Several weeks since last post.
Been a little uninspired. To say the least. F winter.
But its nicer now. Warming up. Snow's 'bout gone. Now the inevitable muddy slop everywhere. I'll take that over 10 degrees and snow any day of the week.
Inspiration is coming back. And by "inspiration" I mean my desire to tell people how stupid they are.
Like the idiot on the highway on my way to work today. Driving a whopping 45 mph, he had traffic backed up a quarter mile. It was 40 and raining. This is probably the same idiot that drove 60 on the same stretch of highway when it was 29 and icing. Seriously people? This is why it's bad to eliminate the forces of natural selection from any species.
How about the idiots at NASCAR? 2008 - Announce the "Car of Tomorrow" and completely remove any semblance of "stock" from stockcar racing. 2009 - watch the entire sport go farther down the shitter. Drivers can't bump each other. Cars don't handle. Tires don't hold up. Nobody can pass. Five hundred miles of boredom. Everyone's pissed. The drivers, the fans, the sponsors...Jimmie Johnson wins....again. 2010 - "Have at it boys!" they proudly proclaim. They're going to lighten up. Let the drivers get back to what they do best - beating the crap out of their equipment while trying to be the first across the line. Everyone's excited. But they're still driving those piece of crap cars that were supposed to be so great. Until the first guy spins backward and they realize that 200 mph air hitting a wing-like spoiler from behind results in what the Wright brothers discovered a century ago - LIFT! Two flights and one retaining fence later, NASCAR is cracking down on drivers for doing what they were told they could do. Idiots. Put the old spoilers back on and let them race like they did when everyone still loved the sport.
Oh, and I don't need health insurance reform. My insurance is fine. Provided to me by my employer. So to hell with this silly debate. I don't want to hear about it...until I lose my job or until the insurer bumps rates more than what my employer budgeted (like they did this year) and they can't afford it and have to either cut someone or make me pay more...or until my girlfriend gets sick and has to foot the bill on an 8-hour-per-week minimum wage because she can't be on her parents insurance anymore because she's a few credits short of being a full time college student which means she can't work a full time job to get health benefits and can't afford to pay for her own insurance. Seriously, elected idiots. We're not in kindergarten anymore. Do your damn job and give us something to work with here.
That's all for now.
Showing posts with label Things that annoy me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things that annoy me. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Things that annoy me, Chapter 5
Plumbing. (yeah, yeah...insert "Joe Plumber" comment here. Anyone who willingly takes up that trade ought to have their head examined so I don't really give a shit what he thinks about anyone's tax plan...)
I hate plumbing. Mostly because I'm not good at it but also because the materials needed for it go against most of what I stand for. Not only is PVC worthless and seems to have a high affinity for shattering in places that are virtually impossible to access without tearing out floors and walls, but it is really nasty stuff from an environmental standpoint. And the chemicals used to clean and glue the fittings ought to be targeted by the ONDCP.
For the last two days I've been making regular trips into the crawlspace under my house trying to fix pipes that, despite my best efforts to drain them last year, apparently froze and broke. The process is agitating enough on account that I hate the materials in principal but it just adds salt to the wound everytime I think I've finally found and fixed all the leaks only to turn the water on and find water spraying from some new, practically-impossible-to-access-by-anyone-larger-than-a-six-year-old space under my house. I've even found shattered vertical pipes in this process. How in the hell a vertical pipe shatters after not having any water in it for a year is a mystery to me. My only assumption is that Karma is on the side of the propane company and is getting back at me for shutting the water off to the upstairs of my house so I didn't have to heat it last winter. Whatever the reason, I'm annoyed. I now have to commence wallowing in the muddy crawlspace looking for the next leak.
I hate plumbing. Mostly because I'm not good at it but also because the materials needed for it go against most of what I stand for. Not only is PVC worthless and seems to have a high affinity for shattering in places that are virtually impossible to access without tearing out floors and walls, but it is really nasty stuff from an environmental standpoint. And the chemicals used to clean and glue the fittings ought to be targeted by the ONDCP.
