Gettin' My Geek On

Today was absolutely gorgeous. Blue skies, temps in the 70's, beautiful.

And I spent most of it watching "The Lord of the Rings" at Karen's.

Yep, I'm a geek.

Secrets of the universe revealed!

In my last post, I asked why "Dumpster" is always capitalized. And I answer: 'cos it's a brand name. Apparently the Dumpster was invented in the 1930's by the Dempster brothers, thus the (rarely-heard) term "Dempster-Dumpster". The trucks that pick up the Dumpsters are called Dumpmasters.

There. You've learned something today. Now go back to bed before you hurt someone.

Don't believe me? Follow this link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dumpster

It really livens up your day...

To come home to a buch of fire trucks in front of your home. Not just one or two, which could be a non-event or an EMS roll, but 3+ fire trucks with hoses deployed. Not only were there fire trucks, but they blocked my usual route home. Nerve-wracking.

So I did a little creative navigating, got back to Casa Ted without even having to off-road (which is not advisable in a Toyota EconoBox Special, even if you did get the wheel upgrade), and noticed a distinct lack of smoke and/or fire damage. Insert preliminary sigh of relief here.

So next I wandered over to talk to an Official Onlooker. For those of you who don't know, an Official Onlooker (or member of the Pocket Pool Patrol) is a person who acts in an official capacity (usually some flavor of supervisor) for an emergency services-connected organization. This guy was actually from the power company (I think). But he had a "SAFETY" traffic vest and a hard hat and was standing around not doing anything, which is the impotant part.

So I posed as an official from a local condominium and asked him what happened. He told me that a garbage truck had emptied one of the local Dumpsters (why is that always capitalized?) and then caught fire.

Ahh, I love the smell of burning garbage in the morning. Smells like...cafeteria food.

Fortunately, no one was injured and no significant property damage occurred. But that was my Interesting Event for the day.

Photo contest front-runner

Here's the current front-runner in the Photo Contest. Yankee John sent it in, and let me tell you that interpretive dance was a thing to behold.

Obviously those aren't my legs (unless I shaved for the occasion, which I didn't), but I like the statement the photo makes.

Yankee John, you can stop sending via interpretive dance and just post to the blog like every one else now.

Think you can do better? The contest is still open.

Win great PRIZES! Be the envy of your friends!

OK, so there's no prizes, but still...

Since I'm not ashamed to steal a good idea, I'm going to have my own photo contest.

Here's the rules: Send in a pic that you think I should post in the "photo" section of my profile. This pic should say something pithy and sublime about me, the author.

Best photo/design/whatever gets placed in my profile until I get bored of it and/or something better comes along. Winning submittor gets a hearty handshake and a Pez dispenser (while supplies last) or possibly one of these bloody Mr. Potato Heads from off my desk.

Contest runs until I stop checking this blog.

All submissions should keep in mind that my mother may read this.

My Chris Farley imitation

(insert long rant about "dues I've paid")...and you wind up living in a VAN, down by the RIVER!!

So it wasn't a van, it was a trailer (but a nice trailer, double-wide 3 bedroom with only one roommate who didn't eat my turkey pot pies), but it was down by the river. And the gravel perimeter road around the trailer park was exactly 0.5 miles long, perfect for jogging. And my neighbors had the AWESOMEST collection of plastic pink flamingoes (flamingos?) and crappy Xmas lights.

It was still an ironic place to spend the last week.

I believe...

(stolen without shame from "Bull Durham")

I believe in what I can see, hear, smell, taste, touch, and prove.

I believe in the binomial theorem, the central limit theorem, and the theory of evolution.

I believe that the placebo-controlled, double-blind study is the best tool available for determining how the universe works.

I believe that it is exceedingly difficult to prove a negative (such as the absence of deity).

I believe that the available evidence does not support the existence of an all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful entity.

I believe in Love.

I believe that I don't know it all.

I believe that I'll have another drink.

Arr!

'Tis International Talk Like a Pirate Day, mateys! So hoist yer sails, batten yer hatches, fly the Jolly Roger and set sail for adventure off High Barbaree! Cap'n Ted will be celebratin' by drinking grog until "Muppet Treasure Island" makes sense. I'll need more grog, methinks.

Don't believe me? Follow this link:
http://www.talklikeapirate.com/

Irritating religious militants is like telling water to run downhill

So a few days ago the Catholic Pope gives a speech in which he may or may not have accused Muslims of being violent.

