New Design
We're trying out a new design here at the Flametroll. I'm sure you'll like it. If not, put a sock in it because I run this blog for my amusement not yours.
It's Kind of Gross Up There
I keep seeing this commercial for a place called Sybaris. It's a... uhh..."resort" for... umm... "romantic getaways." If that sounds sleazy, you haven't even seen the commercial.
I'll let you ponder that for a bit.
Recovered your sanity now? Cool. Anyway, I don't know if it was such a wise decision to name the place something that sounds so much like syphilis. Might as well call it "Gonorrh-otica". Or as my roommate suggested, "Herplex."
It turns out that Sybaris was a legendary Greek island of pleasure. So apparently it was named by an out of touch literature professor. Or maybe just an literature professor who's a total perv. I suspect that's a problem for a lot of them. I mean, they can see dozens of phallic symbols in a chapter of The Scarlet Letter when I wasn't even sure a lot of the chapters included so much as a plot.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately. I guess that's why people have stopped asking.
I'll let you ponder that for a bit.
Recovered your sanity now? Cool. Anyway, I don't know if it was such a wise decision to name the place something that sounds so much like syphilis. Might as well call it "Gonorrh-otica". Or as my roommate suggested, "Herplex."
It turns out that Sybaris was a legendary Greek island of pleasure. So apparently it was named by an out of touch literature professor. Or maybe just an literature professor who's a total perv. I suspect that's a problem for a lot of them. I mean, they can see dozens of phallic symbols in a chapter of The Scarlet Letter when I wasn't even sure a lot of the chapters included so much as a plot.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately. I guess that's why people have stopped asking.
Come On Get Down Chuck Up With the Sickness
I saw people vomit on back to back days this weekend.They say you should start a story off with a line that will catch people's attention. I think that should do it.
Yesterday, I was working a beer stand a Miller Park for the Brewers/White Sox game. If there's two towns whose fans know how to drink, it's Chicago and Milwaukee. For Yankee/Mets fans, drunkenness is mainly a means to increase their level of belligerence. For Philadelphians, it's not so much a drink as a projectile. For Brewers/Cubs/Sox fans, on the other hand, drinking beer is an end in itself.
Anyway, around the fourth inning, an usher...umm...ushered a girl over to a folding chair behind our stand. He said she wasn't feeling well and walked off. Almost immediately, the girl puked all over. I ran to get the usher, who didn't seem all that plussed. He called maintenance for a cleanup. The girl disappeared. I assume she was taken away from our beer stand so she wouldn't be a walking (or rather unsteadily sitting) anti-drunkenness PSA.
We sold four kegs of beer during the course of the game. With foam included, that turns out to produce a lot of runoff. It all goes down into a tank, which had to be emptied out once the game ended. So there I was, emptying what was probably a 40-gallon tank through a tiny hose into a 5 gallon bucket. I felt a little bit like Hercules, not in the god-like superhuman strength sense, but more in the endless dull repetitive task sense. Emptying the Augean bilge bucket.*
There was nowhere else to dump the bucket, so I took it into the nearest bathroom to empty it down the sink (gross, I know, but that's what they told me to do). On my way in, an usher warned me that I couldn't clean yet because there was still someone in there. I told him I was just going in to dump my bucket and he understood that I was not using a euphemism.
Inside the bathroom, I saw a pair of feet under the last stall in the row. I didn't think much of it, and went out to refill the bucket. I came in again and the feet were still there. By my fifth-ish time into the bathroom, the usher had apparently become concerned for the person still in the stall. Three police officers went in to check on the occupant.
An officer knocked on the stall door. "Are you ok in there?" No response. "Is everything ok?" No response. "This is the police. We're just here to make sure you're alright." No response. An officer went into the adjoining stall and looked over the divider.
There are a number of things I expected the officers to say right about then. "Do you want us to call the paramedics?" or "Sir please put your pants on." Something along those lines. Instead, what I heard will remain forever imbedded in my memory.
"Ma'am, are you aware that you're in a men's restroom?"
Oh yeah, I guess I should complete the story I promised you at the beginning of the post. I saw a guy by the side of the road throwing up next to his car this morning.
*"Bilge bucket" is a great word and I'm disappointed it's taken me five years to actually use it in a blog
I'm Not Sure Whether this is an Error or Not
"He's passed out in the back right now. When he sobers up, I'll ask him about tour dates and get back to you."
He's Still Posting?!?