For the last two days I've been making regular trips into the crawlspace under my house trying to fix pipes that, despite my best efforts to drain them last year, apparently froze and broke. The process is agitating enough on account that I hate the materials in principal but it just adds salt to the wound everytime I think I've finally found and fixed all the leaks only to turn the water on and find water spraying from some new, practically-impossible-to-access-by-anyone-larger-than-a-six-year-old space under my house. I've even found shattered vertical pipes in this process. How in the hell a vertical pipe shatters after not having any water in it for a year is a mystery to me. My only assumption is that Karma is on the side of the propane company and is getting back at me for shutting the water off to the upstairs of my house so I didn't have to heat it last winter. Whatever the reason, I'm annoyed. I now have to commence wallowing in the muddy crawlspace looking for the next leak.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Things that annoy me, chapter IV
Head injuries. Especially the ones that require stitches.
It's my own damn fault I know. But in a way, I'm proud of it - sort of a battle scar or red badge of courage type thing. Except that this was more of a red badge of drunken idiocy.
I started a mosh pit. At a Buckcherry concert. There would have been a mosh pit at this show anyway had the headliner band, Avenged Sevenfold, not come down with 'vocal strain' and cancelled a month of shows per a doctor's orders. But as it was, I was doubtful that there would be a pit at all. Buckcherry, Shinedown, and Saving Abel aren't exactly mosh-pit-inducing bands.
But, as with most rock shows I attend, I came to mosh and I was going to mosh. This was made certain when my 16 year old cousin, Kayleigh, offered to help me start a pit.
So a few minutes before Buckcherry took the stage, we worked our way to the front and in my drunken deafness, I yelled at everyone I thought looked like a fellow mosher and told them I was starting a pit and they better join in. I also insisted the pit-squelchers move away, much to the chagrin of the security people between me and the stage.
A few minutes later the band took stage and the shoving began. It was a clean pit - nobody was throwing elbows or fists and if you fell, you were picked up instantly. At some point, I must have fallen into someone's knee or elbow or head - something hard. I wouldn't have even taken note of it had I not felt something warm and wet running over my eye. When I touched my face, I realized I was bleeding - profusely. Someone in the crowd noticed too and immediately helped me through the pit's perimeter, through the crowd and into the waiting attention of an event staffer. I was rushed to the curtained-off room stage right where the paramedics were waiting to treat the all-too-common injuries of mosh-pitters.
They said it was a pretty decent gash and told me I need to see a doctor. Intent on seeing the rest of the show, I asked if I could stay for a bit and swing by an emergency room later. They figured I'd be fine for an hour or so and wrapped me up in an Arab-looking headress while the security lady asked if my injury was inflicted by anyone intentionally. After assuring her it was indeed a clean pit, they led me back out into the crowd where I was met with many shaking heads and finally rejoined my friends who proceeded to tell me what a dumbass I was.
In my drunken stupor I decided to wait until morning to get stitched up. After five stitches and a berating by the jackass doctor for waiting so long, I was on my way with a great story to tell the folks at work. It was stupid, I know; but dammit, I earned this inch-long scar above my eyebrow and I'll wear it with pride as a testament to the days when I still young enough to do stupid shit like start a mosh pit at a Buckcherry concert.
I wonder if I made Youtube.
It's my own damn fault I know. But in a way, I'm proud of it - sort of a battle scar or red badge of courage type thing. Except that this was more of a red badge of drunken idiocy.
I started a mosh pit. At a Buckcherry concert. There would have been a mosh pit at this show anyway had the headliner band, Avenged Sevenfold, not come down with 'vocal strain' and cancelled a month of shows per a doctor's orders. But as it was, I was doubtful that there would be a pit at all. Buckcherry, Shinedown, and Saving Abel aren't exactly mosh-pit-inducing bands.
But, as with most rock shows I attend, I came to mosh and I was going to mosh. This was made certain when my 16 year old cousin, Kayleigh, offered to help me start a pit.
