Idiot Behind the Wheel

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Wed, 08 Aug 2018 05:08:00 +0000

I could be back now... I am not certain.

Dead Drivers

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 13 Apr 2015 21:44:00 +0000

Today I witnessed a Subaru going over 40 miles per hour. I'm not kidding. I think it was just a cadaver with its foot stuck on the pedal, though.

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 22:04:00 +0000

This is an update.

Brought to you by me, the person who updates this blog.

Thank you for reading.

Guy comes home w/flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Sun, 24 Oct 2010 21:10:00 +0000

Guy comes home with flowers for his wife.

Wife says, "Ah, you're just trying to get me to spread my legs, aren't you?"

He replies, "What, don't you have a vase?"

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 18:29:00 +0000

So WTF does "horses for courses" mean? No, I'm not going to google or wiki it. I want to suffer for awhile. I will come up with my own definitions until I can't stand it.

Hand Lotion and Bacon-flavored Panties

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 15:05:00 +0000

Why is it that the best moisturizing hand lotions are always in somebody else's bathroom and never in my own or on store shelves? I never seem to have good stuff. Only those whom I visit. Next time I go to a party, I'm taking a plastic baggie with me and I'm going to spurt out about half their hand lotion to keep with me.

Ok, enough with all the bacon-flavored things. I've had enough. You name it, it's out there. Bacon-flavored lip balm. Bacon-flavored mayo. Bacon-flavored chocolate. What's next, bacon-scented women's panties? Hmm...

I revere the Peanuts cartoon strip so much that I consider it blasphemy to read another strip first.

I get football, mostly. What I don't get is why you see about fourteen guys on top of each other after a fumble, like a big, feisty, manly ball on the field. That is strange. Why would the last few guys pile on top? Somebody obviously has possession of the ball down there, somewhere, don't they? I'd hate to be the ball, and I'd hate to be the man on the very bottom. I just don't get that.

Me and my GF are having a fight. They say that one way to stimulate the current low economy is to go out and buy. She's irritated with me because I want to go out and buy a Jag or a really cool dSLR camera with a long telephoto lens. WTF?

People's Choice Awards

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 17:16:00 +0000

From the looks of this program I watched last night, Hollywood and the Entertainment industry has been taken over by a bunch of young, ditsy blond girls. Did you watch this?

Bunch of new pop crap. The only reason I watched it was to reinforce my contempt for it.

It was great. I recorded it on the DVR and I'm going to watch it again tonight.

Women.

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 03:51:00 +0000

Well this New Year started out great, Sheesh! Tonight after my girlfriend cooked such a nice dinner, I said to her, "Honey, that was so good. Hey, if I haven't told you that I love you enough, don't worry, I'll tell you a bit later, OK?"

Women.

No appreciation whatsoever.

The Pre-Freeze

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 18:20:00 +0000

I am currently sitting in a tub of very cold water and ice. You see, I've got this theory that if I prefreeze my ass and balls, then this afternoon when my GF and I participate in a sleigh ride with the temperature being a chilly 2 degrees, it won't hurt so bad then they fall off.

Love, Water, and Honey

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 22:43:00 +0000

Love is
Getting her a glass of water,
Watching the water flow.
"Yes, Honey. Sure,"
Knowing the party's still going, and you
Forget that your company left a some time ago.

Slush, School Zones, Plastic Forks, and Socks

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 15:15:00 +0000

Icy winter time again here, cold, chilly to the bone. And I'm more of a jack-ass than ever, just ask my girlfriend. I don't actually drive 80 MPH or with any real intention of climbing through the windshield to attack and eat the heart out of the driver in front of me, I just sound like it. That's part of my therapy! This is how I cope with these torments, these unnecessary and inconsiderate delays. Does it ever really matter that we get into work at 7:09 instead of 7:07 every morning? I know it doesn't. My GF thinks that I don't know it, though, and that I'm always seriously concerned with losing a minute here or there. Bah! This morning, in formally sort-of-snowy but now mostly-slushy conditions, there was a driver in front of me who thought it safest to make her* way through the middle of two lanes. This of course infuriated me so I of course let loose verbally which led to my GF getting all upset, saying I'm a dangerous driver and I should be more understanding and patient and .... oops, wait a second, look up ahead: Those school zone flashers will activate in less than a minute at 7:00 A.M. and a driver ahead of me is going 18 instead of the current limit of 45. Oh shit, like, "Don't drive too fast, you poor, timid, feeble, soul, otherwise you'll miss the the slow zone!" Idiot.

