If you were dating a midget, and wanted to buy her/him roses... would you actually need a whole dozen? I mean, proportionately, wouldn't like, eight, be enough?
...and by the same token, would buying "long-stemmed" roses still be a kind gesture, or is it really just mocking at that point?
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Friday, June 24, 2005
Random Observation #4
Did ya ever notice that whenever someone poses the question "What's YOUR problem" to another person, they usually aren't particularly interested in helping that person find a solution.
...kinda seems like a waste of time and effort to even pose the question in the first place.
...kinda seems like a waste of time and effort to even pose the question in the first place.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Any takers?
FOR SALE: 1998 Acura Integra 3DR Coupe. Red. 123,500 miles.
Runs Goo... for now. Lots of cool blinking lights on dashboard. New radiator. New timing belt. New water pump. New thermostat. New tires. Needs: head gasket/engine/miracle. Speedometer works but lies incessantly. Kick-ass stereo (not included).
Runs Goo... for now. Lots of cool blinking lights on dashboard. New radiator. New timing belt. New water pump. New thermostat. New tires. Needs: head gasket/engine/miracle. Speedometer works but lies incessantly. Kick-ass stereo (not included).
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Questions on fish
I was just wondering...
Are "Bluefish" always sad?
Are "Sunnies" always cheerful?
Are "Lungfish" predisposed to contracting emphysema?
Can "Angelfish" be atheists?
Do "Catfish" respond to the sound of a can opener?
If a "Clownfish" mated with a "Bluefish," would the offspring be a "Sunny"?
Are "Triggers" ever itchy?
Why don't "Perch" just stay in one place?
Do "Jawfish" ever get TMJ?
If you eat a "Lemonfish," do you still need to squeeze any?
Why aren't "Goldfish" more valuable than "Silverfish"?
Do "Whitebait" even really stand a chance?
and finally...
Would a dyslexic "Carp" think it was just a pile of poo?
Are "Bluefish" always sad?
Are "Sunnies" always cheerful?
Are "Lungfish" predisposed to contracting emphysema?
Can "Angelfish" be atheists?
Do "Catfish" respond to the sound of a can opener?
If a "Clownfish" mated with a "Bluefish," would the offspring be a "Sunny"?
Are "Triggers" ever itchy?
Why don't "Perch" just stay in one place?
Do "Jawfish" ever get TMJ?
If you eat a "Lemonfish," do you still need to squeeze any?
Why aren't "Goldfish" more valuable than "Silverfish"?
Do "Whitebait" even really stand a chance?
and finally...
Would a dyslexic "Carp" think it was just a pile of poo?
Monday, June 13, 2005
Random Thought #12
The way I see it, a Ritz cracker must have really low self-esteem.
I mean, before you even get a chance to break open a sleeve, they're already being undermined... Ever look at the box? It's just an onslaught of options about how to improve upon the product. It's like the packaging itself is telling you, "Hey, these crackers are crap, but if you cover them with some peanut butter and jelly... or some cheese... or some strangely tiny luncheon meat... well then I suppose they might be okay." I tell ya, if I was a Ritz, I'd be pissed...
...of course I'd also be a cracker, so any insecurities about the quality of my consumption would probably be outweighed by my fear of actually being consumed, but that's a discussion for another day...
I mean, before you even get a chance to break open a sleeve, they're already being undermined... Ever look at the box? It's just an onslaught of options about how to improve upon the product. It's like the packaging itself is telling you, "Hey, these crackers are crap, but if you cover them with some peanut butter and jelly... or some cheese... or some strangely tiny luncheon meat... well then I suppose they might be okay." I tell ya, if I was a Ritz, I'd be pissed...
...of course I'd also be a cracker, so any insecurities about the quality of my consumption would probably be outweighed by my fear of actually being consumed, but that's a discussion for another day...
Friday, June 10, 2005
Sometimes you just have to laugh...
I wish I knew more about cars.
