Time well spent.

I spent the weekend transferring my old VHS tapes to DVD. I didn't realize how easy it would be, but Yvette was right. Even I could not screw it up. Well, not completely anyway. Still can't figure out how to get the picture bigger. Could be how I converted it. But I will worry about that later.

So, for your viewing pleasure, here is a bit of video from my stay at a luxurious hotel in Bridgewater, circa 1988. The Boy's Father took me to all the best places. There is some narration, although you might blow your speakers trying to hear it.



They had a couple girls staying there who rented by the hour. That says it all.

Oh, looks like there is a shot of TBF at the end of this, I thought I had cut that. He is in the process of shaving his mustache. Anyone know of an easier program to edit video than Windows Movie Maker?

Suggestions welcome.

First Day.

A photo journal of the bunnies and me, our first day on the job.

Had to wake up at the crack of nine. Not bad since training forced me up at 5am. In case you are wondering, yes I showered and yes I did shave my legs. Although these pictures do not make it look as if I did. But you older folk out there will recognize poor circulation when you see it.

This is us, working hard.


And here we are, taking a coffee break. This required us to swivel in our chair about 14 degrees. It was an exhausting trip through mid-morning traffic.



Most of the day, however, the bunnies stayed under the desk. They like it there, they play pinochle and chat quietly. And of course keep my tootsies warm.



Then a bit of lunch.



I will let you know how I manage this hectic schedule.

And another thing...

Just an update. Got my pension papers in on Wednesday (built up pension contributions from Undisclosed Customer Service Center™) and they deposited the money in my account this morning. They had told me 3-5 days and it was exactly 3 which blew me away.

I went out tonight to get an obnoxiously comfy chair for my office. I wasn't able to find the chair I could really be happy in, so I ended up getting this one.

Karma.



I had absolutely nothing to do with this.

Scotia Recycling depot destroyed.

or this

RECYCLING FIRE KEEPS RETURNING

I swear.

It's NOT a tumor!

The boy and I watched Kindergarten Cop tonight. This part cracks me up!



The boy thinks I am retarded. He says he can't wait til he is old and the stupidest things will amuse him as well.

Fastest thing on no legs.

This is awesome.

Give me strength.

I am not an animal person. That being said, animals love me.

Fifty people in a room, all vying for the dogs attention, and the fuckin' thing will come and drool on my fuckin' leg. Not so bad with other animals, cats you can get to fuck off with a well placed (covert) pinch, but dogs are just too much.

I try and politely shoo the dog away, it thinks it is a game. Until finally I have to say, "Can you get your fuckin' dog away from me?"

And that starts a whole other conversation, "Don't you like my dog?" At which point they always start talking to the dog in that retarded baby voice, "Mommy wuvs her widdle doggie wogggie!"

I close my eyes so they don't see them rolling into the back of my head. "Nothing personal against your dog, I don't like animals in general." They always take offense, followed by more retarded shit like covering the dogs ears like he can understand English or something. How could anyone not be madly in love with this wonderful creature that is part of their family.

Here's how:

1. They are obnoxious. They sniff you in places that you don't want to be sniffed and they sit and lick their balls/snatch in front of you.

2. They stink. Their breath stinks, their hair stinks. I don't care that you shampoo their beautiful coat with fifty dollar shampoo, they still stink.

3. They are not part of your family. They will eat your face when you are dead. The only reason they care whether you live or die is the fact that you feed them. Oh, there are reports, you say? Ya, consider it for a moment. "He barked and woke us all up, saved us from burning in a fire." Fuck off, if he could open the door himself he would have bailed without so much as a 'by your leave'. He could have cared less how you got out.

4. Drooling. 'Nuff said.

5. Stories of how you justify spending half the food budget on Fido makes my teeth ache. "Oh, he won't eat anything but porterhouse steak." Excuse me? Did he say that? Cuz if he did, we need to get him on Oprah. With that dog whisperer, just so we can hear him say, on national television that that idiot he is full of shit. The dog licks his balls, he destroys the garbage and drinks from the toilet. He will eat whatever you put in front of him. Eventually.

I understand that you love it. I am happy for you. Spend all your money on it, go broke treating its Rapid-Onset Dystonia Parkinsonism. Hell, let it sleep in your bed and eat at the table, I don't give a shit. But why do I have to play a role in your dementia?

Why is it so horrible that I believe it is just an animal. Fluffy might be cute and you might love Fluffy but Fluffy is not getting a liver transplant.

About time.

Bunny slippers arrived last night.

Shhhhh....they are sleeping.

UPDATE: New start date, October 25th.

Why do I have cats?

I am bored.

Bored, bored, bored. Bored.

As if reading my mind, my cat (not Sammy this time) decides to help me.

Because I am so bored, I head to the can. Its not even 7am. Too early for anything.

As I get to the entry way, I look down. No real reason, I don't usually watch where I am going, as Sammy can tell you, but for whatever reason I looked down. And that is the reason Milo still lives and breathes.