Sorry, I know I've been filling up your RSS feeds lately. But I keep getting interesting spam, so what do you want me to do?
When I saw this one, I was so amused by the Gmail "preview" sentence, that I just had to open it (after checking for attachments of course).
A "matured[sic] man with sense of humour"? You clearly haven't been reading my blog, Melissa.
I don't think I've ever had a relationship start with "I think we should be friends." I guess we can get the define-the-relationship and the breakup talks over all on the same day. That will certainly save some time.
Also, she thinks I'm cute. This is my Gmail user picture:
Lots of descriptions come to mind: serious, studious, pompous, self-absorbed, sepia-tinted. I'm sure you can think of plenty more; feel free to put them in the comments so I can keep my raging ego in check.
"You know what they say, appearance wins over the eyes, but personality wins over the heart...haha." Actually I've never heard anyone say that, but I can overlook your awkward over-long made-up proverb because you actually spelled out "haha." I appreciate good onomatopoeic email laughter. Thank you for not LOLing.
In fact, having passed that hurdle the only thing standing between you and this sepia-tinted hunk is that you agree to the Scrabble/President naming rules for my children. In fact I was just discussing those rules with Bobby the other day. I think laying down the rules for naming your hypothetical progeny is a great conversation starter for a first date. "The best part" Bobby said "is that they'll all be first dates."
So anyway, Melissa, I hope we can keep in contact. I should tell you that I'm filthy rich in Nigeria. If you don't mind sending me your bank account numbers, I can get that money into the United States and leave you a healthy share of it. Please do be keeping correspondance in order for ease of transferring appreciated!
When I saw this one, I was so amused by the Gmail "preview" sentence, that I just had to open it (after checking for attachments of course).
Hi Friend,
I am Melissa Agnes Able, 25 yrs old girl in search of a man who understands love as trust and faith rather seeing it as a way of fun always but a matured man with sense of humour. I’m interested in having a relationship with you and I want to know more about you, let see if we can share common interest together.
I think we should be friends and get acquainted, cause you seem pretty fun, and cute! (It’s ever so hard to tell in this digital world :) anyway, I want to get a response from you...Then maybe we could chat sometime! You know what they say, appearance wins over the eyes, but personality wins over the heart...haha.
I believe we can start from here; if you don’t mind you can email me back with brief introduction of your self and I shall tell you more details that you will like to know about me including pictures of me so you can see how beautiful I am. Enjoy your beautiful day, talk to you very soon.
Cheers,
Melissa
[Ed: yes, it really was in Comic Sans]
A "matured[sic] man with sense of humour"? You clearly haven't been reading my blog, Melissa.
I don't think I've ever had a relationship start with "I think we should be friends." I guess we can get the define-the-relationship and the breakup talks over all on the same day. That will certainly save some time.
Also, she thinks I'm cute. This is my Gmail user picture:
Lots of descriptions come to mind: serious, studious, pompous, self-absorbed, sepia-tinted. I'm sure you can think of plenty more; feel free to put them in the comments so I can keep my raging ego in check."You know what they say, appearance wins over the eyes, but personality wins over the heart...haha." Actually I've never heard anyone say that, but I can overlook your awkward over-long made-up proverb because you actually spelled out "haha." I appreciate good onomatopoeic email laughter. Thank you for not LOLing.
In fact, having passed that hurdle the only thing standing between you and this sepia-tinted hunk is that you agree to the Scrabble/President naming rules for my children. In fact I was just discussing those rules with Bobby the other day. I think laying down the rules for naming your hypothetical progeny is a great conversation starter for a first date. "The best part" Bobby said "is that they'll all be first dates."
So anyway, Melissa, I hope we can keep in contact. I should tell you that I'm filthy rich in Nigeria. If you don't mind sending me your bank account numbers, I can get that money into the United States and leave you a healthy share of it. Please do be keeping correspondance in order for ease of transferring appreciated!
Tonight's Nightmare Material Brought to You By...
No, this isn't a before-and-after shot of Major Toht from Raiders of the Lost Ark. It's an artist and his art. Keep reminding yourself of that.
Sex-C Time!
I decided to check my spam filter to make sure I wasn't missing the email from the previously mentioned Acer lady. Her email was not there, but there was an email warning me to "Beware of Undefined Sex!!!" I'm not sure what undefined sex is, but I have a guess.
I'm not sure what exactly would happen, but it would end badly for sure.
