Sherlock and Mycroft are brothers, both are exceptional but as in life, one candle outshines the other. Throughout their childhood one was always more capable, more insightful and more observing than the other. That's right, Sherlock was always second fiddle.
For those of you not familiar with the Sherlock Holmes stories, allow me to shed a little light. Sherlock's brother appeared in a couple of stories and it was always mentioned that his brain was much larger that of his baby brothers. His only trouble was that he was lazy. While Sherlock would occasionally go and ask a question of him, past that he wasn't much use.
Laziness is the sapping kryptonite of potential. You can have all the potential in the world, but if your don't apply yourself, what good is it? Anyway...what was I typing? Mercy... 500 words is looking like a thousand to me right now. I think I'm just going to throw in the towel. Maybe tomorrow I'll have the desire to finish this...
...yawn
Okay okay!!
Anyway. The point is simple. Sherlock was the better of the two, not because of all the potential that he had been blessed with, but because of all the tenacity that he applied to a situation. He cataloged the various dirt's of London, had exstensive knowledge of ballistics and took a painstakingly tedious amount of time investigating a crime scene. He rarely slept while on a case and was able to overcome an opiate addiction on his own. He is the pinnacle of the fictional self made man.
So exceptionalism isn't a birthright. It's a choice. Just becuase you were born with potential doesn't mean you will amount to anything. We see people throw away their lives everyday, who had buckets of potential. Potential is nothing compared to tenacity.
We make choices every day. Good ones, bad ones and benign ones fly at us all the time. We have a choice to apply ourselves or not. Tenacious people fail frequently. They fall on their faces time and time again. The difference between tenacious people and potential people is getting back up. I've heard so many sob stories in my day, "I've had it rough." or "You don't know what I've been through." or "I'm just not as exceptional as they are."
Guff! Hogwash! Malarkey!
Doing isn't easy, but it's motion. You cannot progress without motion. All the brains in the world can't make someone go if they've got no motivation. So get up, and do it.
Go. Try. Fail. Learn. Do.
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Going Out on a Limb
 |
| My Colored Pencil Ring |
"Why didn't you use loose tenons to hold that joint?"
"Uh.."
"I've made loads of those and I prefer making them with PVA glue. Yours will probably break."
"I suppose I could..."
"Editing was a bit choppy. I preferred the video you made last week!"
"I didn't do a video last week..."
"Exactly!"
Seriously though. It's awesome. I wrote a post last August called Stalking Minotaurs. It was basically just a motivation for myself to try something new. Something hard. Something I wasn't comfortable doing. The rather juvenile analogy allowed me an excuse to post yet another Minotaur post on this site. (I think I'm up to three now Kludge Likes Minotaurs) As you know, Minotaurs and Dragons are the only fantasy animals worth your devotion...
Anyway, the point. I had one. I know I did.
Right! So then I decided to start videoing my time in the wood shop. I set up and new channel on YouTube and begun to swing quite far outside my comfort zone. In the last year I've made 50 videos. Most were flops, but a handful have actually been well received. (More so because of the project than because of the presenter or the quality of the video)
As a YouTuber I would be remiss not to take a second to also promote myself. I do geeky woodworking and I try new ideas. The point of the channel is to experiment and try. Even if that idea ends in a giant ball of fire. Ideas deserve a chance at life outside your head. Not all ideas have to work and mine go sideways quite often, but who cares. The fun is in the trying.
It feels good. It's nice to get a reward for taking a risk. Even if it's only after many failures. Risks can be scary, but if you're not willing to step out on that limb to see if it will support your weight, then you'll never get a chance to eat Jell-o for months on end as you're sitting in a dirty hospital suspended by a traction device waiting for all your broken bones to knit themselves back together....
Muffin Balls: The Manifesto
Thomas English Muffins are exquisite, but I hate them. They taste excellent and the way that the nooks and crannies fill up with warm melted butter is enough to make any mouth water for more. So why is that they cannot remove those stupid, clinging, muffin balls that shower over my counter and trickle down my clothes before wrapping up their package. Surely we cannot be expected to put up with this.