So a few minutes before Buckcherry took the stage, we worked our way to the front and in my drunken deafness, I yelled at everyone I thought looked like a fellow mosher and told them I was starting a pit and they better join in. I also insisted the pit-squelchers move away, much to the chagrin of the security people between me and the stage.
A few minutes later the band took stage and the shoving began. It was a clean pit - nobody was throwing elbows or fists and if you fell, you were picked up instantly. At some point, I must have fallen into someone's knee or elbow or head - something hard. I wouldn't have even taken note of it had I not felt something warm and wet running over my eye. When I touched my face, I realized I was bleeding - profusely. Someone in the crowd noticed too and immediately helped me through the pit's perimeter, through the crowd and into the waiting attention of an event staffer. I was rushed to the curtained-off room stage right where the paramedics were waiting to treat the all-too-common injuries of mosh-pitters.
They said it was a pretty decent gash and told me I need to see a doctor. Intent on seeing the rest of the show, I asked if I could stay for a bit and swing by an emergency room later. They figured I'd be fine for an hour or so and wrapped me up in an Arab-looking headress while the security lady asked if my injury was inflicted by anyone intentionally. After assuring her it was indeed a clean pit, they led me back out into the crowd where I was met with many shaking heads and finally rejoined my friends who proceeded to tell me what a dumbass I was.
In my drunken stupor I decided to wait until morning to get stitched up. After five stitches and a berating by the jackass doctor for waiting so long, I was on my way with a great story to tell the folks at work. It was stupid, I know; but dammit, I earned this inch-long scar above my eyebrow and I'll wear it with pride as a testament to the days when I still young enough to do stupid shit like start a mosh pit at a Buckcherry concert.
I wonder if I made Youtube.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Things that annoy me, chapter three
People.
Those bleeding-heart, care-bear, love-everyone, everything-is-just-peachy, ignorant people that are all commending 17-year-old Bristol Palin for keeping her unintended child and for deciding to marry her hot jock-itch fling that impregnated her.
Seriously?! Do you really think she really had a choice in the matter? Do you think HE really had a choice in the matter? Here's some dude that's banging the governor's daughter and whoops, should've pulled when instead he pushed and now he's stuck with a kid he doesn't want and now has to marry long before he's ready to. I bet those will be three lives that will be just peachy for ever after.
For fuck sake people, get your heads out of your asses and call it for what it is. A teenager from an uber-conservative family that was probably just getting it on for the mere sake of rebellion got knocked up and, facing the harsh reality of it all, is forced to either keep the kid and get married, or wreck her mother's political career. Then, to confound matters even more, out of nowhere, her mother gets asked to be nearly the most famous person in the world. Now, instead of just dealing with the situation on her own, she gets to have the whole world scrutinize her every move, possibly for the next four-plus years.
Ohh, she's so admirable. She's so strong. So brave to start a family so young. Give me a break! Whether she wanted to do it or not, she has to take the high road now or commit political homicide not only to her mother, but to the whole republican party. Could you imagine if that girl ran out and got an abortion?! And seriously, what the hell was McCain thinking when he chose her as his running mate? Who advised him on this? I can't help but wonder if he and his campaign managers just sat down with a list of as many woman politicians as they could think of and just picked the one they thought would swing as many Hillary Clinton supporters their way. And to think this election is supposed to about who has this country's best interests in mind. Fuck that, this election is about nothing more than who can become the most famous person the fastest. Do you suppose they thought this teen pregnancy thing would be a great way to get more media coverage? If they did, it worked. What better way to ramp up your celebrity status than to give the media a reason to clamor all over some pregant teen? It worked for the Spears sisters. Hell, the McCain/Palin campaign might as well hire Brittany's publicist as their PR advisor.
And to think, this duo might actually get elected.
Those bleeding-heart, care-bear, love-everyone, everything-is-just-peachy, ignorant people that are all commending 17-year-old Bristol Palin for keeping her unintended child and for deciding to marry her hot jock-itch fling that impregnated her.
