Here I am, sitting in my office, minding my own business, when I hear two rabid wolves getting into a barking match down the hall. Immediately I pick up the phone to call Animal Control when I hear one of them fire up a vaccuum cleaner. I'm not aware of any forest creatures that can operate such complex machinery, so my hand freezes mid-dial. The other one is now emptying our trash cans.
That's when it becomes clear that no mere infection can mutate helpless animals into custodial staff. Surely such a thing would have shown up on a background investigation. Or the drug test at least. No, it's just the Hispanic cleaning crew that comes through my office every night.
They're rattling off sounds which I can only assume make up real words in their freaky-deeky language, but it's just an unintelligible mess to my civilized ears. Like if you played every track on an Eminem album at double speed, all simultaneously.
And it's fucking offensive to hear. Take just about any other language, and there's a certain mystery and beauty to it. Like French and Italian, which, like Spanish, shares similar roots in Latin. But I suspect that instead of a brotherly relationship, Spanish is more like a dirty homeless uncle that spent some time in jail for exposing himself in a Toys R Us.
Honestly it sounds similar to hanging a starving monkey up by his feet and 3 guys beat it to death with foot-long pepperoni sticks. I've never once heard someone speaking Spanish and thought "Now THAT is hot". Actresses like Salma Hayek and Penelope Cruz and singers like Shakira are slightly less pleasing to the ear than broken glass. And I don't mean the sound of broken glass, I mean the feeling that follows having shards driven into my eardrums by Sylvester Stallone as he attempts to mumble his way through Hamlet.
I think if they jump our borders and refuse to learn our language, then we have the right to muzzle them. And perhaps take measures to prevent them from reproducing, but that's another post entirely.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
I hate K's Choice
Alternate title: Fuck "random mode". Between my media playing software and my MP3 players, none of them use random mode effectively. I can have a playlist of 200 songs and I'll hear some of the same tracks repeatedly, yet others NEVER get played.
And who suffers in all of this? Angie Aparo, Freak Power, Linkin Park, Filter. Some of them I hear over and over and over to the point where the next time their song comes on, I want to scream and punch something and delete them forever. The others end up being like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, protected by an evil trio of leprechauns that I have to fight using only the weapons employed by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as the soundtrack to the first Matrix plays in the background. That would be fucking sweet.
I know how to write software. How fucking hard is it to remember the last 10 songs it played, or maybe a percentage of the size of the playlist in order to prevent such frequent repeats? Instead the damn thing keeps coming back to the same tracks so that I end up getting sick of my favorite songs.
That's all it takes to ruin one of the few great things that brings me joy in this world.
And who suffers in all of this? Angie Aparo, Freak Power, Linkin Park, Filter. Some of them I hear over and over and over to the point where the next time their song comes on, I want to scream and punch something and delete them forever. The others end up being like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, protected by an evil trio of leprechauns that I have to fight using only the weapons employed by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as the soundtrack to the first Matrix plays in the background. That would be fucking sweet.
I know how to write software. How fucking hard is it to remember the last 10 songs it played, or maybe a percentage of the size of the playlist in order to prevent such frequent repeats? Instead the damn thing keeps coming back to the same tracks so that I end up getting sick of my favorite songs.
That's all it takes to ruin one of the few great things that brings me joy in this world.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Fuck Mondays
Once upon a time, many millenia after God cast Lucifer down from the Pearly Gates (OK enough with the capitalized words), the Dark Lord was in the mood for some Taco Bell. His intestines had been bound up for the last week because Mrs. Dark Lord had been cooking a lot of rice. She shops at Costco, so naturally they've gotta get through all 14 lbs of the shit before the rats start showing up.
So Satan downs a few burritos, some seven-layer taco dip, and those crusty cinnamon swirl things that taste like sand and are so sharp they shred your gums. And when that didn't seem to have any effect, Meph started downing packets of the insanity hot sauce. There was a rumble in his tummy, a gurgling sound working its way down his guts, and before he knew it, he was running toward the bathroom as fast as his little hooves could carry him.
What exploded out of him was appropriately dubbed "Monday". It's the first day of the business week, is by far the most infrequent day for a holiday to fall upon, and will generally set the mood for the next four days of your life. Shitty, in case you were wondering.