What is it lately with all these web sites and books and things showing all the places to see before you die? It's like stuff you need to do before leaving on a jet plane. I don't want to be reminded that I'm going to die and that I better do or see such and such. Give me a break. Just show me cool places around the world and I'll make up my own damn mind on what I want to see or where I want to go.

I work in a place where the cheap-ass cafeteria provides only cheap-ass plastic eating ware. I can't keep jack shit on my tiny plastic fork, it's always falling off. What can you comfortably eat with one of those? I can't cut jack shit with my stupid, cheap-ass dull plastic knife. What is the point? Never order a steak in a cafeteria that doesn't offer real knifes. They ought to cut up the meat in small, toddler-sized chunks so I don't have to screw with trying to cut my meat with such a dull utensil. It's like using a comb to cut through leather. They ought to have a food processor right next to the cash register.

I can't stand it when my socks fall down. You will even see me walk funny, such that my leg and calf muscles stay flexed enough to hold them up. Speaking of socks, have you ever noticed that October Fest revelers, you know with their outfits, socks up to their knees and all, dance like they need a wedgie remover?

* actually it was a guy who drives like a girl!

Blah blah blah

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 22:10:00 +0000

"I will be out of the office starting 07/24/2008 and will not return until 07/28/2008.

"I will respond to your message when I return.

My reply:

"But I will be in the office during this time. Thank you for your quick response. I will be awaiting your actual response, the one that I expect will be meaningful and not a waste of my time. In the mean time, you needn't notify me further as to when you will return because I know that my original message is in your inbox and that you will read and respond when you return."

Response:

"I will be out of the office starting 07/24/2008 and will not return until 07/28/2008.

"I will respond to your message when I return.

I've decided to make two life changes: 1) Put socks on before pants. Why? Because my calves are so bulky with muscle after years of extensive physical training, stair-climbing, and many long marathons, it is impossible to pull the bottom parts of my pants up so that I can pull my socks up to that satisfying height of sock-on-calf comfort. Actually it's because I'm overweight and old and I can't bend over that well anymore.

The second life change is that I vow to have finished my first water bottle of the day before I get out of the car after my morning commute. It must be trippy watching me fumble over all my shit trying to walk through four separate doors with a brief case, keys, cell phone, sun glasses, and water bottle. I'm an idiot.

Have you noticed that many users (not you, of course) mistakenly think that the little Internet Explorer icon on their desktop is the internet, and they have no idea what a web browser is. Isn't this like thinking that the four-wheeled thing in the garage is Walmart?

I find that the more often I hear somebody say, "You bet," the more often I want to bet them how fast I can lay them on the ground if they say it again.

The OOO Message

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 00:11:00 +0000

"I will be out of the office starting 06/10/2008 and will not return until 06/23/2008"

Did you ever notice how dreadfully useless and stupid these types of messages are? What purpose does the OOO message serve other than: 1) let me know when you're going to be back in the office, presumably to read your non-time-sensitive email, when I don't give a shit in the first place; and 2) send a useless email message into my inbox that I now have to delete!

I don't care if you read my mail or not. I usually send mail for your benefit, not mine. If I need an answer to something I'll use google or come to your door!

The trend seems to be growing, too. I hope you don't mass produce these like people in my office do. It's email, people, hello?!? Email isn't time sensitive. If it is, then you shouldn't be using email; use the telephone or page some one.

I've decided that I'm going to fight back. For every one of these I receive (three of them today), I am going to "Reply with History" back and say: "OK"

One guy in my office appends this to his OOO message: "Please do not continue to e-mail me messages during this absense unless the information/response can await my return. Thanks!"

Idiot Tourists in Waikiki

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 15:48:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I was in Chicago visiting friends. Wow, what a city Chicago is. My GF and I were able to see the big aquarium, the Science and Industry Museum, and the Lincoln Park Zoo. Fantastic. My buddy and I were also able to drive from there to St. Louis to see Radiohead. Was the most amazing and mesmerizing concert I'd ever seen. Then, back in Chicago, four days later, we saw The Cure. Is that kick ass or what? My ears are still ringing...

