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A great man, I don’t recall which one*, once described alcohol as being both the cause of, and solution to, all our problems.  I don’t necessarily agree with that, but I haven’t yet reached great man status, so I don’t necessarily disagree with it either.

*It was either Al Bundy or Homer Simpson, I know that much.

 

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#imanactivist

Some little while back, I saw an article or blip on the tv (I don’t entirely recall which) talking about celebrities holding up signs saying “bring back our girls” and things of that nature, and how the bringbackourgirls hashtag was trending on twitter and such, with so many people chiming in on how against the mass kidnapping they were.

It struck me as a little odd, just because it should be simple common sense.  Of course you’re against mass kidnappings.  Pretty much everybody on the planet, with the few terrorist/dictator/nutbag exceptions, is gonna be against mass kidnappings.  Saying you’re against something that everybody else is as well, or hashtagging pictures holding up little signs doesn’t actually accomplish anything.  I’m pretty sure the sort of people who would do something like that in the first place, aren’t really going to care what kids and celebs are putting on twitter.  It seems to me very much like a hollow and meaningless sort of activism.

So, I came up with the idea for the I’m an activist hashtag, #imanactivist.  The idea would be to post things that everyone should already be against anyway, but make it seem as though you’re in favor of lesser versions of those things, and follow it up with that hashtag.  Some examples:

Sure, blatant racism is wrong, but a little family-friendly discrimination never hurt anyone. #imanactivist

Mass kidnappings are wrong people.  Stick with just one or two kids at a time. #imanactivist

And so on…

 

FNM

There’s that moment, when you hear Faith No More on the classic rock station, and you think, “No.  There’s no way I’m this old.”  But you are.

made up word of the day 2

Bufferildo: While this is a difficult word to define in and of itself, it is not, I can assure you, some kind of bison sex toy, but rather a combining of the words “but, for real though” into a single entity.

It is mostly used by the storyteller, either peppered throughout the story in an effort to add authenticity, or in response to a friend/girl-he’s-trying-to-impress/random-dude-at-bar questioning the authenticity of the story once he is done telling it. In the minds of some people, simply repeatedly assuring the listener(s) that a thing is in no way exaggerated is a valid form of proof by itself.

For example, when a guy is attempting to explain just how epically awesome the beatdown he gave to this chump/punk/a*hole was to his friend/girl-he’s-trying-to-impress/random-dude-at-bar, and that person questions how anybody could deliver such a spectacularly cruel and vicious beating in public without serving jail time, the storyteller may respond with “Bufferildo, it was a horshacking*!”. And that is your made up word of the day.

*reference to previous made up word of the day, and also an excuse to use 4 punctuation marks in a row.

3 times

Having let me hair and beard grow unfettered and unrestrained for well over a year, more like a year and half, or perhaps closer to 2*, I decided last week to chop it all off. There were 2 major reasons for that:
1. It was becoming difficult, almost to the point of impossible, to eat a peanut butter sandwich without also munching on a mouth-ful of beard hair with nearly every bite.
2. I may well start looking for a new job soon, and while it is somewhat doubtful that I will put much effort into this search, and even more doubtful that I will actually find something, I felt that it would certainly help to look somewhat more presentable should I actually have the chance to interview for a position. Should this mythical position have a fairly relaxed attitude towards facial hair growth, I will most likely let it all regrow.

Now, when you come back from vacation to work and with such a drastic change of appearance, it is only natural that people will notice, and make comments on it. I find some of these rather irritating, probably for no reason more than that I am a bitter, anti-social person who dislikes the majority of people at work, but maybe other people would find it irritating as well.** Anyway, I have identified the comments people most seem to enjoy making.

First type of people like to exclaim “Hey! You got a hair cut” or “Hey! You cut your beard” or some variant of this comment. I would not mind that one so much, but they always seem to say it as though it was something I was previously unaware of, as if I was walking along minding my own business, and they are trying to warn me I am about to step on a Rattlesnake. Believe it or not, I am not so oblivious as to be unaware of a major change to my hair/face, and don’t need it to be constantly pointed out.

Second type of person likes to ask you “Hey! Why’d you cut your hair/beard?” as though anything I do is any of their business. I always find it a little difficult to explain my actions in situations like this, because I do not want to have to explain the whole sandwich thing, and I do not necessarily want to advertise to people at work that I am planning to find somewhere else to work if I can. As a side note, there are often times when my actions truly do not have any reason at all. Sometimes, I do stuff for no other reason than just to do it. Kind of like the Joker. And that can be difficult to get people to understand at times.

The third type of person, and this one is actually somewhat rare, likes to ask “Hey, did you get a haircut or something?”. This type of person is clearly an idiot. Did my hair and beard all just magically reverse grow back into my head at an accelerated rate one night? Did I get caught head first in a wood-chipper but manage to pull out just in time to suffer no permanent damage outside of the loss of some hair? Of course I cut my hair and beard, and asking this question, not as some kind of wise-acre remark, but in a way which suggests they clearly do not know what could have happened to all that hair, lets me know that these people are the lowest form of life on earth.

Stay tuned for another made up word of the day, coming soon.

* I am not good at keeping track of time long term, I really have no idea how long exactly my hair and beard grew, but it was quite a while.
** Mike recently got a hair cut, and while he did not have the big beard, his hair was quite a bit longer than mine, and he found the responses just as irritating as I did, so I am not the only one.

sleep

Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a rubber room. A rubber room with rats. Rats? Rats make me crazy.

five dollar foot long?

So I figured, Subway for lunch sounds good. Didn’t bring my lunch to work today, and I haven’t had that in a while. I’ve got five dollars to my name, and according to their ads, you can get a needlessly long (a whole foot of bread and meat, really?) sub sandwich for that. So, when lunch time rolls around, I hop in the auto-conveyance and book it on up the street to the Subway.
Well, you can imagine my surprise when, after ordering up a nice footlong hot meatball marinara, fixed just the way I like it with oregano and parmesan and some red onions and toasted up a bit, I get up to the cash register and the lady wants to charge me five dollars and forty-one cents. I gave her my best look of stunned disbelief and repeated the total back to her as though she had said I had an extra arm growing out of my beard and I wanted to hear it again just to be sure. She repeats the total and I point out that the ad for Subway I saw on the color television in my domecile says it should only be five dollars.
At this point she started talking a lot of non-sense about sales taxes and implied costs and generally sounding a lot like some kind of undercover agent of the government, one of those whiny liberal types who want more taxes on everything for some inexplicable reason, so I leaped the counter and put quickly put her in a choke hold with one hand, while drawing and then menacingly brandishing a bowie knife with the other. A second employee screamed that she was calling the police, which naturally pleased me greatly as I planned to put this deceiver under citizen’s arrest for false advertising, and figured having the police there would simplify things considerably.
Well, it turns out, sales tax is a real, legitimate thing, and apparently applying choke holds and brandishing (menacingly) bowie knives in public is quite illegal, so I ended up ordering off the value menu at Taco Bell instead. Carne de burro tacos don’t sit well in a hot basement, though, so I’m feeling a little ill.