#include <stdio.h>
#include <sexlib.h>
main()
{
int* person;
have_sex(person);
}
I'm not sure what exactly would happen, but it would end badly for sure.
In Which I Adminster My Own Tech Support in Spite of the Tech Support Lady's Attempts to Stop Me
I bought a monitor for my laptop last week. It's 23" and pretty great, when it works. Which is not now. Now it doesn't work at all. I'm pretty decent with electronic equipment, and I've tried every permutation of plugging, unplugging and pushing buttons on this thing. No dice.
So I called Acer's help line. After taking my information, the monitor's information, asking me what the serial number of my computer is (it's a Mac and does not have an Acer SI number, strangely enough), she finally got down to troubleshooting.
"Unplug the monitor and hold the power button for 30 seconds."
"From the computer or from the power?"
"Both."
Now I have no idea what effect you might get from holding down the power button on an unplugged monitor, but she's the Acer person not me. So I do. Unremarkably nothing happens.
She asks me what's wrong now. I explain that it's the same thing that was wrong before. Befuddled, she puts me on hold.
Next she tells me to plug the monitor back into the power and the computer (which we computer science majors refer to as "the actual way to use a monitor"). I do. Oddly enough, the problem persists. Her telling me to do so does not make it behave any differently from when I do it without her telling me to (tangent: that reminds me of a joke.)
Ok, she says, it appears to be a problem with the monitor. No kidding, huh. All I have to do is send it back to them (I'll pay for shipping of course). I ask where to send it to and she won't tell me. "I'll forward it to you" she says several times. I know this is crap because I never remember to forward emails to people unless they're physically sitting next to me asking for them. And there is no further way for me to get in contact with her once this conversation ends.
So sure enough, it's 10 hours later and I still have not received this mysterious email. So here's what I'm going to have to do tomorrow: pack the monitor up into its box, call Acer again and interrogate this undisclosed shipping location out of some lowly grunt, go to the post office, pay through the $crude_body_part to have it shipped, wait 2 to 4 to 26 weeks for Acer to fix it or send me another one. And it just occurs to me that I'm in the process of moving to a new apartment and I'm going to have to convince the Acer grunt I talk to tomorrow to change my shipping address to the new place because there's no way they're going to be sending my monitor back before the end of the month.
Thanks Acer! (PS, your website sucks. There is no excuse for having dozens of broken links scattered across your UNITED STATES ENGLISH-LANGUAGE PAGES!!! AND NOW YOU HAVE ME TYPING IN CAPITAL LETTERS I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND THINK ABout something more relaxing.
So I called Acer's help line. After taking my information, the monitor's information, asking me what the serial number of my computer is (it's a Mac and does not have an Acer SI number, strangely enough), she finally got down to troubleshooting.
"Unplug the monitor and hold the power button for 30 seconds."
"From the computer or from the power?"
"Both."
Now I have no idea what effect you might get from holding down the power button on an unplugged monitor, but she's the Acer person not me. So I do. Unremarkably nothing happens.
She asks me what's wrong now. I explain that it's the same thing that was wrong before. Befuddled, she puts me on hold.
Next she tells me to plug the monitor back into the power and the computer (which we computer science majors refer to as "the actual way to use a monitor"). I do. Oddly enough, the problem persists. Her telling me to do so does not make it behave any differently from when I do it without her telling me to (tangent: that reminds me of a joke.)
Ok, she says, it appears to be a problem with the monitor. No kidding, huh. All I have to do is send it back to them (I'll pay for shipping of course). I ask where to send it to and she won't tell me. "I'll forward it to you" she says several times. I know this is crap because I never remember to forward emails to people unless they're physically sitting next to me asking for them. And there is no further way for me to get in contact with her once this conversation ends.
So sure enough, it's 10 hours later and I still have not received this mysterious email. So here's what I'm going to have to do tomorrow: pack the monitor up into its box, call Acer again and interrogate this undisclosed shipping location out of some lowly grunt, go to the post office, pay through the $crude_body_part to have it shipped, wait 2 to 4 to 26 weeks for Acer to fix it or send me another one. And it just occurs to me that I'm in the process of moving to a new apartment and I'm going to have to convince the Acer grunt I talk to tomorrow to change my shipping address to the new place because there's no way they're going to be sending my monitor back before the end of the month.
Thanks Acer! (PS, your website sucks. There is no excuse for having dozens of broken links scattered across your UNITED STATES ENGLISH-LANGUAGE PAGES!!! AND NOW YOU HAVE ME TYPING IN CAPITAL LETTERS I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND THINK ABout something more relaxing.