Muffin balls are inedible little shot sized cornmeal balls that are a part of the cooking process. It's an old world tradition. Just like Mr. Thomas used to make, and then send off on his antiquated horse and carriage. We are told that they are a necessary part of the cooking process, in order to keep the muffin from adhering to the pan, or conveyor belt or whatever they use in the Bimbo Bakeries factory. I get that.
Does that mean that I need 4 metric tons of these absurd rolling menaces in my package? Really!? I spend about 2 minutes over my sink each morning wiping these excess muffin balls off the rear of my bread just to save the hassle of spreading the buggers on my counter, lap and floor. Is that also an old world tradition Thomas?! Sheesh. We all know that there isn't any old Mr. Thomas cooking these anymore. It's all done by the mechanical hands of some great stainless steel beast. Can't we spend a little extra between the laser guided spatula flipper and self sealing plastic bonding station for a little tiny muffin ball broom?!
Sigh...
So here we are, saddled with a dilemma, of taste over tactile annoyance. Do I really need a Thomas English Muffin? Or can I go with some ball free alternative. Like bagels. Because you know, I've never seen any bagel that didn't have it's balls all cleaned off before being added to my package...
Confessions of an Agressive Driver
I hate the way you drive. It actually makes me crazy. I think you're stupid, incapable and slow. If you are in my way, you are nothing more than an imbecile who I would gladly do away with if the missile launch button glued to my steering wheel was anything more than wishful thinking. I confess, I am an aggressive driver. I'm a full throttle, bumper sucking, loud mouthed, road hog. I also know that you are a lousy driver.Why is it every time I get in my car, some geriatric, Cadillac driving jerk decides to pull out right in front of me? You know the one, they drive at 10 miles BELOW the speed limit, looking outside their windows like they're hunting for garage sale signs so they can swoop in and buy some happening depression glass or a 1970's brown checked kitchen apron they're been hankering for?
When the light turns green they're still checking their perm in the gigantic rear view mirror instead of riding that accelerator, like it says to do in the drivers handbook. No use honking, it will only slow them down, as they look around bewildered until they finish adjusting the bench seat or talking about the bridge game with their dying spouse. IT MAKES ME CRAZY.
I can honestly feel the muscles in my shoulders tightening and the red glow rising up my neck.
"MOVE YOUR BOAT GRANDMA! WE STILL HAVE PLACES TO GO BEFORE WE DIE!"
And it's not just the extremely old. It's also all you loonies with your iThis and eThats in the car. Why are we taking pictures from behind the windshield or talking to Mary-Lou when there is driving to do? You don't see Richard Petty or Michael Schumacher chatting with the pit crew about which weight of oil they'd like to try on the next stop, cause, THEY'RE TOO BUSY DRIVING!
sigh... [exhale] ...okay. Calming down. I'll just pull over into the slow lane and take a quick breather....
Why are you braking?! What... Why are you. I cannot even see around you. What possessed you to buy the largest black SVU in the FREAKING WORLD anyway?! All I see are shadows of bodies moving inside. Are you having a picnic in there. Are you bathing your children. What could you possibly be slowing for when all the other lanes are speeding by... too fast for me to even merge. Now me and this colossal line of followers are stuck behind you...
An accident. You were inspecting an accident. Fantastic. Were you able to lend assistance? Did you help the wounded? I'm sure the police and fire department appreciated your assistance. No. You just needed to SLOW DOWN AND LOOK!? YOU know what! I didn't even glance at it. I stayed cemented to your bumper the entire time. You know why. BECAUSE IT HAD ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH ME?!) #)%$ *&@!
I hate the way you drive. All of you. People slower than me are jerks and folks who pass me are maniacs. I think I just stole that from someone, but right now, I don't care. I just want to get off this road before I start ramming into Hondas and Fords....
I remember when...
- Watermelons had seeds
- Televisions had dials
- Streets had payphones
- Computers had floppies
- Supermarkets had arcade games
- Only doctors or drug dealers had pagers
- No one had a cellular phone
- People wore tube socks
- I made my girlfriend a mix tape
- VCRs were amazing
- Costco clerks read off the SKU numbers
- Stores called the bank when you wrote a check
- Macy's used a carbon machine on your credit card
- McDonald's used styrofoam packages
- Rabbit ears were on our living room TV
- The first time I played Frogger at home
- People thought pegged pants looked cool
- Taco Bell had a 59¢ menu
- I had to hand write my school reports
- I tried to walk and keep my discman from skipping
My last 5 Facebook Posts
Considering how few amusing things I've generated in the last 2 months, I thought you all might appreciate something...