I can change a tire. I can tell you where to put the windshield wiper fluid. And on a particularly good day, I might even be able to check the oil. But that’s about where my expertise stops. So when I’m driving down the road, and warning lights begin to flash, I feel more like Robot B9 (“Danger Will Robinson”) than Mr. Goodwrench (“No Danger Will Robinson”). I'm not really even in the realm of Mr. Goodyear, Mr. Goodbody, or Mr. Goodbar… in truth, it’s more along the lines of Mr. Good god how much is it going to cost me this time.
Such was the case the other day.
I recently went through an all too comic scenario with my cooling system (coolant system? Cooli… whatever… you know, the radiator and all its assorted hoses, clips, and doohickeys) where by the time all was fixed and happy, I had endured 4 trips to the mechanic, and overseen the replacement of approximately 5,684 parts (all of which I was informed served a vital purpose that alleviated some condition that gone unchecked would have undoubtedly resulted in immediate and painful death not only for me and my passengers, but also that woman in the Escort wagon next to me who happens to be a single mother and is working 2 jobs, including late-shifts at the diner on nights and weekends, just so she can save up enough money to pay for little Jimmy’s chemotherapy). Theoretically though, once all this was done (and the mechanic stopped convulsing in hysterical fits of laughter) my car would be safe again.
Well imagine my surprise as I made my way to work the other morning and my “check engine” light came on (you know, the “bad” light… the one light that you can’t ignore… the one that isn’t like the others… that's not like the “maintenance required” light, or the “low fuel light”, or the little light with the symbol of the thingee on it that no one really knows what it means… the one you can't even rationally cover up with electrical tape)… and not only that, as I gazed down at the beacon of disaster smiling at me from my dash, I also happened to notice one other interesting development… the needle on my temperature gauge was now fighting desperately to achieve as great a distance from the capital “C” as possible.
I naturally assumed this was not good.
Summoning up the whole of my automotive knowledge, I tried to make a rational diagnosis, but seeing as the present situation didn’t appear to involve tires, wiper fluid, or dipsticks (other than myself), I came up empty. I decided therefore to make my way to the nearest off-ramp. I figured it would be better to be broken down and laughed at somewhere near civilization, than to be speed bump fodder for a semi with a deathwish (that would undoubtedly be delivering chickens… in the movies they’re ALWAYS delivering chickens).
Sure enough, once I slowed the car down, it sensed weakness and decided to surrender. Coughing in fits, and spewing smoke out of every available outlet, it quickly stalled and died (without so much as a shred of dignity I might add). So, as a parade of morning commuters made their way by and gawked at my misfortune, I dialed for a tow-truck. By the time it had arrived, I had gained two new tidbits of knowledge. First, Tow-trucks know you’re not going anywhere and therefore feel absolutely no obligation to arrive anytime before, say… November. Second, when waiting for said tow-truck, it’s probably not a great idea to spend the entire time playing Texas Hold ‘em on your cell phone… if you do, then when you begin to worry about whether or not said truck is actually coming, you might find that you’re lacking the battery strength necessary to actually call and check up on them... oops.
Anyway, so the truck came and towed my car to a little garage where the owner was very nice, very foreign, and very unable to say anything in English that I completely understood. It wasn’t all that reassuring… but he smiled a lot… and he shook my hand… and he scribbled my name on a post-it… so I gave him the keys to my car.
When I called later in the afternoon to check up on my beleaguered vehicle, I received good, and bad news… my car was ready, but it might also be a ticking time bomb (those weren’t his exact words, but that was the gist of what I understood).
When I went to pick it up, the owner was very gracious, and he very carefully tried to explain to me what had happened. Without any sarcasm apparent, he told me that the people installing my radiator had done (in his opinion) a “very silly” thing (that’s a direct quote). Instead of replacing my clamps when they reattached certain hoses and stuff (he lost me a bit there for a moment)… they had reused the original factory clamps, something he would never do (he reiterated again how “silly” it was)… they had also possibly installed the clamps incorrectly (more “sillyness”)… Consequently, what had most likely happened was, the clamp slipped off, the hose disconnected, and the entire contents of my radiator had spilled out onto the highway, thereby causing the car to overheat. He had reattached the hose, and put on new clamps (replacing the ones that weren’t even a problem), and refilled the radiator. Now, the only question mark was whether damage had been done to the… wait for it… yes, the “head gasket.”
