It happened. sometime between Friday night and Sunday morning. I torn my jeans. Right on the left knee. I had no choice I had to wear them to work, as they are currently the only pair of pants that fit me. So there I am, at work. I have a professional job and while I'm not required to wear slacks or a tie, I always try to maintain a clean and neat appearance.

A tear in your jeans cancels out any plus you would have received from a clean, pressed, tucked in dress shirt. I'm having flashbacks to high school. There were days that I was begging my pants to tear, willing them to rip. In high school a few well placed holes were the desire of everyone I knew.

It meant that your parents didn't love you enough to care what you were wearing. It meant you didn't love yourself enough to care what your parents thought. It meant that you, and your torn pants, couldn't be loved. It meant you were a tortured soul living in a world you couldn't understand, a world that refused to understand you. It meant, you were cool.

It probably didn't help that I graduated high school at the hight of the grunge era and no one, I repeat no one, looked grungy in neat, clean, whole pants. Luckily I grew up and shed my mindless jean tearing ambitions to the wayside. You laugh but there are still plenty of 'cool' people running around begging for holes in their pants. I now see that we were right all along. I totally don't understand them.

So here I am a professional in grunge attire. Trying not to look too cool for my geek image. All in all I believe it's a task that I'm more than up to. It's funny when you think about it though, because the hole is the same as it was ten years ago, just a rip in the denim at the knee. It's only my perspective that's changed.

Where did it go?

About five minutes ago I had a post idea. I would not say, "My best post" or even "A really good idea" but none the less an idea that I had and I was semi excited about blogging. So as I strode to the restroom and back, I had a conversation with a co-worker about the arcane computer punch cards (Do Not Fold, Bend, Spindle or Mutilate) then sat back down to write down my ideas.

The lesser of the two, tomorrows post actually, was written on my Post-It scrap, and then...Nothing. It was gone. What happened to todays post? In the span of about six minutes time todays post has sailed straight out of my head. I presumed that this was due to the engaging conversation of computing antiquities and that it would soon float back into it's rightful place below tomorrows post on my yellowish sticky pad. Still nothing.

Which begs the question what happened to the thought? We all lose thoughts from time to time and over the course of a lifetime must just accept that the brain is a bowl. I mean to say that it seems to me regardless of all the scientific study that says 'You only use 10% of your brain" and "You retain everything you've ever heard" we are just plain old stupid.

As far as I can tell my brain is not the veritable fortress for thought as the folks in these experiments seem to think it is. My brain is a finite bowl and a shallow one at that. It seems that someone is running around town with my shallow brain bowl and slopping the contents out continually on the street.

There are some days it feels more like a teaspoon even. Like it can't seem to hold anything except random facts about outdated network architecture and old company IP addresses. Apparently these things, which I'll never need to recall, have taken up all the room and new data cannot be stored for more than about 51/2 minutes without spilling over.

I imagine there is a gigantic repository someplace of all the misplaced knowledge from centuries of teaspoon brains rotting away. Stuff like how to solve world hunger, wipe out all known diseases and your great-grandmothers award winning recipe for apple dumplings. This of course has been replaced my more useful stuff like the number for the local pizza delivery place and who was the winner of the Heisman Trophy for the last forty five years running.

SysAdmin Day

Syadmin Appreciation Day is tomorrow, July 27th. Now I know you are all the type of users who go out of your way to always thank your System and Network Administrators for all the hard work they've done throughout the year. Additionally I'm sure you've already planned something special for that individual.

I know what I'm getting from my users already. Squat! I never see someone at my office door unless it's to say,

"Something is wrong, and we've all decided you're to blame."

"What! I've been working tirelessly for you people all year. Why are you blaming me."

"It was Fred's idea, but we all agreed. We don't actually care if it's your fault. You've been elected to fix it."

"I see.."

"And when it's fixed we've decided to say 'It's about time' instead of 'Thanks'."

"Ah. So just another day in paradise eh?"

So be kind, at least one day a year to your local Administrator. Smile, tell them you appreciate them and then, Only after that, can you feel free to knock them down a rung or two!

20 Things I Learned From Swimming

  • If there's a diving board, some man will try something both death-defying and completely idiotic.

  • If you look around and don't see any other man doing these things, then the responsibility falls on you.

  • Diving boards, while they might be fine for diving, should be used primarily for cannonballs or belly flops.

