MoviesWhatTheHell
Movies are nine dollars now. Nine dollars. Every year it goes up more, but every year I forget not only that the price always goes up, but also, that it ever went up since I was a kid in high school. I mean, nine dollars? Shit, just make it a ten spot, keep the dollar, and use it to pay the local drunk to beat up the movie talkers.
We saw The Dark Knight last weekend and I missed about ten minutes of the beginning. Four minutes or so to some teenagers who were sitting in the aisle, talking loudly about the alleged stupidity of the hat one of their friends wears, one minute to walk out and find someone to call an usher, and five minutes of sound numbing rage as I wondered just how stupid that kid's hat was. Pretty stupid, I'm guessing, but not surprisingly so.
Last Thursday I dragged the Mistress to a one night showing of Wargames. I love this movie, even though I'm too young to have seen it in theaters. For those who aren't familiar, Matthew Broderick plays a kid who uses his computer (in 1983) to connect to other computers over the phone line (the internet) to look for video games to play before they are released for sale (hacking and piracy). While doing this he accidentally logs into Norad's missile defense computer and initiates a what he (and the computer) thinks is a game of Global Thermonuclear War. I saw it on TV and, being obsessed with both computers and anything radioactive, it spoke to me. Every time it's on TV, I have to watch it. I bought tickets as soon as I could, just in case the 25th showing might sell out. (Which somehow, it didn't.)
It was awesome, but just as the action started to reach climax, the theater went dark and silent. The movie stopped. Someone went to tell the theater staff, and they turned the house lights on. Someone must have jiggled the mouse, because the Windows XP taskbar popped up. All in all we sat for 15 minutes while they got the movie back up for us, right at the spot it stopped. At the end of the show each person got two free passes good at any Regal location. That's a 36 dollar value! Hot Cha!
StandardizedTestWhatTheHell
I downloaded GRE test prep materials which were very helpful. The test has three sections: quantitative (math problems), verbal (analogies, reading comprehension, sentence completion), and an analytical writing section. I felt pretty good about my chances on the analytical section, but the math had me very nervous. Their math review materials started out with basic algebra, like multiplication and long division, which was good because I'd honestly forgotten about how to do those things without a calculator. After struggling through practice problems, I switched to the practice tests on the computer. The first time through I got a 610 verbal, and the second time I got a 690. The math scores were lower on each test, but the programs I'm looking for aren't as concerned with math. As for the verbal it's a bit frustrating, because over half of the questions depend on your vocabulary, and when the whole section is only 28 questions, it feels like luck has quite a bit to do with it.
The test went down last Wednesday. I know I did my best on the written sections, though those scores don't come back for a while. The verbal didn't go as well, and the math was a frantic and stressful scratch paper waster, as expected. At the end of the test they give you your scores, right there, and I got a 630 verbal, and a 710 math. 710! Out of 800! Last week I couldn't do long division. I would have liked the verbal to be higher, but it's a little above the average for the field, so I think I'm set. One less, big thing behind me.
FreeConcertWhatTheHell
D.M.H. and I got to see The Long Winters at a free show in Castle Clinton in Manhattan. It was a great show, intimate, outdoors, and wonderful. The only hitch was I had to take a dump during my favorite song, but hey, there are worse ways to use the restroom.
BackToWorkWhatTheHell
Tomorrow the dream is over. Back to work. The old grind. The eight to five. I'm not as anxious about it as I was last year, when I seriously debated not getting on the plane back to home from LA, but I'm still not looking forward to throwing myself headlong into solving problems I don't want to have to care about.
Actually, in a way, it might be a touch less stressful than break has been. I won't feel (as) pressured to make every free moment count towards something.
Showing posts with label Good Times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Good Times. Show all posts
Monday, July 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Ain't it a Mother
I figured that, for Mother's day, I'd invite my folks over and cook dinner for them. You know, kind of a good faith role reversing thank you: a meal for all the years of meals and laundry and money and time and who knows what other parental sacrifices else. Hungover and running late, by the time I ran out of the house to buy groceries, my folks had already started their drive. Unfortunately, when I ran out, I was missing a crucial component to my plans: keys. I'm usually very good about this, and being of the paranoid sort, I had never considered leaving a spare set outside. Dark Mistress Hawthorne has keys to my house, but she was halfway across the state, driving out to visit her injured father. Slim Jim, my friend/landlord has keys, but he lives hours away. I gave my parents a set as well, but by the time I called them about it, they were practically around the corner. And besides that, they don't remember me giving them a set anyway.