Dec 25: So, everyone's phone is off, I'm standing in the rain locked outside of my empty house with no keys, and I need to use "the facilities". Making Christmas memories...
Jan 2: I cannot stop overeating. Luckily my pants are now so tight I'm getting light headed and might just pass out. Seems to be some sort of fail safe method...
Jan 3: I like Lumberjack Games. If more sports had axes and chainsaws, I think I could get into them more...
Jan 9: I've only had one person ever give me their number and asked me to call them. It was a very attractive man with a pale blue knit sweater tied around his shoulders. I never found out what he wanted....
Jan10: I'm such a poor speller that Outlook wished to change what I thought was 'inconvenience' to 'incontinence'. I said, "no" as I wanted to keep the email a bit more professional...
Dec 25: So, everyone's phone is off, I'm standing in the rain locked outside of my empty house with no keys, and I need to use "the facilities". Making Christmas memories...
Jan 2: I cannot stop overeating. Luckily my pants are now so tight I'm getting light headed and might just pass out. Seems to be some sort of fail safe method...
Jan 3: I like Lumberjack Games. If more sports had axes and chainsaws, I think I could get into them more...
Jan 9: I've only had one person ever give me their number and asked me to call them. It was a very attractive man with a pale blue knit sweater tied around his shoulders. I never found out what he wanted....
Jan10: I'm such a poor speller that Outlook wished to change what I thought was 'inconvenience' to 'incontinence'. I said, "no" as I wanted to keep the email a bit more professional...
For the Love of Ants
They aren't slimy like a worm. They aren't poisonous like a millipede. They don't consume their spouses like a preying mantis. They don't sting like a bee or stink like a beetle. I've never heard them disturb my peace like those loud, good for nothing grasshoppers. They don't suck your blood like a tick or make you itch like a louse. They are just devoted to their work.
They are true blue and loyal. They always obey their mother, and work tirelessly for the betterment of their colony. Ants can carry things much heavier than themselves. As any entomologist will tell you, that makes them the perfect Sherpa to scale any mountian with a pack full of food.
"Wait. Where did you guys get all that food?"
"My counter top!"
"How many of you are there?!"
"Thousands!"
What can be more lonesome than an ant? A filthy dirty scavenger! What creature could be a better example of a low life bottom feeder? Bees are like the farmers of the insects world. Cultivating pollen which will be converted into honey for their nourishment. They work the plants and add to the food supply of other animals. Worms recycle garbage into rich useable soil. And while quite macabre, at least the preying mantis supplies her own dinner. (I still hate grasshoppers though, nothing is changing that opinion.)
But ants?! What do they do. They invade! They steal. They do it so blatantly that you cannot ignore them. One or two become dozens. Dozens become hundreds and hundreds become thousands, until your entire kitchen counter top is black shifting mass of larceny!
STOP TAKING MY FOOD!
Ants. There is no reasoning with their kind. All they understand is violence. I am a murder. I've killed hundreds. Thousands. They keep coming, but I will be victorious. I plan to eradicate an entire civilization. I have no remorse. How can you? If you show any weakness they will exploit it. There are no treaties, boarders or agreements. No, there is only one option; the ants must die.
The Mayans Were Right
I have been neglecting my blog, not because I have nothing to say, but because I cannot think of anything amusing. The truth is lately I've been rather depressed. As far as I'm concerned 2012 has lived up to all its dire predictions and I will not be the least surprised if the world came to a fiery end before I complete this posting.March 2012
Dear Diary,
I have to admit, I'm feeling pretty good. I've lost over 30lbs of nasty clinging body fat since January 1st. My clothes feel better, I wake up on time and work has become rather interesting. 2012 is looking like a fairly good year!
April 2012
Dear Diary,
The wife thinks she's pregnant. I was supportive. but honestly I have to say, When a man spends a week recovering from a painful operation that will 'stop you from producing any more offspring' you presume all that pain and suffering had a point! It's like a contract. You let them slice open a sensitive area, while you're awake, and in return you don't have to buy any more diapers! I feel like someone is in breach of contract. Dear Lord in heaven, I think I need to go throw up again...