And militant Muslims responded by saying "take it back or we'll blow you up!"

Does anyone else see the irony here?

Startling new data that people of every gender should know!

Here's a case report for you:

So this evening, I was talking to my dear beloved fiancee', and she brought to me a Thing* which was broken. The fact that it was broken made her sad. Upon realizing these two facts, my testosterone-laden brain immediately told me to fix the Thing that was broken so she would stop being sad. I'm sorry to report that the Thing was irreparable.

When I told my lovely better half this, she said, "I knew that."

Which made me wonder, why did she bring it to me then?

So here's my theory. Somewhere on the long arm of the Y chromosome is a gene that does nothing other than tell the organism to "fix the thing".

On the other arm of the Y chromosome is a different gene, which says, "if nothing can be done about it, why are you bothering me with it?"

I may not have the mechanism exactly right, but I think I've got the effect down. Look at the vast majority of literature from any culture. Fiction or non-fiction, it boils down to:

Women: (insert blasphemous oath here) Men are insensitive clods!

Men: (another blasphemous oath) Women are whiny bitches!

I rest my case.


*if you must know, it was some sort of cosmetics case

It has come to my attention...

...that people are actually reading my inane ramblings. This confuses me. Really folks, I don't have anything interesting to say. Just ask Yankee John.

Of course, John is one of my faithful readers, and you've probably seen the sort of drivel he posts. So his opinion is a little questionable.

In other news, I finally cut my way through two different brands of red tape:
1--I'm finally approved for the federal licensing exam and
2--I got direct deposit to work. This was rather more complicated than it should have been, because The Great and Powerful State of Luzianna (just don't look behind the curtain) apparently can't count to 9 (which is the number of digits in my bank's routing code).

S0 take heart, players of obscure Douglas Adams text-adventure games! Brave heart, perseverance, and a bad attitude CAN triumph over bureaucratic inertia!

Commuting and why it's a bad idea

Just finished a 6-day run at work, which was relatively painless except for one thing: The job is in Red Stick. Those of you familiar with Luzianna geography will realize that means I had a 68-mile drive twice a day, theoretically a little over an hour. Irritatingly, this took twice as long in the mornings because of all the nine-to-fivers. Even more irritating was getting to work at 9 AM.
Not as irritating, but interesting: My car has no cruise control. I have a heavy foot. I bet you didn't know a Toyota Crackerbox Econo Special could break 100 miles an hour, and still ride smooth. Of course, that wreaked havoc with my gas mileage...
Speaking of gas, found a Pilot station in The Place that's about 10 cents a gallon cheaper than anyplace else on the route. This will add up to substantial savings over the course of the month.
Other irritating news: Because of extensive commuting, having to deal with the big bright thing in the sky, and other personal (and very boring) issues, I've been too tired to make it to the gym this week. Plus, I missed rugby practice last night 'cos I wasn't home from work yet. My endorphins are practically nonexistent right now, so I'm having trouble motivating to work out, or clean the house, or do laundry, or pretty much anything other than beat my Tamagothi.

That's not as disgustingly personal as it sounds. Really.

The Tamagothi is a virtual pet (like the Tamagotchis that you bugged your parents for/your kids bugged you for back in the 90's). But instead of feeding it, cleaning up after it, and petting it, you give it carefully considered rations of amphetamines, heroin, and beatings. If you do it right, it grows up to be Peter Murphy. If you do it wrong, it goes from black & white to color.

Don't believe me? Follow this link:
http://www.studiohunty.com/tamagothi/

I probably shouldn't have kids.

Rugby news

So our first rugby game was supposed to be Saturday. The lads at SLU, obviously terrified by scouting reports, backed out at the last minute. And I didn't even drink Friday night.

In other news, I've lost 4 pounds since Rugby season started, and last night I made it through an entire practice without even wanting to throw up.

Next game's in two weeks. I'm going to the gym.

That's kind of freaky...

So my last post was about poisonous Australian animals, and now Steve Erwin is dead, killed by a stingray barb to the heart. While I admit that's one of the better ways to go that I've heard of, I'm a little freaked out.

Yes, I know it's probably a coincidence. Anybody who didn't foresee The Crocodile Hunter coming to an early end thanks to some critter's natural defense mechanisms was either not paying attention or in deep denial.

But I'm still working on a piece on deadly Arabian critters that have moved to Afghanistan.