doodledee

Erin had a fancy blue sweater on today. I think it was new or something. It looked nice, insomuch as I can say a sweater looked nice on female coworker.

Sometime after lunch, she worked herself into a near frenzy scratching at her side. At first I figured it was the usual girl problem - cooties - but it turned out to be a sewn-in security doohickey inside her sweater. Apparently she 'forgot' to cut it out before wearing. Oops.

Never having purchased an item of clothing that requires a security tag to be cut out of it, I assumed it was some crazy expensive designer sweater. Maybe DKNY or Sean John or J.Lo or Field Gear or something like that.

Turns out it was just an Ann Taylor. (Ok, to be accurate, it was Ann Taylor Loft, whatever that means.) I think she paid $40 for it. I thought that was a pretty fair price for a sweater, but it seemed too low to justify all the security stuff.

When she wasn't looking, I tried to pull a thread while she walked away.

On a non-secure note, I found it amusing that while Colin blogs about the academic rigor in the GoF book, I blog about chick sweater defense strategies. I've read the GoF, and while I guess it's cool for geeks, somehow I still prefer the sweater stuff.

I also like nachos, reading the paper, and the Grateful Dead. I distract easily. I'm a Scorpio.

The other day the battery on my work laptop went completely dead. And I mean dead dead. It won't run without power for even one second. What a pisser. If this was 1999, I could make one phone call and have a new battery, but alas, this is 2003, and I'll just plug in and keep working.

So blah, I've got no battery.

On the way home that night, I heard Van Halen's Dance the Night Away [download mp3] on the radio. That song rules. I don't care how grumpy-ass you are after a long day at the office, if that song doesn't make you dance in your seat, you're broken.

I get home and bound into the house all jazzed-up and ready to rock and roll and keep the party kickin' 'til the break of dawn. Whaa-hoo!

That's when Libby tells me that Target is buying her a new Mac iBook because they had some extra money leftover from 2002.

>sob<

On a bright note, she said I get partial visiting rights, but that I'm not to treat it as my own. I thought that was a little over-the-top. It's not like I was going to kidnap it and take it to California.

To work, sure, but not to California.

Team Yep Broomball :: 1-2-1

We're heading up north this weekend for a couple nights in a cabin with a bunch of friends. We were originally going to go to Tahoe, but we didn't get our act together before airfare got stupid expensive. Looks like it'll have to be spring skiing this year instead.

We're staying in a big log cabin. There are tons of cross country ski trails around the place to explore during the day. Too bad there's no snow and I don't have cross country skis, otherwise that could have been fun.

Fortunately, both the hot tub and the grill are fully functional and ready for action. And lucky for me, this combination should facilitate an interesting weekend science experiment.

First I will soak in the hot tub for many hours, turning my skin to a big wrinkly mess.

After soaking, I will consume large quantities of junk food. If I feel up to the challenge, I may even consume junk food while actually sitting in the hot tub.

By Monday, I should be able to have determined if it is possible to prevent your skin from getting wrinkly in the hot tub by contemporaneously consuming enough food to stretch out your skin, thereby counteracting the wrinkling process entirely.

Some might call it gross. I might call it 'The Tub of Youth'.

Today was the first shovel-worthy snow of the year. It was only like an inch or so, but at least it was there. Maybe I'll buy that snowboard after all.

On a dumb-but-not-blonde note, there was a real doozy during tonight's Joe Millionaire. Joe asked one of the ladies what she would do if she 'won' and ended up having millions of dollars. She broke out her best beauty contest smile and said that she would go to a third world country in Africa and be a mercenary.

Uhhh.

hb kc

I read an article about Justin Timberlake in one of the newer Rolling Stones. I'm thinking it was most likely in the issue with him on the cover.

At first I figured it would be another puff piece about a ex-boybander trying to make it on his own. What I found instead was my long lost twin brother.

Consider the following:

[Lately] he's just been vegging on the couch in the living room, playing video games (Halo, usually), expanding his stomach...

Uhh, is this an article about hottie boy Justin Timberlake or me?

"Here's what I want," he says. "A Philly cheese-steak sandwich," [his mom] says. "Yeah. And a salad. And regular fries."

