Perspective

“Peter,” Someone asks, “Why do you talk to yourself. You know that’s real bad sign!”

I replied to them with the same phrase I always do. “I always talk to myself. I prefer dealing with a higher class of person.”

Some people say that folks who talk to themselves are insane. I’m not sure if I disagree with that, but I can tell you we tend to be pretty harmless too. I’ve been holding conversations with myself for years now. It’s not that I don’t like people it’s that I need to have something to fall back on. For those of you who don’t understand let me enlighten you.

I love to talk. You must be very clear on this point because all the rest hinge on it. The worst punishment for me would be losing the sheer joy that is verbalizing. I talk to strangers in the supermarket, in the elevator or at the crosswalk. Some people stare, some walk away but most will engage me in conversation. I don’t think about it, it just happens. I just had a conversation with a older couple in the movie store this week. They never asked me to pry into their discussion but we had a nice chat and they thanked me for my opinion. It’s true that I can get shy or uncomfortable just like anyone but sometimes talking will actually make me less uncomfortable.

That being said I will talk to myself when no one else it around, or even when they are somethimes. I have full on conversations or discussions. Sometimes I’ll just start a conversation and see where it leads me. This process might help clue you into the odd posts that I’m now producing on Fridays. Other times I’ll take different sides of debates. I’ll even use hand motions to get my point across. I start arguing on one side of the issue, then I’ll cut me off and give me what for! The nerve of me thinking like that. I helps me hone my ideas and sometimes it will make me laugh. People will drive by me in traffic while I’m doing this in my car. These are some of the best reactions I get. Make no mistake, I love knowing that people think I’m nuts.

Just to press this point, I’ll talk to vegetables in the supermarket. There is a certain sick enjoyment that comes with being the crazy person. If you see me in the supermarket I’ll hold conversations with the hot dog packages asking them which ones think they are the juiciest. Recently Patricia and I took the girls to the store and each got a basket and a child. My wife gave me a few items to find and we split up. In the supermarket with your child who doesn't talk yet. This is an excellent excuse for talking to ones self. Alexis listened while I explained the about the evils of light cheese, why Anusol changed it’s name to Tucks, which products shouldn’t have logos and how leaving the sausage isle empty handed would make me cry. Some people stare, some people laugh and some will even join in. Most though, will try not to make eye contact and just shuffle away.

I’ll talk to myself as I walk down the street, sit alone in my car or in a crowded room. It feels perfectly normal to me. I don’t feel mad, it’s just something I do. If you think I’m crazy then that is your point of view and as I said before, I’m fine with that. Just know that it's a matter of your perspective and understand that I'm mostly harmless.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 5

I've really been enjoying everyones creativity with the captions. So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.


Here's the one to get it started:

Jefferson? Bob Jefferson? Nope, never heard of him.


Stuff I've found this week.


Wooly Willy Online. That's right, you can now adorn Wooly Willy with hair without the stigma of carting around a childs toy. I made a photobucket account for anyone who would like to share their creations. Just capture a the snapshot, save it as an image then you can upload it to photobucket username: kludgespot password: password.

Someone sent this to me... It's a new classic.



Here's a funny little take on Numbers 21 over at Puddleglum's Wigwam. Snakes on a Plain

Thanks to a link from www.dinane.net I saw this amazing video! It's a little long, but very cool/funny/odd. Apartment Drummers

Furniture City

Going out of business! Everything must go!

We are not going to make it anymore. We will have to close our doors. We have a dozen lurking salespeople but no people to make sales for. We spend more time dusting our furniture than selling it. The creditors are calling and it’s not for friendly chatting. Furniture City is calling it quits.

I can’t understand it. It’s not like we are selling our household furnishings for way more than they are worth. No, I will not accept that! It’s not that we are overpriced, it’s that our stuff is worth more than our competitors. Sure it looks cheap but it's not. That cardboard back is there to ease the toil involved in moving, and particleboard is becoming very popular. At least that is what our suppliers say. Who would want solid wood panels when veneers looks just as good, and they come in heavy black lacquer!

We have tried every tactic we can think of. Free puppy day seemed to dissuade customers more than bring them in. We had beanbag day. Spend a thousand or more on a bedroom set and receive a free plastic beanbag chair in one of seven vibrant colors. This did not go as well as we had hoped. We even had a huge 5% off blowout sale and still couldn’t even approach the deals of our highest priced competitor.