May 2012
Dear Diary,
Even though it turns out that I am completely infertile (thank you all that is holy) we have decided to sell our house. Hopefully it will all go according to plan...
June 2012
Dear Diary,
When I said hopefully it will all go according to plan, I meant my plan. Not some crazy persons plan! Some lunatics, going-to-walk-through-your-house-every-4-hours-and-make-you-leave-for-an-hour-at-a-time-but-not-put-a-offer-in-on-your-house, plan. That's not the plan I was working from. I cannot imagine this can go on forever.
August 2012
Dear Diary,
Apparently it can go on forever. Actually that's not completely true. We did get an offer, that after 17 days into escrow was pulled out from under us like the proverbial rug. I have nothing but good thoughts for Jose and Nubia with dreams of dry rot, infestation and adjustable rate mortgages with a non reputable leading houses in their immediate future.
September 2012
Dear Diary,
After two more deals have fallen through, we've decided to take the house off the market. I suggested we burn it to the ground in celebration. Patricia seems against the idea. Maybe she'll warm up to. Get it?!
September 2012
Dear Diary,
Work sucks. I had to skip a training, got bumped off the one interesting project this year and now I cannot find a single reason to be motivated to come in and work. Well... I do have to pay my mortgage. Is that irony or just a terribly sad truth of life?
September 2012
Dear Diary,
It's a good thing I lost those 34 lbs in March because if I hadn't I would be 70lbs heavier right now and not just 36lbs....
November 2012
Dear Diary,
The election is over. I don't want to talk about it...
November 2012
Dear Diary,
December is fast approaching. I'm looking forward to 2013. Or an asteroid falling on San Francisco and sending us all into the drink. I'm not sure which sounds better at this point.
5 Haiku's: Buffalo Wing Regret
Wings of buffalo
Why do you torture me so?
I love to hate you
Wings of buffalo
When will you ever let me go?
My belly begs for death
Wings of buffalo
Oh spices you burn my tongue
Then tush as you go
Wings of buffalo
My toilet is quite displeased
I need more Clorox
Wings of buffalo
I'm sure I'll never have again
Until the next time
-Peter Brown 2012
Servicing The Car: Confessions of a Geek.
So I'll call up and say, "Yes, my car is making a funny noise"
"Right. Bring her in!"
Obviously they cannot diagnose funny noises over the phone, that's not surprising. But what they can diagnose over the phone is a sucker. Which means when I drive up and get out, they know that I am a complete car moron. Mechanics love this. It means that they can say anything they want and I have to respond with, "Ah.. well that makes sense."
So I pull up and get out...
"So, did you hear that noise?"
"Yessir. Yep I sure do."
"Any idea what that is?"
"Well sir, that is probably the rear bushing. We need to see it and align your torque sensor."
"My what sensor."
"You torque sensor. Hopefully that's not blown!"
"Would that be bad if it had?"
"Well..." The technician holds back the laughter, "It sure wouldn't be very good would it?!"
"Ah. No, I mean. I guess not. How much are we talking here?"
"Well we won't know that till we slap her up on in the grease nest and see. How long have you been hearing this?"
"A week or so."
"Ah... well then, I imagine that the torque sensor has started to effect other systems by now."
"Really?"
"Yep. They'll do that you know."
"I didn't actually..."
"Well the manifold will start recalibrating it's alignment. So we'll have to give it the full overhaul."
"You still haven't said how much this will cost me yet..."
"Do you have a second mortgage?"
"No."
"Good. "
"That's not funny..."
"Sorry. Let me have the keys and and we'll try to fix it by next weekend."
"That long?"
"Well, it's not easy work. I mean we have to drain the pan, and rework the hoses before we can even get to the torque sensor. Then we plug in the diagnostic station and run a full baseline. After that it's just test and retest until were sure the groove is wearing correctly."
Sigh..."Ah.. well that makes sense."