Whoa. I also like cheese-steak sandwiches. And I've been known to eat fries from time to time.

When I got to the part about how he still has feelings for Britney, I had to put the magazine down. It was just getting too spooky.

Justin, when you read this, you have to call me. I know we could be friends and I'd like you to buy me expensive stuff with all your money.

Amazon has some huge business deal with Target. I'm not really sure why, but it probably has something to do with synergy.

Anyway, so I was doing some shopping on Amazon and I noticed the Target logo in the nav bar. I clicked on it, and this is what I got.

Holy crap. That's ugly. That's totally frickin' ugly. I feel so bad for the designer who had to build that monster.

Libby said it's called a 'super tab'. That's kind of a cute name, but the tab is still ugly.

Some things out at GE are starting to get to me.

• The faucets in the bathrooms are hooked-up all strange so the handles don't turn like normal faucets. I can't really explain the details, but some knobs seem to turn the wrong way. You don't realize that you count on all faucets working the same way until it takes you 6 minutes to shut one off.
• The cafeteria closes at 2:30. That means no coffee and no snacks. It's probably not a big deal for the typical GE employee - who gets there at 6:30 AM and leaves at 4:00 - but for the rest of us normal folk, it's a drag.
• I have to park approximately 3.1 miles from the entrance of the building. In the morning there's a shuttle van that picks you up and hauls you to the front door, but I think the driver goes home when the cafeteria closes, so I have to walk out into the cold, dark night alone. Sometimes I whimper, but nobody hears.

I'll leave the rest for Colin to bitch about. He's usually good for a few laughs.

On an amusing team note, the Huna dyed his hair a reddish color the other day. (For those interested, I think the exact color is Miss Lady Clarol Irish Setter No. 49.) After doing so, there are only 2 (of 6) members of the team without red or reddish hair.

On an 'electric moment' note, while putting our heads together so Erin could judge the similarities of our haircolor, the Huna and I accidentally touched ears. I've never felt so alive.

We've been using an electric blanket on the bed for the last week or so because it's so butt-ass cold out. It does a great job, but it's kinda strange to climb into a bed that's been preheated. It's almost like going to the bathroom and finding that the seat is still warm from the last person. Eww, eww, eww.

And yes, I know I talked about blankets yesterday, too. It's almost ironical that I have so much to say about them.

On a sports note, we have yet to win a single broomball game this year. We did tie one time, but that's still not a win. It was so cold during tonight's game that two of my fingers actually broke off when I accidentally slipped and bumped into this dude on the other team. And when I say 'accidentally', I really mean 'deliberately', and when I say 'bumped into', I really mean 'knocked on his ass'. Either way, it was frickin' cold.

And the worst part wasn't they beat us 3-0, it was the fact that a wife of one of the players on the other team had brought a big thermos full of cocoa to pass out after the game. It was surreal to be sitting there - like the losers we were - watching the other team whoop it up and sip cocoa after their big victory. It's almost like I was hovering outside my body, watching the whole thing happen from a distance. Far out.

On a geek note, more people should be using Mozilla. It rules. Especially with the Orbit skin. I've been using it for maybe 6 months now and it kicks all over IE.

Here are some words that were used during meetings I attended today. The real world rules.

• mute point
• disvalidate
• synergy
• hard-on

Some people at work are traveling this week. A couple of them came back late this afternoon and we got to talking about hotel rooms and what it's like to 'live' in them for longer periods of time.

This one dude mentioned that the first thing he does when he moves into a room is to take the bedspread off the bed. He claimed it while it's the law that hotels have to wash the sheets everyday, they don't legally have to wash the rest of the bedding. As a result, the bedspreads rarely - if ever - get washed.

What he was basically saying is that hotel bedspreads are warm, fuzzy, petri dishes that cultivate bacteria from the last 100 or so guests who slept in the bed you're about to sleep in. Eww?

At first I thought he was just a fancy-boy who was too good for hotel blankets, but now that I've thought about it a little bit, I think he may be on to something. It's not like I roll myself into a blanket burrito when I stay in a hotel, but now I'm thinking I don't even want to touch the things.