Another Serious Post!?!?
I've been pretty hard on Barack Obama (I argued at one point that he had literally done nothing clearly right in his first few months in office). But his plan for closing Guantanamo Bay seems reasonably well thought-out. For example the proposed categories of prisonser:
Those seem like sensible distinctions. There's something sort of commonsensically Thomistic about splitting hairs until you actually know what kind of hair you're dealing with.
-- Those who have violated American criminal laws and will be tried in federal courts;
-- Those who violated the laws of war and are best tried through military commissions;
-- Those who have been ordered released by the courts;
-- Those who can be transferred safely to another country;
-- Those who cannot be prosecuted, but pose a clear danger to the American people.
(Source)
Those seem like sensible distinctions. There's something sort of commonsensically Thomistic about splitting hairs until you actually know what kind of hair you're dealing with.
Interesting Street Preacher Encounter
I was walking up the steps of the library when a kid who looked maybe 20 said "Excuse me, sir," [Ed: Sir???] "do you have a minute?"
Me: Ok...
Kid: Do you know Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior?
Me: Yes.
Kid: Cool. Don't ever lose Him. Have a nice day.
Me: You too.
That kid was cool. I've rarely run into street evangelists who seemed to care about me and what I have to say. Generally when I tell them I'm a Christian, they look for some theological minutia that they can use to claim I'm going to hell (something about saying I eat Jesus' body really seems to make them edgy). I appreciate that he wasn't looking to argue or confront me or be proven right. He just wanted to make sure, if I didn't already know, that Jesus loves me. Thanks, kid!
Me: Ok...
Kid: Do you know Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior?
Me: Yes.
Kid: Cool. Don't ever lose Him. Have a nice day.
Me: You too.
That kid was cool. I've rarely run into street evangelists who seemed to care about me and what I have to say. Generally when I tell them I'm a Christian, they look for some theological minutia that they can use to claim I'm going to hell (something about saying I eat Jesus' body really seems to make them edgy). I appreciate that he wasn't looking to argue or confront me or be proven right. He just wanted to make sure, if I didn't already know, that Jesus loves me. Thanks, kid!
Five Years of Crap!
My very first post on this blog was five years ago today! In that time, you've gotten lame-brained opinions and stupid booger jokes. And there were some posts that weren't as good either.
For those of you who laughed your way through the last 361 posts, I thank you. For those of you who have unwillingly slogged through them on the advice of your spiritual director, I also thank you. I'd appreciate if you pray for me too because I'm going to be sweating it out in Spa Purgatory (mostly for the offenses I've commited outside of this blog, believe it or not).
So, in conclusion, see you all in five years! I'll be an old man (Remind me then that I said so, so that I can realize how young and foolish I used to be).
For those of you who laughed your way through the last 361 posts, I thank you. For those of you who have unwillingly slogged through them on the advice of your spiritual director, I also thank you. I'd appreciate if you pray for me too because I'm going to be sweating it out in Spa Purgatory (mostly for the offenses I've commited outside of this blog, believe it or not).
So, in conclusion, see you all in five years! I'll be an old man (Remind me then that I said so, so that I can realize how young and foolish I used to be).
More From the Shrine
Everyone's favorite source for all things Catholic and weird is at it again. Strange Facts about Papal Audiences.
Stephen Colbert: Real American Hero
| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| The Word - Stressed Position | ||||
| ||||
Liveblogging The Bachelor Party
That's right, I'm at a bachelor party. Don't worry, ladies, I'm not the one getting married. The party is for my cousin's fiancé.
First we went to a Cardinals game at Wrigley Field. The less said about that the better, really. Except that the economy is hitting scalpers really hard and they can only afford to pay you $7 for a ticket with face value of $36. It's a hard knock life for those guys who are selling bleacher seats for $75.
We stopped at our hotel after the game. It's a Days Inn, cost only $80 for the night, has just one less bed than people in the room and I didn't feel like I was going to get murdered in the night. A net win, I'd say.
From there we decided to go to dinner. The group wanted to go to Hooters. I wasn't all that sold on the idea but I swallowed my dignity got in the car. Fortunately I had cash so I wasn't going to have to have Hooters show up on my bank statement. (hooters hooters hooters: Google please take note. Thanks.)