The last couple of weeks I was in Hawaii, visiting the beautiful island of Oahu. I won't bore you with all the Mai Tais I drank or the Sex on the Beach or my subsequent arrest, but there were a few interesting things I've noticed about Hawaii...

The locals walk very slowly, but they're extremely nice about it. In fact, they're nice in just about everything they do. I love this. It makes me wish I lived there. The tourists there, however, quickly reverse this desire as they are are assholes. Especially on the sidewalks of Waikiki. A fire hose would have been ideal.

Hawaii is one place that posts speed limit signs that provide a 55 MPH maximum and a 45 MPH minimum. I've seen this in other states and I've always thought this was a good idea. Until I realized that, in a 55 zone, if I were to come up behind somebody who's doing only 45 MPH, that would piss me off royally. I'd like to see: 55 MPH Maxium - 54.5 MPH Minimum - Strictly Enforced.

Since I don't know Honolulu well, I noticed that when riding around on The Bus it is possible to get your bearings by simply making note of the various tall condos, hotels, and office buildings. They are all unique enough that they make a worthy array of land marks. It works quite well and you don't have to wonder long before knowing which stop to get off. Going back to my hotel was easy: my hotel is right next to a building that looks like a huge penis.

What is it with cigarette butts everywhere? Don't they realize that if they'd put waste-receptacles with butt-trays at strategic locations, the streets would be a lot cleaner? I noticed also that motorists tend to empty their car ashtrays right onto the street at intersections. This is terrible. What they ought to do is toss their butts out the window before they reach the intersections. This will help avoid such an unsightly mess.

In the office I was working at there I had a good time. The people are friendly and laid back and very personable. It was quite a cramped space, and I noticed that a small copy machine was located three feet from a large shredder. If you'd have blurred your eyes looking at the two, they would've looked identical: same height, each with a slot at the top. I placed a sign on the copy machine that said "Shredder," and one on the shredder that said, "Copy Machine (Face Up!)" This was fine and dandy until they attempted to photocopy a reimbursement check for me. SHIT!

On the airplane, every inconvenient rule is for your safety. What a bunch of crap. "For your safety, no line is to form by the lavatory in the front cabin." "For your safety, all carry-on items need to be stowed under the seat in front of you." "For your safety, during take-off and landing all trays and seat backs must be in their upright and locked positions." "For your safety, we will be passing through the cabin one more time to collect all service items regardless of content." "For your safety, we will make sure to violently knock your elbow that is sticking out in the aisle with our drink cart as we pass through the cabin." "For your safety, fuck you."

By the way, does toothpaste ever go bad?

Broken Pens, Practical Jokes, and Shower Caddies

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Fri, 02 May 2008 15:39:00 +0000

Nine times out of ten, the pen you receive to sign the credit slip will not work or not work very well. So you make slash marks to try to get the pen to work better. These odds are increased if you're at a restaurant and want to leave a tip on the slip, i.e. you have to write more onto the to-smooth-t0-write-on-especially-with-a-lousy-pen credit slip paper. I hate that; it frustrates me. If if my meal was only one point below perfect, this causes me to remember it as about ten points below.

We took a bathroom shower stall caddy back to Bed, Bath, and Beyond the other day. It was a $45 thing, but it wouldn't fit because it hung right over the on/off/hot/cold knob. So we took it back. This was an ordeal. It took three people to help us (the original lady at customer service, a manager-type person because she'd initially punched up $45 due instead of refund, and finally a different manager-type person to enable the "credit" on my card). But I also had to re-swipe my credit card, tell the lady my name and phone number, and sign two slips of paper. Each with a pen that didn't work.

What does it mean when somebody says you're full of shit? Does it mean you simply have misinformation, that you are ignorant? Or does it mean that you're being deceptive?

I figured out what the term practical means in the phrase practical joke. All along, for my entire life of hearing that phrase, I thought it meant: a joke worth doing, a joke that you ought to do because it is practical. I'd wondered why a bucket of water sitting on a door ajar would be deemed practical! It only dawned on my last night while reading Edgar Allan Poe's Hop-Frog that it means "practiced" instead of "verbal." I never said I wasn't an idiot, folks.