Next time I stay in a hotel, I'm gonna bring some Tide so I can wash the bedspread in the tub before using it. That'll be fun for all kinds of reasons.

Sometime last summer it hit me that my favorite number is 213. We were driving down the freeway and I saw a sign for mile marker 213 and it just clicked. I have no idea why 213, I just like it for some reason. My hunch is that I've got some cracked-up subconscious connection to a 213 somewhere and I manifest the bond by liking the number. How's that for pshchobabble?

I'd never had a favorite number before - except maybe eleventeen - and I'll be the first to admit that having a favorite number is kind of stupid. I'll also be the first to admit that having a favorite number that's greater than 100 is even more stupid. Hell, I'll be the first to admit that as a rule, I'm stupid.

Here are some web references to the number 213:

• 213 things Skippy can't do. Skippy seems to think these are all funny. Dave thinks Skippy is a doof.
• Some fancy art gallery named Gallery213. They sell something called 'Functional Art'. Oookay.
• Sun Security Bulletin 213, documenting a buffer overflow problem in /bin/login.
• Unfortunately, 213.com is taken. Nobody is using it for anything that I could find, though.

All in all, I'd say that's a pretty weak showing for something as cool as the number 213.

Big anti-war protests over the weekend. Lots of signs, lots of singing, and apparently most importantly, lots of people.

I say 'most importantly' because even though the demonstrations were extremely well attended and received extensive coverage through all the major news outlets, my peace-at-any-cost buddies were still pissed off.

Why you ask? Well it can't be that hard to figure out, let's see:

Maybe they were pissed because cops put the beat down on a group of peaceful demonstrators? Nope, not this time. (Some kids did get arrested for laying in traffic, though.)

Well then they must be mad because the pro-conflict demonstrations from earlier in the day got more attention in the media? Uhh, not hardly.

Ah-ha! Then it can only be because the veggie burritos people were selling actually had chicken in them, right? Alas, wrong again.

People are cranked-up because they believe the reported estimates of the number of people who demonstrated are too low. While those that actually attended say that the number was well into the hundreds of thousands, the media is reporting it as being much smaller. In particular, the Times wrote that 'tens of thousandsof protesters' showed up; similarly, the Post reported on 'tens of thousands of antiwar demonstrators' converging on Washington.

I don't really get why a stupid crowd estimate would upset people who are getting their message covered so extensively. Why not just be glad so many like-minded people are out there willing to stand-up for what they believe in?

Here's an article that talks about some of the reasons why people think the number is important. Coincidentally, the last paragraph gets to the point I'm trying to make:

"I wish we wouldn't get so hung up on numbers," said Morgan, of Takoma Park. "It's false to assume that if you have a million people on the Mall you're somehow more right than you are if you have 200,000 people on the Mall. The message doesn't acquire greater value."

She's right, you know.

Huna drove the two of us to GE for a meeting we had today. He had to drive because I was still working on what I was going to say in the meeting and, more importantly, he gets carsick even worse than I do. Because the TT is home waiting for new brake pads, we were stuck riding in the Focus. Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad car - it has a CD player and all that - but it's no TT. (Being basically the first sport coupe on the market, the TT is obviously in a class by itself, so I recognize that it's not really a fair comparison in the first place.)

So anyway, while on the way there, Huna takes the turn from 394 to 169 south pretty aggressively. As I hung on for dear life, I tried to remind him about how the performance capabilities of his 4-door Ford might differ slightly from his 2-door Audi. Unconcerned, he just laughed and [sarcastically] added to watch how it powers out of a corner.

Then the engine blew up.

It didn't really explode per se, but something bad happened and we couldn't go anywhere. Fortunately, we were able to more or less roll to the first little exit deal and get off the freeway. We called-up Colin, who was also in route, and he turned around and came and got us. We were 20 minutes late, which was kind of a bummer, but it was still exciting.

While we waited, Huna made some calls and I watched for Colin's Jetta. I also ate a banana and wondered if it's really necessary to wear a scarf when you're already wearing a turtleneck. I mean isn't a turtleneck really just a shirt with a built in scarf? Sure, it's cold and all, but is it really 2-scarf cold?