Giving Myself An Ulcer
I'm giving myself an ulcer. It's an early birthday present. I haven't done anything nice for me in a while and thought maybe I should correct that. So this is what I came up with. Loads of unnecessary stomach acid churned with my doubt, anxiety and penchant for eating away all my troubles. A truly unique present, that is presently always present.So... We bought our house in January of 2005. What many now realized to be the highest peak of the California housing market in the last 20 some odd years, if not ever. We sunk in about $100,000 of money that we made from a previous sale. After 7 years of blissful homeownership we have turned that $100,000 worth of equity into -$30,000. I put it in red becuase it's so much more festive that way...
Hang on, I need a Tums.
Sigh. Okay, where was I? Right, drowning in a sea of former equity and listening to the sound of my stomach digesting its own lining.
One morning, in the not too distant past my lovely bride of 14 years turns over in bed and says, "Peter. I want to sell our house"
Not exactly what I was expecting, but okay. We had walked this path before about a year earlier and I had already decided that we couldn't possibly get what we needed to out of this place this we lovingly refer to as, "The place where our future died a cold and meaningless death." It's hard to put that on envelopes so we normally just abbreviate it as "home."
"We looked at the market just recently"
"I know, but I think it's possible."
After a brief conversation, I decided to acquiesce. I mean who cares what I think? If I'm right nothing will come of it and if I'm wrong... well, then we can sell this place and move into something more suitable.
"Let's try it."
So we did. And we are. The house has been on the market for about 10 days or so. I had forgotten what selling was like. The last time we sold we were in a boom market. We put our house on the market and had to beat away buyers with a stick. In fact we even got a bidding war and accepted an offer above our original listing.
That isn't what we've got now. In 10 day's we've had about a dozen and a half people come and look at it. Which means that at a moments notice we get two kids in the car and scramble around making the house look as inviting as possible. Counter tops are cleared of toys, towels, trinkets and tchotchkes.
These things are crammed in drawers, the dishwasher, the refrigerator or anywhere it will not be noticed by potential buyers. Including in the car with us.
Anyway that's been the last 10 days. Loads of lookers and no buyers. I feel like a retail clerk at the Neiman Marcus store. I have no idea what will be happening or if we will be moving or not, but the worrying about everything and stressing over things I cannot help to control is turning me into a nervous wreck.
I NEED CONTROL! I MUST HAVE THE REINS OF POWER!
*thud*
Sorry, I just passed out there.
Okay...
Calming down...
Phew...
Breathe...
I'm not sure how I'm going to top this gift next year. Maybe I'll just give myself a lobotomy...
Bridge Sreet Re-visted
I'm re-vising one of my all time favorite posts. I got this crazy idea one day and it just sort of became this. Since there are so many new followers here, this should be something new for you... Enjoy!"I said take Washburn Ave."
"I don't want to take Washburn, I want to take Bridge."
"Steve, you can't get to Madison from Bridge."
"Molly, I've been going Bridge to Madison for ten years, will you please stop trying to tell me how to drive."
"You should have taken Washburn."
"How is it you can't find your way to the grocery store unless you're a passenger in my car!?"
"You're just like your father. Steve, before I married you - LOOK OUT!"
-WHAM-
"Steve, what happened?!"
"We hit something. I think it was a dog. Get out Molly, lets see if it's hurt."
"Oh. Its not moving. Steve...is it dead?"
"Should we poke it with a stick?"
"Don't you think it's gone through enough! What is wrong with you! Get down there and see if it's still breathing!"
"Fine. ...He’s not breathing."
“Does that mean he’s dead?”
“I not a doctor Molly! I sell children's raincoats for a living! I don’t have a clue. Look, he’s not breathing and he’s not moving I think it’s safe to say he’s dead.”
"You should have taken Washburn."
"[sigh] Should we try and find it's owners?"
"Look at him Steve. He's clearly a stray, no collar, straggly, worn and tired. You should have taken Washburn!"
"Stop saying that! You don't think they have strays on Washburn! Look it was an accident okay! I'm sorry, I wasn't aiming for him Molly! I already feel horrible, you aren’t helping anything! Help me move him to the side."
"Steve,"
"Yes?"
"We have to eat him."
"WHAT?!"
"We have to eat him Steve. We have to eat this dog."
"Molly, what in the world are talking about. Look just get in the car, I'll be there in a second."