Seriously?! Do you really think she really had a choice in the matter? Do you think HE really had a choice in the matter? Here's some dude that's banging the governor's daughter and whoops, should've pulled when instead he pushed and now he's stuck with a kid he doesn't want and now has to marry long before he's ready to. I bet those will be three lives that will be just peachy for ever after.
For fuck sake people, get your heads out of your asses and call it for what it is. A teenager from an uber-conservative family that was probably just getting it on for the mere sake of rebellion got knocked up and, facing the harsh reality of it all, is forced to either keep the kid and get married, or wreck her mother's political career. Then, to confound matters even more, out of nowhere, her mother gets asked to be nearly the most famous person in the world. Now, instead of just dealing with the situation on her own, she gets to have the whole world scrutinize her every move, possibly for the next four-plus years.
Ohh, she's so admirable. She's so strong. So brave to start a family so young. Give me a break! Whether she wanted to do it or not, she has to take the high road now or commit political homicide not only to her mother, but to the whole republican party. Could you imagine if that girl ran out and got an abortion?! And seriously, what the hell was McCain thinking when he chose her as his running mate? Who advised him on this? I can't help but wonder if he and his campaign managers just sat down with a list of as many woman politicians as they could think of and just picked the one they thought would swing as many Hillary Clinton supporters their way. And to think this election is supposed to about who has this country's best interests in mind. Fuck that, this election is about nothing more than who can become the most famous person the fastest. Do you suppose they thought this teen pregnancy thing would be a great way to get more media coverage? If they did, it worked. What better way to ramp up your celebrity status than to give the media a reason to clamor all over some pregant teen? It worked for the Spears sisters. Hell, the McCain/Palin campaign might as well hire Brittany's publicist as their PR advisor.
And to think, this duo might actually get elected.
Things that annoy me, chapter 2
Digital TV.
The commercials told me that the switch to digital TV would make life better. Clearer picture, better sound, yadda yadda. It said I need a digital TV converter box to be able to view the new broadcasts. So I got two of them. I hooked one up and voila! I quadrupled the number of channels I get (two to eight). Now, instead of just NBC and CBS, I now also get FOX, ABC, the CW, and three PBS stations. Yipee!
But digital TV around here is worthless. Before, when it got cloudy I would lose some picture quality in one or both of the stations I could get in. But nevertheless I could still more or less tell what was going on and I still had sound, just maybe with a touch of static. Now, with this worthless digital TV signal, I get all or nothing. If it gets cloudy, or if there are sun spots, or if there's some sort of disturbance in the force, or if there's a show I really want to tune in to, the signal cuts in and out. The picture freezes, the sound goes away all together, then the screen goes blank and I get that ominous blue box superimposed upon a black screen that says "no signal." It's friggin worthless! Sometimes, after several beers, I feel like I want to take my digital TV coverter box back to Best Buy, or to the dumbass government committee that mandated this signal change and shove it up their...nose.
Now I understand that stations may not be broadcasting at full power yet, but they damn well better start cranking it up a little...the new season of Heroes is about to start.
The commercials told me that the switch to digital TV would make life better. Clearer picture, better sound, yadda yadda. It said I need a digital TV converter box to be able to view the new broadcasts. So I got two of them. I hooked one up and voila! I quadrupled the number of channels I get (two to eight). Now, instead of just NBC and CBS, I now also get FOX, ABC, the CW, and three PBS stations. Yipee!
But digital TV around here is worthless. Before, when it got cloudy I would lose some picture quality in one or both of the stations I could get in. But nevertheless I could still more or less tell what was going on and I still had sound, just maybe with a touch of static. Now, with this worthless digital TV signal, I get all or nothing. If it gets cloudy, or if there are sun spots, or if there's some sort of disturbance in the force, or if there's a show I really want to tune in to, the signal cuts in and out. The picture freezes, the sound goes away all together, then the screen goes blank and I get that ominous blue box superimposed upon a black screen that says "no signal." It's friggin worthless! Sometimes, after several beers, I feel like I want to take my digital TV coverter box back to Best Buy, or to the dumbass government committee that mandated this signal change and shove it up their...nose.