We try and do our best. When a customer comes in we smother them with service. It’s even in the employee manual. Page five subsection three paragraph six, “The customer cannot be trusted to make decisions on their own. Once they pass under the ‘This door to remain unlocked during business hours’ sign, they are to be ‘Smothered with Service.’ All employees will do their best to piggy back the customer, make suggestions, ask inane questions and generally pester the walking credit card until they get fed up and leave.” Even with all of this extra special attention sales are suffering.

We have no choice but to close up shop. Don’t worry about it though we’ll survive. We’ve gone bankrupt eight times before. Of course we weren’t Furniture City then. First it was Furniture Village, then Furniture Furniture Furniture, always with the same sales people and same merchandise. We have a liquidation sale, but even then sales are not stellar. People must not have seen the twelve dozen 15% off all stock signs on the front lawn.

Our investors will never get wise. We’ll re-open and be right where we’ve always been, peddling our sub quality merchandise the only way we know how. At slighty higher prices then other stores but with service you can depend on. Come in and see us, you might not recognized the new name on the door, but it will always be us. Different dust cover but still the same boring content at the newly remodeled Furniture Bazaar. The name says it all.

Boating Bound

Everyone has to buy their boat someday. I’m not sure when this statement becomes a reality but I can assure you it’s the truth. If it were not the truth, they wouldn’t make houses with a doublewide driveway. Even contractors understand, you need to have a place to put your boat.

It amazes me how many boats there are in suburbia. It seems to me that this obsession with water floating is just a natural progression of life. Your born from water and you realize after a lifetime of dry dock that you just can’t take it any longer. At some point you just need to get fed up enough to want to sail away.

Grow up, get a job, get married, get a pet, buy a car, have kids, buy a house, buy a boat, then die fulfilled. There are people who die before getting their boat. Their souls are never truly at peace and they haunt the rest of us and say things to our brains like, “get the pretty blue boat with a big motor and a shinny knob to pull water skiers with.”

What is really amusing is the fact that you aren’t required to ever use your boat. You are only required to purchase one. The life requirement is in not the boating itself, but in the ability to boat. You now can rest in the knowledge that if you ever needed to you could go for a float. Mostly though it’s there for you to wash it, cover it with a tarp and to make your neighbors jealous. In fact allowing your boat to rust to pieces on your front driveway is one of the joys of many boat owners.

Additionally it serves to remind you, as you come home each day, that it’s because of the boat payment that you have to work so much overtime and you have no weekends free to take it out for a bob. That is an extra piece of irony that the salesman left out of his pitch when you decided on the sleek red one with the attachable bass fishing seat.

In the end though you will buy your boat. Sure you might get the motor home first and travel all over the county side but what will you find at the end of that journey? Water. When it all comes down to it, a continent is just a fancy way of saying big island. Sooner or later you will bore of driving on the same roads and your body will ache for new ones. There will be no driving off the island.

The human soul screams to explore. You must know what lies beyond. You see it is just as I told you, everyone comes to a point in their life where the deck is rigged and the hand is forced. So you will do what millions have done before you. You’ll buy your boat. The pretty blue boat with a big motor and a shinny knob to pull water skiers with. Nothing will stop you, not even your good sense.

Black and White Fever

For years I told myself I didn’t have it. I not a victim of the disease. Why should I worry? I wasn’t doing anything that warranted concern. I knew how to avoid the pitfalls and the mistakes. For years I was right, narrowly escaping punishment for things I knew I had done wrong. It seems that the tables of fortune have turned. I now cannot escape the fact that I have a rabid case of black and white fever.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving to work the same way I always do. He spotted me. I spotted him. I pretended everything was fine. He slammed on his brakes and flipped a u-turn across heavy traffic, cranked on the sirens and the flashing lights. Out of my lungs I expelled all my air, will and hope. I was going to get a ticket for the first time in a decade.

The way he whipped through traffic I could swear I was a wanted man. I felt like Edward G. Robinson cornered by the fuzz. “YOU’LL NEVER GET ME COPPER!” The main difference being I didn't have a machine gun. So instead I rolled down my window smiled and asked “What seems to be the trouble officer?”

“You were going ten miles over the speed limit. When you saw me you started to slow down. Are you aware that it is 55 on this road?”

“I’m not sure. I was just driving to the road conditions. This was my exit that you pulled me off in front of. That's why I was slowing down” I have to confess to being a little put out by this. “Was I driving reckless? Was I endangering other drivers?”