"I'm serious. Look at this dog Steve. It looks horrible, like it was never loved. Liked no one cared for him, and before he got a chance to ever find happiness we come and hit him. We stole all his chances. We don’t even know his name! We need to eat him.”
“I feel bad about hitting this dog but I don’t see how eating him is going to make up for it Molly.”
“It will be a way to show him how we appreciate him. That we cared, that he meant something to us.”
“Like the worst memory of my life, followed by the worst meal?”
“I’m serious Steve.”
“So I am I! You are obviously traumatized by this and I understand. Please just try and relax Molly. I’ll deal with this. ”
“No Steve, I’m perfectly rational, and serious. I just couldn’t stand knowing that you and your stupid driving sucked the life out of this animal and the we just threw him to the shoulder and went on with our lives. He deserves to be loved and right now the only way we can do that is to eat him. Steve we have to do this!”
“This is ridiculous. People don’t eat dogs Molly! What if he’s diseased? What is someone finds out?! How would you explain this to your mother? Molly what if he tastes horrible.”
“I doesn't matter. It’s our duty Steve.”
“Molly-”
“-Steve if you don’t do this I’ll never forgive you.”
“Fine. Molly. Fine. I’ll load him up into the trunk and we’ll take him home and eat him. I feel like some crazed redneck out on a hunting expedition. I just need a plaid shirt, five less teeth and a hat with those ear flaps!”
“Thank you Steve, we’re doing the right thing!”
~~~
"Molly"
"Yes?"
“This is the worst dinner I’ve ever had.”
“You should have taken Washburn!”
Giving Away The Internets
When did we start giving away the Internet? Who decided that we couldn't charge for this anymore? Why is everyone convinced that free Internet is what we need more of in this world? Not that I'm complaining. Well, maybe I am.
Do you remember the sound of dial-up? That sweet minute or so of anticipation while you waited with bated breath for the connection protocols to finish their handshake?
"Hello, sir"
"Good morning!"
"I'm looking for 33.6k"
"Sorry best I can do is 3200 baud"
"Ah.. are you sure? I can try back later?"
"No, no... that's the best we can do."
"Alright. Shake on it?"
"Agreed. Welcome to the Internet"
And then you were on the Internet and all else was near utopia. Chatting with people halfway around the world, electronic mail and text based gaming. Could the world possibly get any better? For me this experience cost me plenty. @ 16 I bought an AST computer for $2,100 from Circuit City. I paid for my own phone line in my bedroom and paid monthly for my Prodigy service. And it was worth every red cent it cost me.
Now here we are in 2012 just giving it away.
Yesterday I spent most of the day setting up free WiFi in our buildings. Free. No strings attached. You connect, you get on and then browse the web for nothing. No $2100 computer, no phone line no prodigy service.
What do they think people in my office are going to use this for? Edification? Looking up facts for clients? Searches for how to replace commas in Excel spreadsheets with a return carriage? No. They can already do that on our corporate Internet connection. They will use free Internet browsing for all those things we are blocking on our corporate LAN. A direct stream to all the stuff I spend months of time try to protect the network from.
Who needs anti-virus, anti-spam, web filtering and IPS level protection when folks can now connect their corporate computers to the free Internet and get all that unhindered via the free Wi-fi?
Because people need the Internet, for checking Facebook, Googling pictures of Abraham Lincoln and reading stupid blogs...
Wireless Installation
These are little square devices that connect to the metal frameworks that support false ceilings. It allowed me to learn a couple of things.
1. Ceiling tiles are evil
2. People love to watch other people work
I have enough ceiling tile dust in my eyes, hair, ears and collected in my shoes and open pockets to tile the ceiling of a new building. I also have a pretty fare idea that I don't like the way ceiling tile dust tastes. Who needs fiber cereal when you could ingest ceiling tile dust.
"CST- The REGULATOR!"
Plus the little buggers take a downright maniacal pleasure in not functioning as designed. You can pop one out but have you ever tried to get one to re-seat properly in the framework? Impossible. Not going to happen. You need pop out an adjacent tile in order to wrap your finger around to push down the first one. Now of course you have a different tile up. Give it a wiggle. Nothing. A tap. Nada. Then you pry it, push it, squeeze it, grab it, force it, jam it and curse it. All the while teetering back and forth on your ladder trying to get some leverage on this horrible little beast!