I went ahead and kept my scarf on. Not unexpectedly, my neck got a little warm.

Movie popcorn gives me carpet tongue. That's why I rinse every so often with a cool, refreshing beverage.

I suggest you do the same.

Hide the women and children, PETA just launched a new campaign against KFC.

Apparently KFC hasn't been responsive enough to PETA's demand that the Colonel's chickens be raised more humanely then they currently are. There's all kinds of gross detail on the official protest website, so read into it if you're into that type of thing. I'm not overly so, but I dig the activism. (I don't, however, dig the 4,000 'click here' links. Doofs.)

In the past, PETA has been successful in their attempts to get McDonald's, Wendy's and BK - but not B2K - to change their animal welfare policies. For some reason KFC refuses to give. I have no idea why, other than perhaps it'd be too expensive or too difficult or maybe take too much time away from researching Super Frickin' Crispy Chicken.

Tired of making no progress, a group like PETA is left with but a few options: throwing fake blood on people eating popcorn chicken (now with 20% more free) or boycotting. Thankfully for everyone, they're going with the boycott.

I think I'll play along for a while. It'll be easy for now because I go to KFC maybe once a year and it's never really that good. Back in college, we used to go to the buffet and put down like 4 plates each. Then one day after eating, Dunn mentioned that it kind of sucked and we all had one of those 'he's right, your know' moments. Since then, the Colonel and I have had - at best - a casual relationship. Sure, we get together 'for fun' every so often, but we both know it'll never last.

If anything will drag me back, though, it'll be those damn biscuits. Me still likes the biscuits.

The biscuits and the zinger sauce. That stuff rules, too.

Here's a puzzler: When doing a celebrity interview, why does the interviewer so often go out of their way to say something like 'so and so, taking a rare day off...'? Does the celebrity really work that hard? Or do they maybe just want to come off as somebody who never stops working? Call me cynical, but for some reason I think the rich and famous take way more days off than most of us do. Except maybe for government employees - Civil Service jobs are da bomb.

It's not so much that a celebrity working hard is in itself lame; it's just that I prefer my stars to follow the time honored 'work hard, play hard' philosophy. Like Puff Daddy, for example. Here's a guy who has a lot going on in his professional life, yet he still manages find the time to head to St. Tropez and jetski in his bathrobe while sipping Cristal. Now that's a stupid mad day off, nephew!

On a non-celebrity note, Apple just announced a new PowerBook with a 17" monitor. It's so tricked out that it senses when the room starts to get dark and automatically backlights the keyboard. It looks so cool it hurts.

Lately, for reasons I can't explain, my thoughts have been drawn to pineapples and pogo sticks.

Tonight, while brushing my teeth, I was kinda half-watching this show on the food network about the best eating contests in the US. There was a crawfish eating contest in the south, a hot dog eating contest in the north, and a bunch of others that I didn't see because I only watched for 5 minutes.

What caught my attention was the one that was on when I started watching. It was a hamburger eating contest at this restaurant in Connecticut called The Yankee Doodle Coffee Shop. Each time a person breaks the hamburger record, they get inducted into The Doodle Hall of Fame. Sweet!

The restaurant has a website where you can see the current hall of fame. The current record is 28 burgers, which seems almost disgusting. The current women's record is 23. I only know a few women who could eat 20 hamburgers, so a 23er must be a pretty special gal.

Here's a pretty mint stocking cap that somebody should... cough cough ... buy me.

Keith Conway and I have been talking about having a Swiss Cake Roll eating contest for a few years now. I'm thinking I could probably do 50. (Unless puking is illegal, in which case it'd probably be more like 47.) It'll never happen, but it's still fun to talk smack about it.

I can't decide what's sillier: Arsenio Hall hosting the new Star Search or Bush trying to stimulate the economy by eliminating taxes on investment dividends. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, so somebody is gonna have explain to me why helping a bunch of rich dudes keep more of their money is supposed to help the middle and lower classes. If so many people didn't think they were upper class, they might actually get pissed about a proposal like Bush's. Oh, well.

