Okay, So, That Didn't Work

I have a longer post that sort of sucks still, but I feel like it needs to be said, and now-ish:

Added to the lists of "Things I Want to Work On/For," as well as "Delightful TV Shows That I Know I Like Because I Cheerfully Hum Their Theme Song" is 30 Rock. I know I'm about 35,000 years late to the 30 Rock party, but tough noogies. I can watch it on NBC.com, and it = funny. So, there, lame-os.

This is the Jump.

Oh, I Almost Forgot

Victory Right - Chicago 2016! Wooo!

This is the Jump.

Updates, In Sort of a Rambling Fashion

So, this is ye olde pointless rambly post, mostly to catch my brain up to my life. We'll see how it works out. Most of the funny has been going on at It's Still Football, so that's part of the explanation. I also haven't had much to say other than "Wow, Friday Night Lights is a good television show," or "The mortgage industry is comprised almost exclusively of the dregs of humanity," or random personal-life things that are kind of boring and would turn this into the livejournal-y emo blog that doesn't have the kind of tone I like to play in. Nobody really needs to read about my navel-gazing, and it's not as cathartic to get it in pixels as I thought it might be.

That said, let's play Pro v. Con/Yay v. Boo/Tip of the Hat v. Wag of the Finger with Things. But I'm not stealing those titles. Instead, we're playing

Victory Right/Wide Left

Victory Right - The following conversation this weekend actually occurred:

Riggs: "Yes, but when two girls make out it's sexy."
Josh: "When Riggs talks about two girls making out, it's not sexy
anymore."
Riggs: "Why isn't it sexy anymore?"
Josh: "I don't know, but I'm mad at you for making it unsexy."

Wide Left - I look hugely creepy in the pictures from this event.

Victory Right - Last week, I was walking out of the Hancock building, and passed two tourist-y types, which isn't out of the ordinary. This, however, is:

Woman: "The energy here is very bad."
Man: "So we shouldn't go in today?"

I should say not. Very weird, made me laugh. The energy? What energy? Is there a spooky aura around the Hancock that only wackos can see?

4-Yard Rush Up the Gut on 2nd Down - I've already broken my system, because I couldn't decide where to put this anecdote. On that same lunchtime walk, I also passed a clump of three or four protesters on the corner of Chicago and Michigan. I guess Cheney was in town briefly, though I don't know where he was specifically, and these people had three signs.

• One that said "Cheney War Criminal" (Points for brevity, I guess)
• One that said "You suck, Dick." (Right, I get the joke.)
• One that said "Don't shoot me in the face." (Oh, man, can we be over the face-shooting thing? Please? At least on protest signs?)

Please note that the face-shooting thing is still funny in satirical student films. Not that I'm thinking of one specificaly. Okay, I totally am.

Anyway, my point is that the only people who can get worked up over things sufficiently to exercise their rights to assembly and free speech and whatnot are the people who are least likely to be effective. These delightful examples of the American Spirit unfortunately were the wild-eyed, unwashed sort, with the poster-making accumen of a 5th-grade civics project. Well, plus the dick jokes. So, I initially got a chuckle out of it, and then was disappointed by the fact that we're kind of going to hell in a handbasket as much because of the gap between rich and poor as the gap between loony and cleverly industrious. I guess the difference is that those who are less-familiar with clever satire and the benefits of a regular shower end up with their signs on a (randomly chosen?) street corner, and those who are clever with the commentary are Steven Colbert. So, there's still kind of a meritocracy. That's good. I guess. I don't know what my point is.

Wide Left - Stupid timing-of-life stuff. No, emo-blog! Get away!

Victory Right - Mr. Marmalade, though my preparation for same might be sliding into the Wide Left category.

I Have No Idea - The Castle. I think it'll be good. I don't think I understand yet, necessarily.

Kicked Directly Into the Back of the Offensive Line, and Then a Meteor Strikes the Stadium, Leading to the Extinction of Life On Earth - This job is dumb.

This is the Jump.

Clearly, Our Dorkitude is Not Our Fault

This Easter weekend, I'm visiting The Sister in Alabama with The Parents. Of course, I brought my laptop, because, well, why not? This lead to the following conversation (slightly edited for clarity only) over Instant Messenger, with Megan, at a distance of approximately three feet:

Re: Bringing your laptop on vacay to your family's place...

Megan: yeah, apprently that's not a normal thing. Who knew?
Megan: Why is our family so weird?
Megan: Freakshow.
Me: Bad genes.

We laugh out loud, and can't explain why, because it's mean. We're awful people. Bad genes.

Update: Megan, upon reading this post: "Three feet? Not. Even. More like A foot."

This is the Jump.

C-Dog SMASH!

If anyone knows of a good day job that I could replace this one with, that'd be great. On Monday and Tuesday, the inane prattle of the people that actually deigned to show up at the office drove me equally as crazy as the brain-dead requests of those that rarely-or-never set foot in here. Today, my ire is compounded by the fact that Plans for Life Outside of The Day Job have been shot to hell and gone. The good news/bad news is that Mr. Marmalade is on like Donkey Kong, though the fact that opening night festivities figured heavily into the aforementioned Plans has somewhat dulled the lustre of my joy. I don't even get that to revel in.

So, my fuse is, to put it bluntly, short.

I, therefore, swear to St. Erasmus (AKA Elmo), patron saint of Ammunition and Ordnance, (seriously! I looked it up.) that I am going to rip shit up with extreme prejudice if the usual nonsense occurs around here. This includes, but is not limited to: my boss smoking in the conference room or kitchen and thinking he's being sneaky; the ass-clown who describes rolling out of bed at 11 and killing 3 and a half hours at the office as positively Sisyphean; further experiences of insane girl dating logic ("Well, I hope he's not getting too serious," "What would give you that idea?" "Nothing, I just hope he's not." "Nothing?" "No, I'm just worried about it." "Seriously? I'm going to remove your uterus using nothing but a FedEx envelope and my BARE FUCKING HANDS."); general laziness and shiftlessness. Unless I am the one partaking in said laziness and shiftlessness.

Also, St. Francis Xavier - whose name I took at Confirmation - is the patron saint of Argentinian pelota players. Why specifically Argentinian pelota players?

Seriously, on Monday I told people that I wished nothing but failure on my coworkers and I hoped that they were incapable of feeding their (doubtless spoiled/screeching/illegitimate) children. For those without children, I pray they are barren. Can guys be barren? Or do they have to be... something else. Whatever. That was Monday, it's now Wednesday, and life has become more screamingly irritating.

Anyway, that's why It's Still Football has been bereft of my writing, and why this space hasn't received the benefit of my wit either. Not that anyone is exactly on tenterhooks waiting for my next update.

This is the Jump.