My Girlfriend's Panties, Cream, and Martinis

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 02:43:00 +0000

Today being Sunday I did my once per monthly load of laundry just like the good boy that my girlfriend thinks I am. While I was folding my whites - and you should see how flat I fold my t-shirts and Kirkland Signature brand briefs - I of course rolled up my girlfriend's panties in the way that she likes (see this post) . I rolled up a tanish-colored pair, one of her newer ones I think, so tight that it resembled a cigar. "Honey, do you have a light?" No good, she didn't go for it.

I always ask the wait person when I order a martini, "Um, one olive only. Just one, please." I can't stand olives, especially the green yucky kind. I wish they'd invent a real martini that doesn't have to have olives. Yeeeech. Yah? Stop right there. I know what you're going to say. I do enjoy a martini with a (lemon) twist, too. Well, my most sweet babe of a GF just handed me a martini with... get this... a twist of orange peel. Wow do I love this woman. And this is one righteous mo-fo'ing martini.

I started using face cream. OK, wait, shut up for a minute. I'm serious. After shaving and drying off every a.m. my face is red and flaky and dry and it's pissed me off for years. I said fuck this and asked my GF if I can have a spurt of her stuff. Wow, it's French, bottom of the tube (she's almost out) and I smeared it on with reckless abandon and... it works. My face felt great, young, smooth, moist (just like her cute behind) and all day long. OK, enough of that...

Elevator Music, Underwear, and the TSA

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 23:15:00 +0000

Figure a month is long enough to go without popping in and saying Hi. Blogger's block, must be.

Whatever happened to elevator music? I think it's gone because I just never hear it anymore. I remember hearing Yesterday (The Beatles) in elevator-music style a really long time ago in some elevator. I must have been 8. I remember smelling cigarette smoke residue and there being a lot of metal around, like maybe it was an old post office. I remember thinking how cool it would be to have written a piece of music that would eventually be inducted into the Elevator Music genre. I wonder if they still use Elevator Music, and, if they do, how long it will be before we can hear Fuck You Like an Animal by Nine Inch Nails in Elevator Style.

Over lunch today I had the privilege of learning a new word: smegma. (WARNING: it is gross, please don't go there if you are easily grossed out. I don't want to gross anyone out.) Why did I have to learn this? Because an unliked person's name reminded my lunch partner of it. That's why. Gross.

I've had it with airport security, removing my shoes and belt, placing my laptop in one bin, everything else in another bin, and my coat on top of all that. Recollecting my belongings and re-donning my belt and shoes while be shuffled through the line is an ordeal that is about as graceful as doing the penguin walk toward the waste bin in a doctor's office to toss the lube-infused tissue with your underpants still around your ankles. I'm all for full-body-x-ray at airport security, and I don't care if the TSA folks see my private parts.

Anyway, hi.

Walruses, Stomach Acid, Yawning, and my Girlfriend

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 15:02:00 +0000

A colleague will soon have gastric bypass surgery. He told me that 1% of persons undergoing it will die on account of leakage of stomach acids resulting in one's insides being digested. Eeew. This got me to thinking. I wonder if puke could be used as a deadly weapon? How about to digest a wart off of your left middle finger? Simply soak for two hours and voila!

Don't you hate it when people talk at you while they're yawning? This drives me crazy. Did you notice that their voices actually get louder to compensate for the garbled enunciation? And they go on and on, too. Once one yawn corrupts any possible bit of eloquence, here comes another mixed with another unrecognizable utterance. Walruses fucking on the western beaches of Alaska sound smarter than that. Well, you remember how annoying The Whiners are? They were a skit on Saturday Night Live; I sure loved the episodes that feature them, but I can tell you that I could not listen to them for any length of time. It would be like listening to finger nails scratching a chalk board, or my girlfriend asking me to fold laundry. Anyway, here's what to try: Next time you get together with a group of drinking buds, make it a rule that when you speak with one another it needs to be in yawn form. I call it: yawntificating. Try it. It will be funny for about 4 minutes.