On the way over, we passed a restaurant called Jedi's Garden. I pointed it out. A couple of blocks later we arrived at the Hooters (hooters hooters hooters). Which looked just as classy as I had expected. It appeared to be built of aluminum shed siding. Also it was packed. At least an hour wait. I suggested we try Jedi's. My cousin asked if it looked like it would be good. "It has to be good," I said "or else it would be called Sith Lord's." Did I mention I'm not the one getting married?
Anyway we ended up going to Jedi's. A preference for puns and geek references over gaudy tacky sex is what separates us from the animals, I say. Turned out to be a good choice. It was a little family owned place with an aura of "used-to-be-a-Perkins". It did not have any apparent Star Wars connection, except that our waitress might have been a Jedi. She was serving all seven tables in our section. She seemed nice so I asked her about the name. She made a motion that may have been the Vulcan salute but also kind of looked like the "blow my brains out" hand signal. I wasn't sure if I should tell her that she was confusing Star Wars with Star Trek or be concerned that she was going to kill me. I decided not to expose my nerdiness and said nothing at all.
Anyway it turns out Jedi is a Greek name, equivalent to Jerry. Oh well. The food was good. Now we're at the hotel watching Craig Ferguson's Comedy Central special. Not a bad day after all I guess.
Now I have to get to bed because my cousin is getting up early tomorrow to compete in the Chicago Strongman contest. Seriously.
First we went to a Cardinals game at Wrigley Field. The less said about that the better, really. Except that the economy is hitting scalpers really hard and they can only afford to pay you $7 for a ticket with face value of $36. It's a hard knock life for those guys who are selling bleacher seats for $75.
We stopped at our hotel after the game. It's a Days Inn, cost only $80 for the night, has just one less bed than people in the room and I didn't feel like I was going to get murdered in the night. A net win, I'd say.
From there we decided to go to dinner. The group wanted to go to Hooters. I wasn't all that sold on the idea but I swallowed my dignity got in the car. Fortunately I had cash so I wasn't going to have to have Hooters show up on my bank statement. (hooters hooters hooters: Google please take note. Thanks.)
On the way over, we passed a restaurant called Jedi's Garden. I pointed it out. A couple of blocks later we arrived at the Hooters (hooters hooters hooters). Which looked just as classy as I had expected. It appeared to be built of aluminum shed siding. Also it was packed. At least an hour wait. I suggested we try Jedi's. My cousin asked if it looked like it would be good. "It has to be good," I said "or else it would be called Sith Lord's." Did I mention I'm not the one getting married?
Anyway we ended up going to Jedi's. A preference for puns and geek references over gaudy tacky sex is what separates us from the animals, I say. Turned out to be a good choice. It was a little family owned place with an aura of "used-to-be-a-Perkins". It did not have any apparent Star Wars connection, except that our waitress might have been a Jedi. She was serving all seven tables in our section. She seemed nice so I asked her about the name. She made a motion that may have been the Vulcan salute but also kind of looked like the "blow my brains out" hand signal. I wasn't sure if I should tell her that she was confusing Star Wars with Star Trek or be concerned that she was going to kill me. I decided not to expose my nerdiness and said nothing at all.
Anyway it turns out Jedi is a Greek name, equivalent to Jerry. Oh well. The food was good. Now we're at the hotel watching Craig Ferguson's Comedy Central special. Not a bad day after all I guess.
Now I have to get to bed because my cousin is getting up early tomorrow to compete in the Chicago Strongman contest. Seriously.
Like Shooting Fish in Barrel
The website for Microsoft's Expression Web 2 tool ("passionate about standards", "beautiful inside and out") does not render correctly in Opera.
Talents Which Do Not Make Me Seem Cool
- Remembering dozens of passwords for different computer logins, websites and emails without writing any of them down.
- Good parallel parker.
- Can reset any clock-radio.
- Calculating addition of 2 or 3 digit numbers in my head almost instantaneously.
- Reasonably good Hootie and Blowfish imitation.
- Can classify everyday activities in terms of Big-O notation.
This post is unlikely to be followed up by "Talents Which Make Me Seem Totally Awesome."
It's An Honor Just to Be Nominated
That's what I'm probably supposed to say. But if I don't win this freakin caption contest, my head is going to explode from all the rage and whatnot.
Look how funny I am! Referencing a previous caption contest, even! Don't make the internet even dumber by voting for any of that other crap.
Look how funny I am! Referencing a previous caption contest, even! Don't make the internet even dumber by voting for any of that other crap.