“Head gasket” is one of those phrases that you just don’t want to hear. It’s kind of like “Hepatitis C.” You’re not quite sure what it is, but if it’s ever spoken in reference to you, you’re probably not going to be throwing a party.
Basically, he said the car was running, and he had tried to fix and clean things up best he could, but he didn’t really know yet whether any serious damage had been done to my head gasket or not (which if present would indicate a much less fun situation brewing).
Then he said I could go.
Perplexed (to say the least), I enquired as to how I would know if there had been in fact any more serious damage …it was then that the very nice old man smiled, and the very nice old man told me (in English that I very clearly understood) “you go to drive, and (motioning his hand in an excellent mime of an explosion) Kprgjdfsashtfhfwhgef!”
I really wish I knew more about cars.
So far, so good… the car sounds a little sick at times, but it’s getting better (still burning off stuff that had spilled from the radiator is the best explanation I have found)…
It hasn’t broken down, exploded, or derailed little Jimmy’s hopes of beating Cancer, and for now at least, the only bit of additional bad news I’ve received is that there’s most likely no way to prove that it was the other garage’s fault. I’m told that there are in fact a number of other circumstances (all highly unlikely) that could have caused the hose to come off, and given my breadth of understanding of the inner workings of my vehicle, I have little choice but to accept that…
But it would certainly be nice to be able to look at my car with a greater sense of understanding… to really be aware of how things worked and how to fix them… alas, that isn’t the case right now… maybe later, just to make myself feel better… I’ll do something that shows I can be the master of my own vehicle… I’ll pop the hood, roll up my sleeves… and check the oil.
I can change a tire. I can tell you where to put the windshield wiper fluid. And on a particularly good day, I might even be able to check the oil. But that’s about where my expertise stops. So when I’m driving down the road, and warning lights begin to flash, I feel more like Robot B9 (“Danger Will Robinson”) than Mr. Goodwrench (“No Danger Will Robinson”). I'm not really even in the realm of Mr. Goodyear, Mr. Goodbody, or Mr. Goodbar… in truth, it’s more along the lines of Mr. Good god how much is it going to cost me this time.
Such was the case the other day.
I recently went through an all too comic scenario with my cooling system (coolant system? Cooli… whatever… you know, the radiator and all its assorted hoses, clips, and doohickeys) where by the time all was fixed and happy, I had endured 4 trips to the mechanic, and overseen the replacement of approximately 5,684 parts (all of which I was informed served a vital purpose that alleviated some condition that gone unchecked would have undoubtedly resulted in immediate and painful death not only for me and my passengers, but also that woman in the Escort wagon next to me who happens to be a single mother and is working 2 jobs, including late-shifts at the diner on nights and weekends, just so she can save up enough money to pay for little Jimmy’s chemotherapy). Theoretically though, once all this was done (and the mechanic stopped convulsing in hysterical fits of laughter) my car would be safe again.
Well imagine my surprise as I made my way to work the other morning and my “check engine” light came on (you know, the “bad” light… the one light that you can’t ignore… the one that isn’t like the others… that's not like the “maintenance required” light, or the “low fuel light”, or the little light with the symbol of the thingee on it that no one really knows what it means… the one you can't even rationally cover up with electrical tape)… and not only that, as I gazed down at the beacon of disaster smiling at me from my dash, I also happened to notice one other interesting development… the needle on my temperature gauge was now fighting desperately to achieve as great a distance from the capital “C” as possible.
I naturally assumed this was not good.