  • If you can do more than one belly flop in a week, then you're not doing it correctly.

  • A good cannonball is defined solely by the number of people it disturbs.

  • Splash is everything.

  • No one looks good in a Speedo. No one.

  • Just because you're having fun doesn't mean everyone else is.

  • Women don't think it's funny if you grab their legs and pull them underwater.

  • You are an absolute idiot for ever thinking otherwise.

  • Even if no one admits it, someone might have peed in the pool.

  • Pool water is not for drinking.

  • Even if someone dares you to.

  • After swallowing 3 gallons of pool water, you might want to wait a few minutes before your belly flop attempt.

  • You have to open your eyes underwater. It's a rule.

  • You might feel a slight tingling sensation with your eyes open underwater. It's okay, it's just the pool chemicals eating away at your eyeballs.

  • Goggles are for babies and Olympic swimmers.

  • No, you are not an Olympic swimmer.

  • Relax and enjoy yourself!
  • Friendly Sharpies

    I love the smell of Sharpies early in the day
    They sooth my mind and in restful sleep I stay
    With their scent intoxicating both inviting and elating
    In me they make a blissful carefree way

    They do for free what others pay for
    I doubt a substance could do more for
    My utter lack of concentration, nodding head and relaxation
    I sing and tap my foot upon the floor

    Now I sway slightly when I stand
    As if on a pile of shifting sand
    As I'm thinking out some riddle I find I often fiddle
    With the open, friendly Sharpie in my hand

    It always helps me with my task
    And in the end it's clear at last
    I do not care to hurry, I will not stress and worry
    As long as to my friendly Sharpie I hold fast.

    -Peter Brown 2007

    Poking Fun & Loving It

    Need More Laughs? Like Making Fun Of Liberals? Me Too...

    I'm trying to post a few new funny ideas every week to Conservative Shirt Post. Keep checking back for updates!

    Wet Socks

    Wet Socks. It needs to be addressed, and I doubt anyone else is even thinking about it. In fact I believe that I can state without fear of contradiction that this is the only place where you are going to find a commentary about the whole wet sock thing. Your wildest dreams are about to come true. Buckle up.

    I'm not sure why this popped into my head but the other day I was drying off after getting out the shower. It was during this process that I made a mistake. I relied too heavily on the floor mat to thoroughly dry off my feet. I thought, that since it was thick and dry it could handle the job. I presumed that I would worry about the other ninety-five percent of my body and it could take care of my feet.

    It was a real eye opener when I started to put on my last clean pair of white socks that I had expected too much out of it. The bottom of my feet were still wet. Ever tried to put dry socks on moist feet? For some reason that I've yet to fathom, it is an extremely difficult process. Why?

    Shouldn't it be easier? Images rush into my brain of trying to slide a foam handlebar grip back onto my aluminum bicycle as a tot. The only solution is to wet the foam, if you try it dry I could take hours. Or at least ten minutes which is equivalent to hours if measured by any eight year old I've ever met. Ring stuck on your finger? Run it under cold water and it will slide right off. I agree that an oily substance is by far the best solution, but water normally works. Even if you don't agree totally, I'm sure you can agree that water is not generally considered a sticky paste. For whatever reason this is what it becomes went attempting to put dry socks on slightly wet feet.

    There are a number of situations in my life that I would never want anyone to see me in. Easily one of the most ridiculous is a picture of a half nude adult male hopping around on one foot in his rather close quartered bedroom area trying with every ounce of his being to slip a sock onto his wet foot. The sock and the foot being polar opposites and their ways will never be altered, especially by this rather late and severely uncoordinated monkey man hopping and teetering in this rather confined space.

    Have you ever fallen over and hurt yourself doing something that you would never like to admit to another living soul on earth, not even your spouse of over nine years?

    No? Me either.

    Bad Driver

    I have now been driving for almost 14 years. (Having just worked out this figure made all the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.) In that time I've yet to be the cause of an accident, though I have been hit a couple of times. So when someone asks me "Are you a good driver?" I generally say, "Yes. I think so."

    Over the last few weeks I've been wondering if this track record was just due to pure luck and not my superlative powers of vehicular agility and wheel control. I think I might be a bad driver. This is not a realization anyone wants to come to on their own. I've always just dismissed my driving mistakes by stating that I was an aggressive driver sometimes and just needed to relax.