I wanted to add to Lighting Bug's Butt's February 29, 2008 section on "Stupid Things People Say," an idea I forwarded to him as I participated in his call for Essay Ideas:

"finger off that trigger" - this is a remarkably stupid thing to say, first on my list. First of all, if you pick up a gun, you either want to use it (in self-defense, of course) or to try out its action. Why on earth would one instruct me to keep my finger off its trigger? this is like saying "hands off that steering wheel" when sitting in that showroom Mustang, smelling the leather, working the gear shift. Seriously, you can put your finger on the trigger any time you like. Look at the possible scenarios, and let's talk just hand guns for now. First, if it is a revolver, it will probably be a "double-action" one in which case it takes a good amount of effort to pull the trigger to make it go bang. Secondly, if it is an automatic, the hammer better be at rest in the first place, but other than that, it would be just like a revolver. Naturally, if the pistol is cocked (hammer back in the firing position), and you're an idiot for keeping it that way, well, keep your finger off that trigger.
"I'm just sayin'" - no, idiot, you're not saying anything useful.
"Would you care to look at the dessert menu?" (at places like Lone Star or any place that serves 14 pounds of food in addition to the salad and bread)
"Would you like another martini?" (self explanatory)

My GF is out of town on vacation. Two weeks. Why didn't I go with her, you ask? Good question, and I am psychologically affected by this. The first few days are grand, but it is starting to get old really quickly. First of all, never in my life have I seen newspapers and socks stack up as quickly as they do at my house when she leaves. Do you know how many coffee cups you have? I sure do: exactly 29. And wine glasses (I have only broken one since she left six days ago). And, by the way, why do you actually have to put laundry away once you've folded it? Why can't it just stay stacked in the living room chair, instantly accessible for quick donning. I never understood neat freaks. I am a lonely pig.

Yet Even More Skid Marks

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 19:51:00 +0000

I haven't been posting a lot, yet I don't really know why. I severely sprained my ankle around valentine's day, and that may have been punishment for my stupid remark to my GF at a restaurant on valentine's day. I felt the need to point out the very table that a previous GF and I sat at for valentine's dinner fifteen years ago. Apparently I wasn't in a romantic mood. I was in so much trouble that, after I did the job on my ankle the next day and was on crutches for a couple of days, I had to fetch my own coffee (there is a stain on the carpet as a result of this), do my own laundry, and go out to eat on my own.

Oh well. Anyway...

They, of course, have day care centers in office buildings. This is a great convenience for workers with children. Cafeterias, changing tables in restrooms, fitness clubs, telephone booths, mini-stores that sell gum and nail clippers and aspirin, coffee stands. But I know what else my office building needs in order to cater to today's busy professional: a safe, discreet, comfortable place for one to masturbate. Let's call these: Self-Service rooms. Soft ambient light. Porn. Good music. KY Jelly and Kleenex. I think this would greatly improve productivity.

Why do armed security guards who have to poop during the day select public restrooms to do it in? Seems like they'd be unacceptably vulnerable to attacks by weirdos at certain points, especially, say, during the courtesy-flush when one couldn't hear an attacker adequately over the jet-blast of the water, or during that first squeeze when the mind is at its most one-trackedness. I say that there ought to be one-way windows installed in the stall doors. Not only could one notice an impending attack, it might be fun to sit there and just watch people. I don't know.

Whenever we go to Costco, and it seems like that's all the time, I always notice forty thousand people in line at the check-out stands on account of the long waits. After that, I notice the big long line of people trying to escape with their property, out the door upon being approved by the magic-marker person. But what I don't know is why there aren't forty thousand people leaving the parking lot leaving forty thousand parking spaces for those seemingly very few people who drive into the parking lot to find a space. This is odd.

Specialized License Plates

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 17:16:00 +0000

Where I live there are various styles of license plates commemorating one thing or another. We have the regular one, the statehood anniversary one, the U.S. Veteran's one, and the one for the physically handicapped. OK, that's fine. But what I'd like to see is one for the mentally retarded. Like bicyclists in the winter time (idiots), it could have a blinking red light on it so you can spot it from a reasonably safe distance and therefore avert any disaster, physical or verbal. No, wait, that's a bad idea. Nobody here would qualify for any BUT the retarded one, and the 14 million blinking lights would create far too great a dangerous distraction for the few good drivers we have. Never mind.

Risky Business

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 20:12:00 +0000

I watched Risky Business from my DVR, recorded from cable a few days ago. Good movie, I've always liked it, one of Tom Cruise's best performances. But what really jingles my chain is the sound track by the German group Tangerine Dream, especially the song, Love on a Real Train.

I'm sure it's the premise of the movie itself, young guy doing something so risky, but... that music. It makes me nervous in a way. It takes me back in time to when I was nervous doing shit I shouldn't have been doing. Maybe shit I shouldn't have been doing with other people. It's real heady stuff.

