A life like Pac-Man’s. And Drew lays it down for people in a way that I wish I could.

I found a nice source for Aqua Teen Hunger Force, for those of you who like that sort of thing. Some nice avatar images and everything.

Three unrelated vignettes, if I may be so bold.

For those of you who have not seen a Victoria’s Secret retail store, they decorate entirely in pink. Not really a soft, inviting pink (though that would fit in with their merchandise perhaps a little better), but a shocking carnation-of-imminent-doom pink. The few times I have visited a mall in recent years, I have commented on the evidence that the color pink stimulates the most regions of the brain at once. This brain exercise is of course only complemented by the exciting undergarments for which the store is famous. With synapses firing loudly enough to rival a gatling gun, it is my fondest wish to walk into such a store. Inside, I would wander aimlessly, innocence plastered on my face. When, cautiously and unctiously, a customer service representative would approach, my expression would brighten in epiphany. Before the shapely saleswoman could say anything, I would cry jubilantly, “I have become … a genius!” and race from the store to some mysterious purpose.

—

The passing of Ernest Bruns, MHG’s grandfather, was a sad event indeed. One concern that has plagued MHG’s consciousness is that of who will bring in ducks for Christmas dinner. A sporting, energetic chap, Grandpa had performed in this task even into his late eighties. Since no one else in the faily has vounteered, MHG has taken it upon herself. Several young persons, including me, have offered to tag along for such a thing. I still have my hunter’s safety license. While I was never able to bring myself to kill the deer that crossed my path in the wilderness, I think duck hunting would be right up my alley. The sympathy I feel for the literally doe-eyed, dubiously majestic mammals would not apply to such creatures. In fact, my feelings for avians larger than my own hand are such that I have opted to call the activity “duck killing” rather than “duck hunting” to further motivate myself.

—

I received an order of inexpensive technology today from a confusingly named warehouse company, TigerDirect. This company has served my needs well on several occasions, and I’ve even noted improvements in their website over the last few months, indicating a true devotion to customer service. Whether one can actually purchase anything tiger related is beyond what my research can tell. Their dedication to constant revision of their website may have backfired a bit, however, as I noticed in the catalog included with my order some “Add to cart” buttons beneath the items. How am I to use these, do you suppose?

The undefeatable mathowie hacked into Alan Greenspan’s G5 to snag this little gem. Thanks to Czelticgirl for the heads up.

Meant to be a joke, this quip from my George Carlin daily tear-off calendar has sort of put my bitching this week into perspective.

“The mayfly lives only one day, and sometimes it rains.”

Carolyn, who is a hardcore stuntchick, entered the Milwaukee Rumble this year and held her own. Next year, she’ll win and I will get my participant badge. I have some apprehension about entering it, as I don’t imagine I’ll get out of there without a broken nose. I’m not really frightened of the pain or the danger, but the problems of having had a broken nose sound like something I’ll bitch about for years.

Anyway, support Carolyn and me next year as we go to whoop ass.

More bitching I’m afraid.

In the last week, I have paid over $60 for parking. Up until this week, I had been parking in the lot owned by my company. Parking illegally but morally. I have asked my company several times for a space, but have been passed over in favor of people who have worked 4 fewer years for the company and left soon after my rejection. I have asked again and the slots have been given out to other undeserving folks.

So, although I care very little for the laws of this city, I morally understand the imbalance of fairness my parking for free causes for those who must pay. Regardless, I parked illegally. I made sure on each occasion of this breach of the peace that my vehicle was blocking nothing, no legal spots, no door-opening space for said spots, no loading docks, no dumpster areas.

Despite my careful consideration, there are those who saw fit to have me ticketed (well within their rights, I do not blame them) and to leave gentle reminders on my windshield not to park there.

After one such reminder, I decided to curtail my law-breaking and see what opions lie out there for free parking. Finding none over the course of the week, I chose to once again risk ticketing and dispproving looks and park back where I had been (again, as conscientiously as possible.)

Scandal! In my place, on three occasions now, were two SUVs. Two clumsily parked, already oversized SUVs blocking doors, parked diagonally so to prevent trucks from loading and unloading into the futon store, and clearly owned by people who do not care a wink for others. Now, not only my chances of parking there with minor retribution, but the reputation my car had for not REALLY being obtrusive – they’re ruined. Once again, the careless actions of others create situations which I am powerless to change.

Sartre said it best: “Hell is other people.”

Whenever I tell someone I’m too busy for something, their immediate response is to explain to me how busy they are. Rarely am I actually convinced that they are somehow too busy, but they like to compete on hecticness of lives. One mile in my shoes…just one. I have a fair amount of empathic sense for other people and how they tread, and I often catch myself simply being cynical, but please believe me when I say: I’m busier than you are.

I’m not making an excuse, or polite conversation. Nor am I bitching, in reality. If I say to you I am too busy, it means I have no more than fifteen minutes of free time that day that is not dedicated to sleep. If I go into detail, it is ENTIRELY because no one believes someone who simply says, “I’m too busy that week.”

So if you have to go to the bank AND the grocery store in the same day, don’t tell me. Just say, “Shit, man, maybe next time.” And I won’t eviscerate you in my imagination and intentionally ignore you the next time I am free. Fair warning to those who call themselves my friend.

p.s. Those of you who know me: if you think I’ve given up on people, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

The ntoskrnl of my games PC has gone tits up, so to speak. I spent most of my weekend trying to correct it without losing gads of data, all the while attempting to deal with power supply and XP issues on the Frankenstein machine I created for my aunt.

All indication is that I was hit with a virus, though how I am not sure. I use my PC for games exclusively. No email, no internet but the occasional firefox troll for patches to games. I am careful to get only authorized things. And now, my games PC is on the fritz. I am going to recover my Neverwinter Nights games and not worry too much if I’ve lost anything else, but still I am so tired of Windows I could puke. I have a desperate plea to developers everywhere: develop your games and software for multiple platforms. With Mac OS now using a Unix environment, it should be getting easier and easier. Stop with this sort of lazy, backwards M$-subservient garbage and start taking pride in your work being stable and secure.

I know PC aficianados everywhere will tell me that it’s my own fault that Windows broke down. I must have done something to make it happen. There is some truth there, I’m sure, but it is Windows fault that it is so difficult to repair the problem. I have gone above and beyond the call of duty on maintenance and repair.

I guess I’m done bitching. I have another 8 hours of my free time to devote to clearing windows troubles.

My boss would totally be into this PDA MUD.

Also, Ben Kingsley: the world weeps for you.