“Getting in a head on collision at 65 miles per hour could be deadly.” The way he said this made me feel like a six year old. I almost expected him to pat me on the head, and ask if my mommy knew I was driving like this.

“But getting in a head on collision at 55 miles per hour is perfectly safe, right?” I regret saying this because it ended our conversation. I thought it was a good point, but the officer didn’t want to discuss it with me. I signed my violation and he thanked me. He thanked me the way a mother thanks a stubborn child for doing something they were told, only after they have been punished.

Now it seems that I’m no longer the confident driver I was a few weeks ago. I have a case of black and white fever that is out of control. I have all the symptoms clammy hands, cold sweats. I pull off the road or onto side streets to just avoid being on the same road with the cops. I’m neurotic and making more simple driving mistakes than I have since I was first learning to drive. I know it will pass in time but until then I wouldn’t suggest driving with me. If for some reason you have to, please refrain from wearing anything black or white.

Lazy Thursday Blues: You Decide

I really enjoyed this the last time we played it and I hope you did too. I'm going to try it again.

You Decide!

The premise is simple enough. A series narration similar to a “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. I'll start off with a brief narration, and a list of choices. Someone responds with a couple of sentences about the path they want, and a couple of choices of their own. We will play till we stop.

This is only limited to your own imagination...don’t worry about length of your path or originality or anything, just comment. The more comments the further the story, however odd, thrilling, funny or ridiculous it becomes. You choose the path to fame, misfortune or the inane.

Here we go:

“You have just come of age. Your father is a shipwright, but not a wealthy man. You've been around boats all your life and despite your fathers pleas you decide to seek your fortune abroad. While you are out at sea you hit a nasty bit of weather and smash your little boat against the rocks of some uninviting island. You haul yourself to shore and are relieved that your body appears to have held together. Standing on the beach you realize that the ship was shattered to pieces on the rocks and you cannot find enough wood to even make a decent picture frame. Riffling in your pockets you find a pocket knife, a picture of your dog, and a beenie cap. To the east you see what looks like smoke rising. To the west is a grove of cocnut trees."

A) Head to the east and see if this land is inhabited.

B) You head west and try your hand at getting a cocnut open.

C) You can make a sand castle and drink some sea water.

Ingredients

Tired of working? Bored? Just plain lazy?

Well step right up I have just the ticket for you. Spend a few seconds and play the ingredients game at Legal Addictive Stimulants. It requires very little brain power and might even be fun.

Chili Cook-Off

Today is the day I get to test my mettle. Today I get to show what I am made of. Today I get throw down and defend my honor. It’s the annual office Chili Cook-off.

I have only worked here for the a little over a year, and in that time period I am still not very well known. There is nothing odd about that, it comes with the job. I’m in charge of maintaining the network, and the servers, and all the interconnections between them. I no longer interface with users and very rarely answer the phone or speak to humans beings outside my group. As such when I show up some place with a screw driver and start removing thousands of dollars with equipment people always freak out.

“Hello?" She eye's me with suspicion. "Can I help you?”

“No thanks,” I show them my badge. “I’m just here to work on the network.”

“Does Bill know you're here?”

I sigh. I can feel a quiz coming on. “We don’t have a Bill in IT.”

“I was just checking... What is the IT directors middle initial?”

“T. His middle initial is T.”

“What year was the company picnic canceled due to ...”

I suppose I can understand, here is this fellow you’ve never heard of, walking into your office, with limited social skills, taking your server out with him.

I decided last year to enter into the chili cook off mainly so that I could have some interaction with my peers. I spent hours looking for the right recipe, hunting for the right combinations and spices. I took three different recipes and merged them into one. It took hours to prepare and I agonized the whole time. I get there and I find that were aren’t allowed to say who’s is who's. I put down my anonymous chili #12 and wait. I sample some really bad chili, talk to almost no one, and wait for the results. I ended up winning second place (a tie) and my certificate came with a twenty-five dollars prize. I had spent forty five on ingredients.

So for the last year I have been staring at this ‘6th annual Chili Cook-Off Winner’ certificate on my wall thinking about what a waste the whole thing was. So what do I do? I entered again this year. The contest is today at 11:15.

We shall see.

The New Highway

In an effort to further turn my brain in to a goo like mass, I spent some time this weekend in pursuit of digital prowess. I wasted the weekend on video games. Yesterday I spent the afternoon a mere three feet away from a five-foot large projected image of an intense car racing game. It was unbelievably real. I was swaying with the turns, pitching with the collisions and generally getting way to wrapped up in the experience. I came very close to taking a couple of Dramamine.