Now I understand that stations may not be broadcasting at full power yet, but they damn well better start cranking it up a little...the new season of Heroes is about to start.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Things that annoy me, chapter one
Moles.
Yes, moles.
I hate yard work yet I have a huge yard. If I actually owned the yard, I wouldn't mow much of it. I would plant most of it to native grasses and wildflowers and leave it be. But since I only rent my yard, along with the house that sits smack dab in the middle of it, I have to keep the damn thing looking nice. The colony of moles that have taken up subterranean residence under my yard make that job difficult.
My moles didn't always annoy the hell out of me. At first, they were simply an inconvenience. The occasional little hill would pop up in the yard and I'd rake it down before I mowed over it. But apparently the horny little bastards have spent all summer having babies so now instead of a couple mole holes scattered here and there, I have an entire mole city complete with the Taj Mahal of mole mounds in the center of it - a 3-foot round and 18-inch high soil castle that practically stops the lawn mower blades when I mow it down (I gave up on raking the hills down and just mow over them now).
I've been given numerous remedies for the problem - traps, poison, a Jack Russell terrier, but the one I like the best is hunting them...with a 12-gauge. I was told to go out right at dusk and stand in the middle of the mole city with a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with bird shot and wait to see a mound start to rise up. When it does, simply blast the hell out of it and BAM! - no more moles. I haven't tried it yet but it sounds like a great idea. What better way to get revenge on the little bastards that have dulled the hell out of my mower blades than to blast big craters in my yard with a shotgun? I can just hear it now - my friends will call up with, "what are you doing this weekend?" And my reply will be, "I'm-a huntin' moles! Wanna join me?" Twelve hours and thirty beers later there will be fifteen craters in the yard and not a single damn mole to show for it.
So I guess they'll just keep building little mole cities and I'll keep mowing them down until the grass quits growing and I don't have to mow anymore. Maybe they'll eventually get tired of building new cities and move somewhere else...I'm thinking my landlord's yard would be a nice place.
Yes, moles.
I hate yard work yet I have a huge yard. If I actually owned the yard, I wouldn't mow much of it. I would plant most of it to native grasses and wildflowers and leave it be. But since I only rent my yard, along with the house that sits smack dab in the middle of it, I have to keep the damn thing looking nice. The colony of moles that have taken up subterranean residence under my yard make that job difficult.
My moles didn't always annoy the hell out of me. At first, they were simply an inconvenience. The occasional little hill would pop up in the yard and I'd rake it down before I mowed over it. But apparently the horny little bastards have spent all summer having babies so now instead of a couple mole holes scattered here and there, I have an entire mole city complete with the Taj Mahal of mole mounds in the center of it - a 3-foot round and 18-inch high soil castle that practically stops the lawn mower blades when I mow it down (I gave up on raking the hills down and just mow over them now).
I've been given numerous remedies for the problem - traps, poison, a Jack Russell terrier, but the one I like the best is hunting them...with a 12-gauge. I was told to go out right at dusk and stand in the middle of the mole city with a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with bird shot and wait to see a mound start to rise up. When it does, simply blast the hell out of it and BAM! - no more moles. I haven't tried it yet but it sounds like a great idea. What better way to get revenge on the little bastards that have dulled the hell out of my mower blades than to blast big craters in my yard with a shotgun? I can just hear it now - my friends will call up with, "what are you doing this weekend?" And my reply will be, "I'm-a huntin' moles! Wanna join me?" Twelve hours and thirty beers later there will be fifteen craters in the yard and not a single damn mole to show for it.
So I guess they'll just keep building little mole cities and I'll keep mowing them down until the grass quits growing and I don't have to mow anymore. Maybe they'll eventually get tired of building new cities and move somewhere else...I'm thinking my landlord's yard would be a nice place.
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