Summoning up the whole of my automotive knowledge, I tried to make a rational diagnosis, but seeing as the present situation didn’t appear to involve tires, wiper fluid, or dipsticks (other than myself), I came up empty. I decided therefore to make my way to the nearest off-ramp. I figured it would be better to be broken down and laughed at somewhere near civilization, than to be speed bump fodder for a semi with a deathwish (that would undoubtedly be delivering chickens… in the movies they’re ALWAYS delivering chickens).
Sure enough, once I slowed the car down, it sensed weakness and decided to surrender. Coughing in fits, and spewing smoke out of every available outlet, it quickly stalled and died (without so much as a shred of dignity I might add). So, as a parade of morning commuters made their way by and gawked at my misfortune, I dialed for a tow-truck. By the time it had arrived, I had gained two new tidbits of knowledge. First, Tow-trucks know you’re not going anywhere and therefore feel absolutely no obligation to arrive anytime before, say… November. Second, when waiting for said tow-truck, it’s probably not a great idea to spend the entire time playing Texas Hold ‘em on your cell phone… if you do, then when you begin to worry about whether or not said truck is actually coming, you might find that you’re lacking the battery strength necessary to actually call and check up on them... oops.
Anyway, so the truck came and towed my car to a little garage where the owner was very nice, very foreign, and very unable to say anything in English that I completely understood. It wasn’t all that reassuring… but he smiled a lot… and he shook my hand… and he scribbled my name on a post-it… so I gave him the keys to my car.
When I called later in the afternoon to check up on my beleaguered vehicle, I received good, and bad news… my car was ready, but it might also be a ticking time bomb (those weren’t his exact words, but that was the gist of what I understood).
When I went to pick it up, the owner was very gracious, and he very carefully tried to explain to me what had happened. Without any sarcasm apparent, he told me that the people installing my radiator had done (in his opinion) a “very silly” thing (that’s a direct quote). Instead of replacing my clamps when they reattached certain hoses and stuff (he lost me a bit there for a moment)… they had reused the original factory clamps, something he would never do (he reiterated again how “silly” it was)… they had also possibly installed the clamps incorrectly (more “sillyness”)… Consequently, what had most likely happened was, the clamp slipped off, the hose disconnected, and the entire contents of my radiator had spilled out onto the highway, thereby causing the car to overheat. He had reattached the hose, and put on new clamps (replacing the ones that weren’t even a problem), and refilled the radiator. Now, the only question mark was whether damage had been done to the… wait for it… yes, the “head gasket.”
“Head gasket” is one of those phrases that you just don’t want to hear. It’s kind of like “Hepatitis C.” You’re not quite sure what it is, but if it’s ever spoken in reference to you, you’re probably not going to be throwing a party.
Basically, he said the car was running, and he had tried to fix and clean things up best he could, but he didn’t really know yet whether any serious damage had been done to my head gasket or not (which if present would indicate a much less fun situation brewing).
Then he said I could go.
Perplexed (to say the least), I enquired as to how I would know if there had been in fact any more serious damage …it was then that the very nice old man smiled, and the very nice old man told me (in English that I very clearly understood) “you go to drive, and (motioning his hand in an excellent mime of an explosion) Kprgjdfsashtfhfwhgef!”
I really wish I knew more about cars.
So far, so good… the car sounds a little sick at times, but it’s getting better (still burning off stuff that had spilled from the radiator is the best explanation I have found)…
It hasn’t broken down, exploded, or derailed little Jimmy’s hopes of beating Cancer, and for now at least, the only bit of additional bad news I’ve received is that there’s most likely no way to prove that it was the other garage’s fault. I’m told that there are in fact a number of other circumstances (all highly unlikely) that could have caused the hose to come off, and given my breadth of understanding of the inner workings of my vehicle, I have little choice but to accept that…
But it would certainly be nice to be able to look at my car with a greater sense of understanding… to really be aware of how things worked and how to fix them… alas, that isn’t the case right now… maybe later, just to make myself feel better… I’ll do something that shows I can be the master of my own vehicle… I’ll pop the hood, roll up my sleeves… and check the oil.
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