The most obvious way into the house would have been through the bathroom window, which I'd left open. Because I like my stuff, I keep all the ground floor windows locked. The bathroom window sits right above the porch roof, which wasn't too far off the ground, but far enough to make me nervous. I considered how I could climb up there: the stack of miscellaneous lawn chairs, the plastic bins 'o' plenty, perhaps the carpet roll in conjunction with the unassembled bed loft kit. Have I mentioned that though I live in an urban area, I have a back porch fitting of any cunnerman shack? Oh, I could go on: Two old grills: gas and charcoal. Two antique sleds. Two old air conditioners. Two electric weed trimmers. It's like my porch is an a Noah's Arc for garage sale items.
I did not suffer for lack of stackable items. It was just that the thought of hoisting my frame up on that pitched roof was too much for my dizzy hangover addled constitution, so I set about a safer method of entry.
Now, the principle behind picking locks is simple, and the practice of doing so is less difficult than it is time consuming and kind of boring. I suppose with proper tools and a bit more experience it would become a more efficient ordeal, but lock picking is definitely more about the ends than the means. Now, if you were to ask me about lock picking, or if we happened to be hanging out and the topic came up, I would probably come across sounding like a bit of an expert. This is because I know vaguely how locks work, and I'm a bit of an ass who likes to sound smarter than he is. In reality, I've successfully picked locks two and a half times. Two counts come from the old metal office desk I have in the home whose drawers were stuck shut after I moved. I figured the locks had somehow engaged themselves with all the bumping and tipping and what not. Using a thumbtack and a bent paper clip I successfully got both locks to spin. I then realized that the drawers weren't locked, they just got jammed somehow, and I had just picked my locks closed.
The half count comes from college, when my friend, Slim Jim actually, had explained to me how locks work and, in turn, how they could be picked. I was studying at the Humanities Center where they have old, nice, wooden desks. I got bored and saw there was a lock for the desk drawer right in front of me. Using, again, a thumb tack and a paper clip, I fidgeted with the thing until I got the lock to close. Luckily I had sense enough to have the drawer open at the time, because I was never able to pick the lock back open. To this day, if you try to close the drawer flush, it stops against that stuck lock tab.
But that was then, and I felt pretty confident in my ability to tackle this lock. All I needed was the proper tools. Unfortunately, I was far away from my office supplies, so I had to settle for whatever I could find in the junkyard of my porch. My first try involved an antique pair of scissors, some copper wire, and a metal tooth broken from a rake. Even though I was excited at how easy it was to use these black weathered scissors to cut and strip the copper wire, that method was fruitless. The wire proved to soft, no matter how I bent and twisted. My next try involved cutting a square of aluminum from a soda can, which I folded and pressed into a bar. This might have worked, but when I made them small enough to fit the lock, they were too weak and bent.
Finally my parents arrived. I had hoped to have dinner going by the time they got there and here I was, filthy, trying to break into my own house. We decided the bathroom window really was the way to go, but I could only get as far as standing on the trash can before I lost my nerve. Dad jumped up there easy, crawled inside, and unlocked the door.
Mom stayed behind as we went grocery shopping. He helped me pick out the ground beef, he picked out the cole slaw. He picked out the onion rolls that mom likes. By the time we got back, mom was there washing the last of my large pile plastic containers. I hate washing those, and I had a few month collection stacked in one half of the sink. I yelled at her for it, but she said she just couldn't stand it.
Dad made cocktails, showed me his hamburger making technique while mom made the instant pasta salad. It all turned out delicious, even if it wasn't really the reversal I'd planned. It wasn't the fancy dinner I had in mind from the start, it wasn't ready by the time they got there, they ended up doing most of the work, and that was after they came to the rescue and got me into my own damn house. We all had a good time though, and at least I got this dumb blog post out of it.
The most obvious way into the house would have been through the bathroom window, which I'd left open. Because I like my stuff, I keep all the ground floor windows locked. The bathroom window sits right above the porch roof, which wasn't too far off the ground, but far enough to make me nervous. I considered how I could climb up there: the stack of miscellaneous lawn chairs, the plastic bins 'o' plenty, perhaps the carpet roll in conjunction with the unassembled bed loft kit. Have I mentioned that though I live in an urban area, I have a back porch fitting of any cunnerman shack? Oh, I could go on: Two old grills: gas and charcoal. Two antique sleds. Two old air conditioners. Two electric weed trimmers. It's like my porch is an a Noah's Arc for garage sale items.
I did not suffer for lack of stackable items. It was just that the thought of hoisting my frame up on that pitched roof was too much for my dizzy hangover addled constitution, so I set about a safer method of entry.
Now, the principle behind picking locks is simple, and the practice of doing so is less difficult than it is time consuming and kind of boring. I suppose with proper tools and a bit more experience it would become a more efficient ordeal, but lock picking is definitely more about the ends than the means. Now, if you were to ask me about lock picking, or if we happened to be hanging out and the topic came up, I would probably come across sounding like a bit of an expert. This is because I know vaguely how locks work, and I'm a bit of an ass who likes to sound smarter than he is. In reality, I've successfully picked locks two and a half times. Two counts come from the old metal office desk I have in the home whose drawers were stuck shut after I moved. I figured the locks had somehow engaged themselves with all the bumping and tipping and what not. Using a thumbtack and a bent paper clip I successfully got both locks to spin. I then realized that the drawers weren't locked, they just got jammed somehow, and I had just picked my locks closed.