So you end up having to pop up some 20 odd tiles moving the wedged up corner from tile to tile hoping that the next one will be slightly loose and just fall back down in place. As it was, of course, designed to do.
Luckily though, you're not alone. No sir, you've got an audience. A whole building of workers who never say hello, but will watch you out of the corner of their eye. If you turn around to look their heads whip back and they pretend that they didn't notice you.
"What? A 230lb tech wrestling ceiling tiles for the last 20 minutes? In this building?!"
Not that I really want to chat with anyone when I'm busying playing Whack-A-Mole with the tiles.
"Whatcha you doing?"
"Installing stuff"
"What kinda stuff"
"Cisco 1400 Wireless Access Points."
"For what?"
"Wireless. It's even in the name..."
"Why do you have to plug them in if they're wireless?"
"..."
So, I was on my last one of the day with very few interruptions. I'd gotten through almost all of my ceiling tile madness when someone rounds the corner and looks up at me.
"Whatcha you doing?"
Sigh... Here we go.
And then out of nowhere it came to me and I spurted this off without missing a beat:
"As part of the new green initiative we're installing these new collectors. They absorb negative thoughts from the employees and we turn that into energy to power the servers."
He looked at me, looked up at the wireless controller and said, "Wow. What will they think of next." And then he walked away.
Unbelievable. Or, apparently not.
Kludge Klassic: A Sneaker Suspicion
I was sitting comfortably at my desk, earning my living, when something tickled my ankle bone. This unknown then began to work its way down between my shoe and foot towards my sole. There was only the thin cotton of my sock protecting me from this unknown thing. I looked, very calmly down at my shoe, and didn’t see anything. There could be no real doubt about it though, there is something in my shoe. I have an unnatural fear of bugs, and while some of you will not understand, the idea of an insect in my shoe makes me uneasy. I have visions of spiders, or ear wigs burrowing down into my canvas. Making themselves at home in my cross trainer, and dining on the only available meat when the urge hits them. Add to this the fact that these shoes are on thier last leg and there is a fairly large hole in the one sneaker I'm focused on. After a slight hesitation, I shoved my finger in between the shoe and sock.
“All clear Capitan”
“Proceed to Shoecom 4”
“Captain, what about the smell?”
“Move it soldier!”
I removed my shoe. Nothing. Nada. I shook the shoe violently; I know that there is something in my shoe!
“Peter…” The Boss!
“Hey Boss” I usually call him ‘boss’ especially when startled, “I was working on that TPS report you wanted for…”
“You okay?” He questioned, eying me with a slight suspicion.
“Oh… my foot hurt…that’s all.” I said, looking as nonchalant as possible. This is a little difficult with a shoe in hand.
Once the coast was clear I attacked my right sided smelly shell with a new ferver. There was something in my shoe. I was now looking for a nylon thread, or similar lifeless explanation. I've had this happen before and I was sure I would find something to explain the uncomfortable feeling from earlier. Nothing. Nada.
I left it off for a few minutes in case whatever was in there was hiding and I would soon catch with my well honed spy skills. I waited and it waited. I waited longer and it waited longer. This worked out much the way you would expect. I decided it was ridiculous.
So I put my shoe back on. It was not more than ten minutes later when something tickled my ankle bone. There is something in my shoe!
The Practice Of Dovetails
As everyone with half a brain knows, dovetail joints are the hardest joint to make in woodworking. People with whole brains however, dispute this fact and are generally more articulate at expressing their views.I like power tools. They're fast, reliable and make for cuts that are highly repeatable. When it comes to working with hand tools, none of those things can be said about me. I'm slow, sloppy and highly erratic. Still, I'm also stubborn and pig headed, so that makes me want to continue trying something until I get it right.
Enter in the dovetails. This is a joint that proves that you have the skills required to be a craftsman. A good clean dovetail makes people want to get up a cheer. So that's the goal. cheering crowds of people when they see my joinery. I like to set reasonable expectations on all aspects of my life.
The trouble is it's actually hard. It's really hard. I don't know what I expected it to be, but hard wasn't on the list. Tricky, challenging, fun. Right fun was on the list.