I woke up with a cold today. Although we're well into May, the temperature dropped significantly last night so that I woke up shivering. It felt like fucking January, I wanted to peek out the window to see if school might be cancelled. Then I remembered that those days are a decade behind me, and the cold weather should have stopped months ago. Global warming, my ass.
As I walked out the door, my stomach was a-rumbling, eager to get some much-needed nutrients inside it. Naturally, McDonald's came to mind. I drove toward work, planning to stop at the Golden Arches nearby. On the way, I passed an accident on the other side of the road, which meant my return trip would be spent sitting in 2mph traffic unless I found an alternate route. I picked up my breakfast, and proceeded on my detour while shoving hash browns into my mouth.
The detour was fucked. My master plan involved driving on a particular road and turning left, but imagine my surprise when I found that the left turning capabilities of that road had been revoked. Perhaps the road's mother had caught him smoking pot, or hanging around with the wrong overpass crowd. That wasn't nearly as funny as I'd hoped. In any event, I now had to drive AWAY from my destination in order to U-turn. I should mention that this alteration was given the go-ahead about 48 hours prior to my morning commute, and before that it had sat untouched and in perfect working order since the days when I would hope for school to be cancelled on account of snow.
My U-turn attempt did not go well as I was now on a portion of the road currently under construction, and a few lanes were closed. Because of the slow paced nature of our confined conditions, I proceeded to hit every red light between there and my office.
As I rounded the corner and came closer to my destination, I looked toward the direction of the accident to see how the carnage was coming along. And it was gone. In what has to be the fastest damn cleanup crew of all time, those bastards moved the wreckage and got traffic back in working order in about 20 minutes. Meanwhile I spent those 20 minutes going all over creation out of my way. I was bitter as hell and hadn't even gotten to work yet. Trust me, my day didn't improve.
There is one rule in my life that has held true: Given the choice between two options, I will always pick the wrong one.
So Satan downs a few burritos, some seven-layer taco dip, and those crusty cinnamon swirl things that taste like sand and are so sharp they shred your gums. And when that didn't seem to have any effect, Meph started downing packets of the insanity hot sauce. There was a rumble in his tummy, a gurgling sound working its way down his guts, and before he knew it, he was running toward the bathroom as fast as his little hooves could carry him.
What exploded out of him was appropriately dubbed "Monday". It's the first day of the business week, is by far the most infrequent day for a holiday to fall upon, and will generally set the mood for the next four days of your life. Shitty, in case you were wondering.
I woke up with a cold today. Although we're well into May, the temperature dropped significantly last night so that I woke up shivering. It felt like fucking January, I wanted to peek out the window to see if school might be cancelled. Then I remembered that those days are a decade behind me, and the cold weather should have stopped months ago. Global warming, my ass.
As I walked out the door, my stomach was a-rumbling, eager to get some much-needed nutrients inside it. Naturally, McDonald's came to mind. I drove toward work, planning to stop at the Golden Arches nearby. On the way, I passed an accident on the other side of the road, which meant my return trip would be spent sitting in 2mph traffic unless I found an alternate route. I picked up my breakfast, and proceeded on my detour while shoving hash browns into my mouth.
The detour was fucked. My master plan involved driving on a particular road and turning left, but imagine my surprise when I found that the left turning capabilities of that road had been revoked. Perhaps the road's mother had caught him smoking pot, or hanging around with the wrong overpass crowd. That wasn't nearly as funny as I'd hoped. In any event, I now had to drive AWAY from my destination in order to U-turn. I should mention that this alteration was given the go-ahead about 48 hours prior to my morning commute, and before that it had sat untouched and in perfect working order since the days when I would hope for school to be cancelled on account of snow.
My U-turn attempt did not go well as I was now on a portion of the road currently under construction, and a few lanes were closed. Because of the slow paced nature of our confined conditions, I proceeded to hit every red light between there and my office.
As I rounded the corner and came closer to my destination, I looked toward the direction of the accident to see how the carnage was coming along. And it was gone. In what has to be the fastest damn cleanup crew of all time, those bastards moved the wreckage and got traffic back in working order in about 20 minutes. Meanwhile I spent those 20 minutes going all over creation out of my way. I was bitter as hell and hadn't even gotten to work yet. Trust me, my day didn't improve.
There is one rule in my life that has held true: Given the choice between two options, I will always pick the wrong one.
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