The half count comes from college, when my friend, Slim Jim actually, had explained to me how locks work and, in turn, how they could be picked. I was studying at the Humanities Center where they have old, nice, wooden desks. I got bored and saw there was a lock for the desk drawer right in front of me. Using, again, a thumb tack and a paper clip, I fidgeted with the thing until I got the lock to close. Luckily I had sense enough to have the drawer open at the time, because I was never able to pick the lock back open. To this day, if you try to close the drawer flush, it stops against that stuck lock tab.
But that was then, and I felt pretty confident in my ability to tackle this lock. All I needed was the proper tools. Unfortunately, I was far away from my office supplies, so I had to settle for whatever I could find in the junkyard of my porch. My first try involved an antique pair of scissors, some copper wire, and a metal tooth broken from a rake. Even though I was excited at how easy it was to use these black weathered scissors to cut and strip the copper wire, that method was fruitless. The wire proved to soft, no matter how I bent and twisted. My next try involved cutting a square of aluminum from a soda can, which I folded and pressed into a bar. This might have worked, but when I made them small enough to fit the lock, they were too weak and bent.
Finally my parents arrived. I had hoped to have dinner going by the time they got there and here I was, filthy, trying to break into my own house. We decided the bathroom window really was the way to go, but I could only get as far as standing on the trash can before I lost my nerve. Dad jumped up there easy, crawled inside, and unlocked the door.
Mom stayed behind as we went grocery shopping. He helped me pick out the ground beef, he picked out the cole slaw. He picked out the onion rolls that mom likes. By the time we got back, mom was there washing the last of my large pile plastic containers. I hate washing those, and I had a few month collection stacked in one half of the sink. I yelled at her for it, but she said she just couldn't stand it.
Dad made cocktails, showed me his hamburger making technique while mom made the instant pasta salad. It all turned out delicious, even if it wasn't really the reversal I'd planned. It wasn't the fancy dinner I had in mind from the start, it wasn't ready by the time they got there, they ended up doing most of the work, and that was after they came to the rescue and got me into my own damn house. We all had a good time though, and at least I got this dumb blog post out of it.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Good Times
Daytime hours now, and in my first week my supervisor an I have already laid out a plan for the summer. It's important to start now because somehow it's true that if you let the first couple weeks slip by, you'll lose the whole summer. Which you know, doesn't sound all bad.
Remember that project I'd been working on at work? The one that ate April and most of March? There was drama because I "took too long", which in fact is true. I however wasn't given much guidance or any deadlines. This happened to be part of our area supervisor's friend's pet project, so during my supervisor's meeting with our area supervisor, words were spoken about my disappointing performance. My supervisor, though she may stress me out, has got my back and I should never forget that. She did her best to remind her (and I) that there were things that could have happened better on both sides, and that we can all learn from this. Disgustingly wholesome, I know, but it helped me get past being pissed.
A little bit, anyway.
I have eleven vacation days to take before June 30th. Hot cha! I took the day off today because Dark Mistress, Stankfoot, Spanky, Zanzibar, and myself are going to Philly to see the Kids in the Hall. We're going to check out South Street, eat a cheese steak, and take in the (hopefully still) funny boys of Canadian sketch comedy.
Tomorrow Stankfoot, Spanky, and I are going to be shirk responsibility for the day to hang out and play video games. Then I've got work Friday, then the weekend. How the hell can you complain about that?
Good times.
Remember that project I'd been working on at work? The one that ate April and most of March? There was drama because I "took too long", which in fact is true. I however wasn't given much guidance or any deadlines. This happened to be part of our area supervisor's friend's pet project, so during my supervisor's meeting with our area supervisor, words were spoken about my disappointing performance. My supervisor, though she may stress me out, has got my back and I should never forget that. She did her best to remind her (and I) that there were things that could have happened better on both sides, and that we can all learn from this. Disgustingly wholesome, I know, but it helped me get past being pissed.
A little bit, anyway.
I have eleven vacation days to take before June 30th. Hot cha! I took the day off today because Dark Mistress, Stankfoot, Spanky, Zanzibar, and myself are going to Philly to see the Kids in the Hall. We're going to check out South Street, eat a cheese steak, and take in the (hopefully still) funny boys of Canadian sketch comedy.
Tomorrow Stankfoot, Spanky, and I are going to be shirk responsibility for the day to hang out and play video games. Then I've got work Friday, then the weekend. How the hell can you complain about that?
Good times.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