Afterwards I found myself on the highway.

I felt like I wasn’t the only one out there driving like a maniac. I seemed to be in very good company. I can only imagine this has something to do with the recent racing craze. I have devised a number of new rules for the highway that would better mesh with my modern driving habits.

First things first, we need to ‘fix’ the speed limit. Currently the speed limit is nowhere near fast enough for the hazardous conditions needed for speed driving. Additionally I’m frequently late to work. I say we up the speed limit to a hundred and five. If we later find this limit to be too restrictive, we can up it but there is no sense in being ridiculous. For those stubborn people who will persist at driving sixty-five miles per hour or less, they can act as moving markers in the new highway slalom course.

Remove the lines. They’re fine for babies and bicycles, but we really have no need for them. With the lines gone you can now feel free to navigate the road as you please, without all the hassles of gore points, merging and the ever annoying double yellow. Blinkers should also be a thing of the past. Like we want the other drivers to know where it is we're going. Where is the fun of that?

Police. Enforcement of the rules is essential. The police will still play a role on the new highway, but with less ‘busy work’. All cop cruisers will be equipped with a front loader for shoveling derelict vehicles off the road, and freeing up space for other, more qualified drivers.

Add a few checkpoints, a finish line and a purse. Sure some of us might very well zip by our turnoffs everyday to complete our leg of the race but grinding the wheels of commerce to a screeching halt is a small price to pay for return of some joy on the highway.

I not sure if any of these new highway ‘improvements’ will ever appear on a ballot selection but I have to say, if they did, driving would never be the same.

Of Nog and Gaw

“So what do you think Gaw?”

“About what Nog?”

“About me being a banker?”

“I still don’t understand, what’s wrong with what you’ve got? Don’t you like being a caveman?”

“Well...no. It’s just not for me. I’m not good at hitting things with my club and the women laugh when I try to go and forage with them. I was thinking I could be a banker.”

“What’s a banker?”

“Okay, see! Your interested! I knew you would be. ...So you give me all your sheep, and I’ll keep them for you. And I’ll keep Maugs, Ughs, Kugs and well, everyones sheep. Then I’ll give you a portion of any dividends that payoff.”

“What’s a dividend?”

“Little sheep.”

“Oh. Why wouldn’t I just keep my own sheep?”

“Okay, okay I got it! I’ll keep your sheep for six months and you can’t touch them. Then at the end of that time I’ll give you back all your sheep plus two more sheep! So, what do you think?”

“What am I suppose to eat, wear, or drink during this time?”

“...”

“Nog?”

“Or I could be a Carpenter!”

“You mean like Ugh? Yeah we could use another fixer around! Now your talking. Did you see him widen the opening to Huk’s cave the other day?”

“No, no no. Not like that! Ugh just hits things with his club. No, a carpenter builds things. Like stick houses!”

“What’s wrong with our caves?”

“I could build you a house out of sticks and you could put it anywhere you wanted!”

“Somewhere away from the shelter of the rock face? A place where the light from the sky strikes the ground and burns the tree trunks? Near by the saber tooth tigers, mammoths, and wolf packs. Somewhere the wind would blow out my fire? Why would I want that?”

“I could sell you insurance...”

“...(sigh) Nog...”

“No, listen! You just give me some sheep to hold, and if for some reason your stick house burned down, was blown away our you died, I build you another one. I’d keep the sheep if nothing ever happened. And the more treacherous place you put your stick house the more sheep you would need to give me. What do you think?”

“I don’t think you should be a carpenter, or sell insurance. How about you grab your club and we can continue to be cavemen. What do you say? Nog...What’s up with your leopard skin?”

“You noticed! It’s called a lapel! I added it yesterday...”

“Nog! Please! I don’t care what it’s for. I really don’t. Do you have any idea how hard it is to talk to you? I have to defend you constantly to the others. They all think your a crackpot, and that we should beat you over the head with our clubs till you start acting normal. I won’t even tell you what the witch doctor suggested. Why can’t you just be a caveman like everyone else?”

“Do you think anyone would give up sheep to see me ride a mammoth?”

“What?!”

“Yeah..We could build a ring out of rocks and I could ride the mammoths or maybe a saber tooth tiger! We would strap me to it and see how long I could hold on. What do you think?"

“Nog, I think I can say without exaggeration, that I can think of dozens of people who would give up sheep to see you ride a saber tooth tiger!”

And that is how the rodeo was born.