After I get the tax lecture, I'd still like somebody to try and explain the Star Search thing to me. That one just seems wrong on a cosmic level.

Joe Millionaire starts tonight on Fox and I couldn't be more excited. For those not in the know, it's this crazy show where a bunch of women try to get this hot, rich dude to choose them as a life partner. In the end - and here's where it gets spicy - it turns out Mr. Hot-n-Rich isn't really rich. (He's still hot, though.)

I've thought about it some and I can't really decide on how I want it to turn out. On one hand, it'll probably make for some good TV if the chick flips out and runs when she finds out, but I think I'd be more comfortable with humanity if she ends up staying with him.

I remember when Libby found out I wasn't going to be hot or rich. It only took 11 days of crying in her dorm room to get over it. I was so stressed while waiting for her to make up her mind that I could barely keep up my rigorous 18-hour a day Sega Hockey commitment.

I can't believe it's been almost 20 years since Ghostbusters hit the theaters. I can't believe it partly because I remember watching it as a kid - translation: I'm old - but mostly because after 20 years, you still can't say the phrase 'Who you gonna call?' without some doof saying 'Ghostbusters!'.

Wee! That's a good one.

Gag me with a spoon.

While staring at my Taco Bell receipt at lunch, I realized that today is 1/2/3. I thought that was kind of neat. Then again, I'm easily amused.

Some other things that amuse me:

• the phrase: 'sit on a potato pan, Otis'
• Letterman (even the reruns)
• most things Eugene Levy does
• monkeys

Here are my 12th annual Best and Worst of the Year Awards. As always, they are limited in scope by what I could think of when I wrote this out.

Cereal of the Year (Sweetened) - Captain Crunch Oops Choco Donuts. I have no idea what chocolate donuts have to do with Captain Crunch, but his 'oops' is my 'hallelujah'.

Loss of the Year - My well-worn, perfectly soft choppers. I left them at Sally's last winter and never got them back. The runner-up would have to be Undeclared, the funniest new show in a long time that somehow got cancelled in 2002. Us older folks like to pretend we're still in college and Undeclared made that a little easier.

Cereal of the Year (Unsweetened) - Perennial favorite Raisin Bran takes it again.

Movie of the Year - Star Wars - Imax Edition. I forget the exact specs, but I think the screen is like 200 stories high and the sound system is powered by it's own nuclear reactor. It was the first time in a while I that I wet my pants in a movie theater. Runner-up will most likely be Two Towers, but I haven't seen it yet, so it'll just have to win next year.

Twins of the Year - The Dunn twins. They're just so damn cute. Runner-up goes to the Minnesota Twins, who are also cute, but not nearly cute enough to take the award from Sam and Jack.

Album of the Year - Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. The album that almost didn't get released because their label thought it was a 'career-ender'. Well folks, it's anything but. It rocks, it jams, it's happy, it's sad, and it's beautiful. I remember reading a review that said "No one is too good for this album; it is better than all of us." That pretty much sums it up.

Dork of the Year (non work related) - Rick Kahn, who, with his fiery, rhetoric-fueled speech at the Wellstone memorial service, gave people a reason to be 'outraged' for months. D-o-r-k, you ain't got no alibi, you're stupid, yeah, yeah, you're stupid.

Doosh of Year - Gopher Mens Hockey winning a national championship. In overtime. In St. Paul. I don't care if you grew up playing hockey in Minnesota or if you just live here, it was impossible not to explode with pride as all our local boys - led by Johnny Pohl and Jordan Leopold - won it all.

All Talk of the Year - Finishing my TV stand.

Java Tool of the Year - Eclipse. The greatest IDE ever, and it's totally free. I knew we'd get there, but I had no idea it would take this long.

Disappointment of the Year - Macaroni and Cheese on a Stick at the State Fair. Powerfully lame, especially after all the hype. Runner-up is a tie between not getting into the Phish NYE show and Pawlenty winning.

Hoot of the Year - Waking up at all hours of the night and watching the US National team do pretty darn good in soccer's World Cup.

Here's to a mint 2003. I personally couldn't be more excited.