    There are only so many mistakes you can make in a ten minute trip when this excuse no longer works. After the twenty-seventh time with nearly eight minutes ahead of you, it's time to really stop and take a second look at your driving.

    "Maybe I'm part of the problem. Is it possible that maybe I'm the reason many people don't like to drive on the state highways anymore? Maybe tailgating semi trucks, passing on one lane roads and running over old people in the crosswalks is not permitted in the driver handbook? Maybe I should slow down to only twenty miles over the speed limit."

    If after this look you come to the conclusion that yes, I'm a bad driver, what can you do? There are many steps that you can take to curb your dire driving tendencies.

    First you can drive slower. You can be a more defensive driver and be more aware. Additionally you can start to be more courteous to other drivers on the road. You know, you are not the only driver on the road.

    If you're like me, and after reading that, your stomached turned, then just forget the whole thing. If it turns out the only way to solve the problem is to be a slower nicer sissy driver, than it's just not worth your time. Who wants to be late anyway?

    Lace Lament

    Have you ever noticed that when you by a new pair a shoes they tuck the laces in? "Who cares," you think? Here's the deal, they're hiding the laces from you. Look at this picture. Have you ever seen a new shoe advertised with the lace ends showing? No. Why?

    Simple. There's a problem with the cutter. The darn thing is stuck at 25' and can't be set any shorter. So when you get a new pair of shoes you're required to lace up the seven holes on each side and then try and figure out what to do with the other 23 1/2 feet of flipping lace! Don't say "cut it" either. If you've just suggested that then it's clear that you've never tried it! You get this frayed end thing going on. It looks like you were trying to make a bicycle handlebar streamer out of your sneaker lace! So what? Well, first off you look like an idiot but if that isn't reason enough then realize that if for some reason the lace end slips through one of the eye holes, it will take a gallon of your spit, a keen eye and an hour of your free time to get it back in! No, cutting is definitely not an option.

    So if you can't cut it, what are you suppose to do with all that extra lace? If you don't want to look like a pansy and tie and elaborate triple bow knot, you could always "Go Greek" and lace the darn things up your leg. Sure it might chafe a little, and look like your wearing leggings under your jeans but at least you won't trip on your shoelaces.

    Dave Barry

    I’m a huge Dave Barry fan. Not so much because I think he’s the funniest person in the world (which he might very well be) but rather because I can identify with him. I find myself reading my Dave Barry Classic Calendar 2007 and thinking, “yeah, that makes sense!” I totally understand how a man comes to the point of removing a corn on his foot with his rifle and why Dave takes exception to this. You're so right Dave, this man is stupid! I concur with your stance to always use a pistol!

    He's a very heavy handed with his use of hyperbole. In fact it's almost an addiction. Pool toys the size of the Hindenburg and so forth.

    If you read/have read you will understand that mostly his humor is geared to make you do an intellectual (this word just barely applies to Dave Barry) double take. I suppose that’s why I find myself pumping out so much nonsense. Too bad I can’t find a way to make it enjoyable enough for the masses.

    Oh well who wants a Florida mansion anyway!

    Another Addict

    I have now heard this theroy more than once. Lips become addicted to Chapstick! I mean once you start using it you lips want more. They need it all the time, like some dry mouthed drug fiend dragging himself through the city streets hungry for a hit.

    It all starts innocently enough, with a day of dry lips that just need a little moisturizing...the first one is free. Then two days then three. Next thing you know you've got a full blown addiction. You're walking around town with dry irritated lips if you go a day without it, cracked and dying for another shot of the waxy goo. You look ridiculous with large red swollen lips, but you have to break the habit, you have to break the cycle!

    You cave, and smear on some more...

    Ahhh. Better!

    It's New...Again.

    Things are happening. I'm feeling stuff swirling in my dome. I've been unavailable to blog for over a week and in that time have stored up some profound revelations that I plan to strip of everything meaningful and and trite quips and shallow revelations to. That way they will be suitable to post here...

    In the mean time I'm trying something new, again. There is a certain cyclical delight I have in never seeing anything through to it's end. I crave to start something new see how I like it and then throw it to the wayside and let it rot. It's just my 'thing'.

    In that same vein I've started up a new blog. Conservative Shirt Post I think it's both funny and true. I'm working on two ideas right now, that will be added later today sometime.