.
I believe that 65 percent of all questions in a potential romance can be answered during the first kiss.
I believe that two-thirds of all my first kisses have been good if not great.
I believe that, for the remaining one-third of my first kisses, I would have been better off kissing a ceiling fan set on high.
I believe that getting punched in the gut is an incredibly painful experience.
I believe I would like to meet the two people who punched me in the gut and punch them in the gut.
I believe that the sun will rise tomorrow just as brilliantly as it has for billions of years.
I believe I'll greet tomorrow's brilliant sunrise by covering my eyes with a pillow to catch just a few more minutes of sleep.
I believe the best things on television, in order, are The West Wing, The Simpsons, The National Geographic Channel, The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, and
Comedy Central.
I believe everybody who watches reality-based TV shows should get out and ride a bike, go walking, or engage in conversation with friends and/or family.
I believe cell phones are a wonderful invention that can be incredibly useful in today's fast-moving society.
I believe anybody who brings a cell phone along on a date should have hot coffee poured on his or her lap, preferably by his or her date.
I believe that waiters and waitresses have tough and often thankless jobs and people who don't treat them with respect are not nice people.
I believe that many restaurants hire sub-standard waiters and waitresses.
I believe in sleeping late on weekends, love at first sight, running in the rain, dancing as if no one is watching, and taking the time to talk to people who take the time to talk to me.
Finally, I believe that everyone should take the time to seriously think about what they believe.
A Superior Writer, Well, This Time
Ryan says: Didja read me blog lately? I see you've been slacking.
Jen says: I read it, yes. I even blogged meself.
Jen says: Slacker
Ryan says: Except for Unwelcome Daydreams.
Jen says: yup.
Ryan says: Hmmmm, sounds like you read mine first, and then wrote yours. Plagiarism perhaps?
Ryan says: Truth be told. . . Caution, a compliment is on the horizon, don your protective goggles: your prose is brilliant.
Jen says: you and Lileks, yes. but I did have flashes of fall while I was working.
Jen says: huh
Jen says: ?
Ryan says: I loved your descriptive writing. Very nice.
Jen says: wow, thank you.
Ryan says: Yeah, note the praise now, because tomorrow we're back to derision.
Jen says: good, I'm more comfortable with that.
Ryan says: I figured as much. Plus, I have a new tooth, so my enlarged ego may prevent me from entering the office. You may have to bring my keyboard, mouse and monitor out into the hall.
Jen says: ha!
Jen says: I will do no such thing.
Jen says: You'll just have to squeeze it through the door somehow.
Ryan says: Mmmmmm, slivered talons of winter. Quite true. I'm envisioning an ice-crusted eagle, rasping at the Prometheus of summer.
Jen says: oooh.
Jen says: that's quite good.
Ryan says: Should you stop blogging, you shall be denying yourself a very valuable writing tool.
Jen says: yeah, it sorta forces me to write.
Ryan says: As you can see, I've jumped into my previous incarnation of a proper speaking 18th century Brit.
Jen says: You were Oscar Wilde in a past life?
Ryan says: Oscar Wilde in a past life, yes. Oscar the Grouch in my present one.
Jen says: *chuckles*
Jen says: nice one.
Ryan says: Hate to admit it, but I'm still chuckling.
A New Spin On Layoffs
Additional Offices Open Up Throughout IBM Rochester Site
ROCHESTER, Minn. (RHODES MEDIA SERVICES) Aug. 6 -- IBM today announced a major initiative to free up office space throughout their Rochester facilities, a move that could, at the end of the month, provide as many as 80 vacant offices.
Called the "Office Reclimation Initiative," the sweeping change will ensure an airy and empty atmosphere within IBM, while creating valuable storage space for unused computers, chairs, desks, phones and other items that have lain dormant since the company discovered it could no longer afford to man the items with the appropriate personnel.
IBM steadfastly denies that its new office reclimation program is, in fact, a substantial layoff, despite the exodus of over 200 people who had to forfeit their jobs so that IBM could make use of their valuable office space.
"Well, yeah, it's definitely going to be hard to keep my head above water financially," said Clyde Shipton, a former software engineer. "But, really, they seemed to be very anxious to free up that office and start moving desks and stuff in there. I think it's all for the best so long as IBM has room to maneuver."
Those employees not ejected from their valuable offices felt relief, but they were also nervous that IBM could come around again in a few weeks and ask for additional office space. Said one frazzled IBM employee who wished to remain anonymous, "who knew our offices were worth their weight in gold? My office is really big, so it could definitely be next."
"Wheeeeeee!" said newly annointed IBM CEO Sam Palmisano as he spun in a chair in one of the newly vacated offices. "Wheeeeeee! Oh, man, now I'm all dizzy, but what fun! This is the type of valuable use we can get out of these offices now that they're devoid of hard-working employees. This is truly the most important program IBM has ever undertaken. Now, if you'll excuse me. Wheeeeeeee!"
What the F---? It's August Already?
Here in Minnesota (motto: What Kind of Crazy Ass weather Is This?), the residents, or at least the resident known as me, value the summer season like a salvaged chest of Spanish doubloons. I revel in the warmth of a waning summer day, and I genuinely believe there is no place quite as pleasant as Minnesota in summer.
But summer has an irritating way of not lasting all that damned long: three months, tops, of glorious weather, and then begins the descent into fall, that harbinger season that teases you with warm days interspersed with cool, wet, unpleasant ones. Then, BAM!, it's winter, and Minnesota winters SUCK ASS.
So here I am, face to face with the disheartening reality that my coveted summer is 2/3 over. Perhaps most maddening is that I didn't do all the wonderful things I planned on doing this summer. No camping trips, no canoe trips, no late nights with friends sitting around a campfire, drinking beer and forgetting just for an evening that we have bills and jobs and relationships and any of the other multitudinous concerns of daily life.
Granted, I've had a fine summer, complete with grilling out, many rounds of golf, sitting on the deck late in the afternoon reading until swarms of insects arrive, intent on completely exsanguinating me. I really have nothing to complain about when I really think about it, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't find at least something to complain about.
So, how shall I approach this, the final month of true summer for 2002? There's a wedding to attend next week which will require a lengthy commute to Madison, Wis., and I've swindled a friend of mine to go with me to alleviate the boredom. She seems actually excited about going, which just makes no sense whatsoever, until you take into account that the last wedding I went to ended in the arrest of two groomsmen, and the wedding before that I busted my chin open on the dance floor doing "the worm" and required seven stitches. So, she's going mostly to see something bizarre happen to me. What a friend.
I still intend to go camping, and the same goes for a canoe trip or two, but my summer weekends are numbered, and they are all the more fleeting with each passing year. Perhaps I should stop trying to plan things to do and just do things as they present themselves. That's probably best.
Still, where the hell did my summer go?
It went the way of Catalina Cruz. Catalina Cruz is hot. Cataline Cruz has big breasts. Catalina Cruz is smoking. Catalina Cruz makes me happy.
Thank You, Big Boy. Thank You
About a year ago, I read the book "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris. Hysterical stuff throughout, but one chapter in particular had me convulsing and uncontrollably in tears. This was drop-your-shorts-and-defecate funny; side-splitting-pee-on-your-uncle funny; vomit-on-the-carpet-and-eat-it-with-chopsticks funny. In other words, it was funny. And I found it online, and I read it again, and it's STILL roll-naked-on-a-floor-covered-in-tacks funny. And it made me laugh despite my August woes.
Remember, this is dry-hump-the-couch-cushions funny.