Anyway, it's caused me to think about that group some more. Maybe I'll look out for the entire sound track on CD (or iTunes).

A Look Inside the New Air Bus A-380 Cockpit

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 23:12:00 +0000

Check out this link of the inside of the new AirBus A-380 ( via Dark Roasted Blend ). How cool is that? Use your mouse to zoom in and out and rotate around to see virtually every detail of the entire cockpit. Just look at all those controls!

I have a question, though: Where is the little button that triggers the public address system? I always wondered that. It must be a small one. Or it could be all computer controlled. The pilot might just say something like, "Computer, message to passengers," and all he has to do is start talking.

Is that an ash tray that the pilot has (left arm of his chair)?

When doing air travel, isn't it cool to catch a glimpse of the cockpit when you board the plane? You walk inside and there's the nice lady greeting you. Turn your head left a bit, get a sneaky peek, but not for too long, see, because that nice lady is scrutinizing you. (I'm always careful not to be too obvious with that out of the fear of being suspected of something really bad.) Take a quick look, then turn right and keep on moving. Seeing all that technology lit up like that gives me a small sense of security. I am reminded that a lot of planning and design went into the technology, that the flight crew has extensive training and experience in all aspects of flying, and that they know precisely how to respond to any in-flight glitch, from a faulty indicator light to a wing falling off. Breathe a breath of relief; relax, you're in good hands, I tell myself. How could something that cool and complicated looking fail?

I'll tell you how: If it's operating system was developed by Microsoft, that's how. The OS would probably resemble Microsoft Mobile 5, like what my Motorola Q (smart phone) runs. (I can't stand my phone, and maybe I'll write something about it later if it doesn't end up in a lake.) Needless to say, the thing would have to be "in-air-patched" a dozen times from New York to Las Angeles, and they'd probably have to reboot after each one. I wonder if some of those displays have Microsoft Internet Explorer Version 7 built-in?

Another thing that gets me is that it seems like the pilot and copilot can't see directly in front of the air craft. There's so many buttons, switches, and electronic displays, that the front window is way up there. What do they have to do, stand up to take a peek out front? Seems odd to me. I'd think that the view that is directly in front of the air craft is one of the most important ones because it could warn the pilot in case the plane were about to fly into something like a Cessna or that photographer who always seems to be able to take pictures of jets coming at him dead on. I should have a talk with the AirBus designers, those idiots.

I notice that this jet still has pedals. I wonder what they control. What with all the electronics and computers and such, why do they still need pedals? Maybe they activate backup wings in case a wing does fall off? Probably not. Hey, I had pedals in my pedal car when I was in nursery school. Good Lord, even my mother could design a better cockpit. That's it. I'm writing to the company. They need to go back to the drawing board.

That's CAPTAIN to you!

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 02:07:00 +0000

Got a web cam. Been using it to correspond with a few buddies. It's great. You can apply filters, avatars, facial accessories, etc., to your face. The cigar is part of the deal. Heh.

Stevie Ray Vaughan

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 05:58:00 +0000

Stevie Ray Vaughan is one of my favorite guitarists, and I'm very sorry that he's not alive. There are few musicians, dead or alive, whose music makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.

But I couldn't help notice that, of the thousands of photographs I've seen of this Guitar Saint, a lot of them seem to portray him to be in the middle of a very hard and difficult shit. See for yourself.

The man was very expressive in his guitar playing, that is for darned sure. Do you see what I mean? Oh, there are so many photos of SRV, certainly not all of them portray him this way.

He's really giving it all he's got, isn't he?

The one above looks particularly difficult. This one makes me feel sorry for him, but I don't know why. Can you just imagine when he sings and plays Texas Blues and Rock, he really means it?

But the man sure could play. May he rest in ever-lasting peace, and I hope he's still playing that good ol' Texas Hard Rock Blues somewhere.

F-Bomb Update

noreply@blogger.com (Call me Maniac) — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 17:30:00 +0000

By the time we got to work this morning, I was $5 further down. The breakdown is as follows:

$2 - ride home last night. Fellow was driving too slowly (50 in a 55) where it is smooth and straight. I was annoyed and said, "That fucker!" I don't remember the other.
$1 - evening time, watching TV
$2 - this morning's ride into work

[FURTHER UPDATE]

$3 - Lunch time today (two times in the car, and one at the table).