Having just loved using the shaving oil, shaving cream, badger brush and after-shaver lotion from ‘The Art of Shaving’ that I mentioned around Valentines day I went into the store again tonight and bought a safety razor. I couldn’t help it. I have been enjoying shaving 7 days a week (on average) for the last month and just had to go to the next level. I’m a junky. I even bought shaving soap (and a cup) last weekend to see how that differed from the shaving cream.
Today at the deli, where I almost didn’t buy my deli meat I overheard an employee going over a health inspection sheet that apparently stated that some areas of the deli be cleaned by next inspection. This is good, I’m not concerned that they needed to work on some areas because that is just normal for businesses. I was, however, concerned that the lady was then broadcasting that she was not going to be cleaning that shelf! “You have to actually move stuff on that shelf, you can’t just wipe around things,” she said.
I think I’ll be shopping at another ‘super’ market. That’s just not super, and its not marketable. [lies start here] I can get away with not washing my feet because I’d have to actually bend down to wash them, but I don’t believe any health inspectors will be evaluating how clean they are for preparing food on [lies end hear].
Jessica went to Starbucks today and ordered some tea. After asking the gal which teas they had that would not curdle the milk and having the gal tell her that all teas caused milk to curdle (which is simply not true), Jessica talked her into putting milk in with some sort of tea choice.
Jessica asked, “Can I have two percent milk, please?”
The gal looked at Jessica and said, “I usually put in half milk, half water.”
I wish I was making this up.
Jessica is clever. She’s got it in for a contestant on American Idol. She can’t stand the Sanjaya fellow. He’s Hawaiian, which would normally be a plus, but he’s like the Hawaiian version of Michael Jackson, which is a major minus. Wait, he’s not like Michael Jackson in the dancing department, he’s like Michael Jackson in the weirdness department. He doesn’t even sing as well as Micheal Jackson (the 12 year old Michael Jackson, not the one who is in the media now periodically for doing strange things like converting to Islam, touching little boys in naughty ways, and of course having almost as much plastic surgery as the now gone Anna Nicole Smith [whose body was probably no where near deteriorating at the time of her burial]). Sanjaya just gets Jessica’s dander up, and she’s allergic to dander.
So Jessica’s scheme is to call in next week from our phones and vote for the second stinkiest performer (probably that Phil guy) who is male. 15 votes for Phil is 15 votes that can’t go to Sanjaya. Of course once Jessica votes Sanjaya off of the island, she’ll be after Phil. And Phil – you don’t want her after you like that, I’ve seen her game face and she’ll take you out.
Oh, and I predict here and now that Melinda will take the American Idol competition no matter how good Chris Sligh is.
Jessica told me this evening that Gilmore Girls is being cancelled. If you don’t know who or what Gilmore Girls is… you’re lucky. Its one of the weirdest television shows since the X-Files. But instead of being freaky they go for quirky comedy but end up coming across as a combination of having the flu and Groundhog’s Day (the movie) combined. Each episode is exactly the same. Sure, the ‘plot’ changes, or at least re-orders the events a little, but each episode is about a mom and a daughter who are both ADD/ADHD and who have the emotional stability of a woman in labor. I take that back. Women in labor are more stable than these two gals. To top it of there are men [MEN!] on the show who are also emotionally unstable. The upshot is that the humor on the show (I’m not making this up, they actually consider it humor) is entirely non-sequiturs. Entirely. Completely. Fully. Monotonously. Here I will attempt to give you a script (pulled out of my scary imagination) that represents this show:
Scene: Inside of the house the mother is on the phone with the daughter.
Mom: “Rory, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a kabillion times I’m fine.”
Daughter: “Mom, I’ve lived with you since I was in your womb, I know when you’re not fine.” [to be said with a straight face because its not a non-sequitur]
Mom: “Rory, it was my womb, and you still owe me rent.”
Daughter: “I didn’t have any money at the time, but I think I can sell pictures of myself like that Barba gal from American Idol…”
[End Scene before I throw up in my mouth]
Its not good writing, and the acting is dry, but not funny dry like the Brit-coms.
Good-bye Gilmore Girls. I hope all of the ‘actors’ find other ‘roles’ that ‘suit’ them but are not type-cast as mannequins.
I’m sick with a cold-like sinus infectiony thing. My internet connection at home is borked. I’m on lunch break at someone else’s house:
I have not been online so much since last Friday at noon because the fine people at Qwest decided that helping customers with their connection needs to be delegated to people in foreign countries with no actual technical skills other than being able to read scripts off of computer screens. I have pictures of the kids to post, a short story to tell… but since I’m at our friends, the Doyle’s house, I’m going to be moving along to the rest of my actual work duties.
I’m going to have to take some video footage of Evelyn whilst we sing the itsy-bitsy spider song. She loves the song and demands we do it over and over. The funny thing is that after dinner Jessica tried to switch to another song and that got Evelyn all frustrated because it was not the itsy-bitsy spider. She sort of understands and mimics the hand motions, but the smile is unmistakable.
I got a new printer last night. The reason that I might need a printer is that data trapped inside of a computer is often useless unless you can gather a large amount of people around your computer, get them their own computers with the same data, or transfer it to them over the Matrix. Since I can’t afford a connection to the Matrix I took the cheap way out.
My old printer wasn’t old, it was barely over one year old when it stopped working. I don’t believe it was an equal rights thing, it just quit working because the fine employees at HP computers worked their backsides off and still didn’t produce the printer that would have worked its backside off. I have to now find a place that will allow me to recycle the printer so that folks can disassemble it and turn it into lawn clippings or some such nonsense.
The new printer has fax capabilities built in. I feel so 1988.
When I’m walking on the sidewalk I have to take a consistent number of steps per ‘chunk’ of sidewalk. The average sidewalk rectangle takes about two steps to traverse. I know this because I’m more than likely counting the steps.
I also like to visually follow lines in the sidewalk to their destination. If they were lasers they might cut through that house or tree or fence and then they would keep going.
I blame my parents for these problems 😉 My dad and mom cultivated a healthy imagination in my young mind which has served me well for various things, but it also means that at times my imagination doesn’t shut off or that, worse, when my imagination takes hold of something morbid, something wicked, or something strange, it keeps going. My co-contractor and friend Matt once told me to stop when I was riffing on something with a waiter because everyone else had run the concept through their minds and were done and mine was still going. I think the waiter was glad Matt asked me to stop.
You’ll notice on other blog posts that I like to write about things that escalate or lists that have three things in them. I write like this because its part of my brain’s imaginary trajectory of things. If it has three things its thorough enough for my laziness, if it has more than that it is my brain letting loose. The mouse trap story from a few days ago is a perfect example. I had to take the mouse in the garbage can to a large universal perspective because my brain didn’t let go.
I have problems, but they’re ones that I’ve lived with for so long that I don’t think about them. My imagination tells me that my father-in-law will read this and say, “Ah, it all makes sense now.” My mom will read this and think, “Randy, I’m sorry for somehow making you weird. Its mostly your father’s fault.” My dad will read this and he’ll think about all of the weird things he did as a kid and how he continues to do them, too. I’m most certain that all of this is not related to weird Freudian sexual tension but more than likely related to the fact that I’m probably just an anomally in the Matrix.