Shrug. Where do we get these ideas from anyway? You see people doing this all the time.
(Two minutes into marathon) "What the hell was I thinking!?"
(On third coat with paint in your eye) "What the hell was I thinking!?"
(45 minutes into chiseling out waste on a set of pins) "Don't I have a machine I could do this with?"
And in fact I do...
Three Short Months
Three months is a long time. It funny because it doesn't feel that long but it is. Three months ago I did something kinda crazy. I went on a juice diet. I drank my breakfast lunch and dinner for 10 days. 10 days sounded like a piece of cake when I started. I was such a fool back then.
It's been almost three months since my first juicing diet. (Jan 8th 2012) Since I started I've lost a total of 31lbs. It's a great start, and I feel good, but I'm a big guy and still have another 30-40 lbs to go.
So, I started another 10 day juice fast last Saturday. It's amazing how you can tend to forget how horrible something really was with just a few short months of time.
Trackballs and the Promise of the Future
Trackballs look like the future. They are sleek, odd and different. They do exactly what mice do, but do it while looking awesome. Trackballs are a vision of tomorrow. Except......they don't quite live up to that hope. They don't work any better than mice, in fact in some ways they are less useful. They tend to gum up pretty easily, and require frequent cleaning. In addition to that, they're kinda gross. Rolling your hand over nasty germs, dirt and all those dead cells from other people who might have rolled your trackball.
But...the ball is really fun to play with. Sometime you want to take it out and just roll it in your hand. You sit there playing with it and rolling it around and start to think to yourself, "I wonder if I do that thing that the Goblin King did in Labyrinth, and roll it up and over my fingers?" You then think about David Bowie in really tight leather pants. After you force breakfast back down your throat, you grab tightly to your trackball ball and give it a try. Surprise, surprise...
...it drops. With a loud THUD and rolls across the ground and under a metal filing cabinet and there you are. Metal filing cabinets are NOT anything like the future. They are the past.
They hold the relics of a part remembered memory. Those sections of your your mind that you printed out in hope of preserving knowledge. Knowledge that got edged out of your brain in desire to retain more useful information. Information like the all the dialogue in Star Wars: A New Hope, and every IP addresses of DNS servers from companies that have long since been dismantled. (216.174.194.53) There is nothing new to be learned from a filing cabinet except what you might have already forgotten.
So you find yourself down on all fours; face to the ground, on your dirty office floor peering under a filthy filing cabinet searching for your future. How is this anything like the promise you were offered not mere moments ago? See the overly simplified analogy? The future is like a trackball, and if you're not careful you'll find yourself stuck in the past wondering what happened to your hope.
Things That Are Impossible
#54 - Looking tough playing the flute
#78 - Understanding the lyrics to Come Together by the Beatles
#12 - Having any good reason for skipping
#32 - Re-reading a mystery novel with any enthusiasm
#33 - Reading Moby Dick with any enthusiasm
#6 - Believing someone who has to use the phrase, "Trust me"
#15 - Playing Super Mario Bros. without humming or whistling the theme song.
The Book Parade
My wife loves is when the local library has their book sale. She spends hours perusing and then comes home with a load of grocery bags full of books we never read.The Outdated Western Farms Garden- How to maintain your garden in bell bottoms and leisure suits.
The Router Handbook- 100 completely unsafe things to do with your 1/2 hp fixed base router in a series of poorly drawn diagrams.
The Jello Book - A disturbing collage of chiffon dresses, pipe smoking dads and lobster shaped jello molds.
The English Breakfast Book- Jellied Eels and everything else you never wanted to know about what British people will put on toast.
The Whispers of Tarnis- Book 25 of a 85 book fantasy series, that you will never understand without the 24 previous books.
Discovering Inner Failings- A self help book written to show you why you need another self help book.
Silicon Valley in 1979- How boring people can take a boring subject and craft it into the definitively useless coffee table book.
How To Clean Practically Anything- Whisk aways hours you could be spending with your kids or spouse agonizing over a stain that no one ever even noticed.
Anything by Charles Dickens- Why even your worst childhood memories are better that anything that ever happened to people in a Dickens novel.
The next one is coming in April. I'll try to contain myself...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)