Barf, from one end of the entryway to the other. I would have taken a picture but at this hour I would have ended up chucking last nights dinner.

He lives today because I didn't step in it. I hate cats.

Four More Years! Two more weeks!

Looks like there will be two more weeks of traveling back and forth. Bad for me, but excellent as far as fodder for the blog is concerned.

Bunny slippers have still not arrived yet, so I am not as pissed as I will be when they arrive and I am not equipped to wear them.

Install of necessary infrastructure is the 24th or 25th.

Beat to a snot!

I really can't wait til all this traveling is done with. Today we have to travel another 2 hours to tour the plant.

There will be walking.

I will be cranky.

Pablo was in rare form.

After the 'alien' incident, Pablo was surprisingly quiet. I figured I should keep my mouth shut, since teasing him kept his shut. Where is the fun in that?

So today, after a week of silence, Pablo decides to regale us with a story.

"When I was in high school, me and the boys built a sugar shack in the woods. When along came a coyote. We thought, holy shit, where did this come from? Then I punched it in the snout and broke the f'ing thing. You should have seen it, it stuck straight up."

Silence.....

"At least I think it was a coyote."

I had absolutely no comment. I was waiting to see what Jackie Chan was doing while the coyote was getting its ass kicked.

I should be ashamed?

Celebrities are always on about the senseless killing of trees. The plight of the ozone, blah blah blah. I recycle only because I am forced to, not because I give a shit.

Anyone who knows me personally will tell you, I purposely fuck up every single bag I have to lug to the curb. The cans always have something in the bag that someone will eventually have to dig out or will make that bag unusable by 'the man'. Something putrid and rotten. Just before I close up that cardboard/paper blue bag I throw in a glass jar, just for good measure. It is my silent protest against recycling. I think its Bullshit.

And if they catch it (they rarely do) they just don't take the bag. They leave me a nice florescent sticker telling me that I fucked up on the sorting. Can anyone guess why? It is because they no longer pay a guy to sort the bags. They don't even open the bags, they pick them up take them back to their storage area where they sell them as raw materials to manufacturers.

So, not only are they making money on this shit, my shit, but I am expected to work my ass off so they don't have to pay someone to sort it first. Don't even get me started on the fact that it now takes 3 trucks to pick up the garbage that one used to handle just fine and that my taxes pay for these idiots to come around and fuck me up the ass.

I have worked it out though. The compost people are even lazier. They don't even look in the bin. They roll it to the truck and hook it on, the truck does the rest. So if the recyclers put a sticker on the bag, I just toss it in the compost bin.

Anyway, on to my point. I did have one. The media paints me as an asshole for not recycling. Tree Killer! Landfill Filler! Like I am single handedly punching a hole in the ozone. FUCK RIGHT OFF! Ya, that giant hole has nothing to do with the two extra trucks rolling down the street.

Explain this. I just picked up a prescription.


The box is 2" by 4" and a half inch deep.


The actual medication is housed in not even a half inch of the entire box.


Keep in mind that this shit is not 'displayed' anywhere. The only person that sees this is the pharmacist (who knows what the hell it is) and me who doesn't give a shit what the box looks like.

Does anyone say anything to the manufacturer about the obvious over packaging?

No. They do not.

But I get a scarlet letter florescent green sticker for mixing my glass with my plastics.

I blame Oprah.

I'm ready for my close-up.

I have a bunch of old VHS home videos that I have been planning forever to transfer to DVD. I was reminded today to get off my ass and 'gitter dun'.

They are all from when the kids (the boy and his cousins) were little, so you can imagine they are living on borrowed time. I would really hate to lose them.

So, question to all A/V geeks out there. Anyone ever do it and if you did, what hardware/software do I need?

Ponder this.

You can only find one clean sock in the entire house.

Do you:

A: Utilize the one clean sock and supplement it with the cleanest of the dirty to make up a somewhat decent pair?

or

B: Go with your cleanest pair of dirty socks and save the clean one on the off chance you find its mate? (assuming the mate is clean as well)

Talk amongst yourselves.

Home of the Whopper!

Pablo tells a pretty tall tale. I am sure that some of these things sort of happened to him, but, like any good fish story, it gets bigger over time.

Like the time he and his brother were coming home from a night of heavy drinking and saw a horse running along the side of the road. His brother, of course, just happened to have 16 feet of rope on him and leaned out the window, lassoed the horse and rode it home. Or the time he beat the shit out of the Extreme Mountain Dew guy as Jackie Chan (apparently Mountain Dew guy's friend) sat back and watched.

After a week of traveling together we have heard pretty much everything.

So, we are 15 minutes into our commute when Pablo starts to tell a story. I let him get about three words out.

I grab his arm and ask, excitedly, "OOOOO...is this the one about the aliens?"

He looks at me, quizzically, "Uh, no." He tries to continue his story and again I interrupt him.

"Wait! Are there aliens in this story?"

Now he looks at me like I have two heads, but still is not catching on. You can see Lenny's shoulders start to shake. "No! Anyway..." and attempts to continue.

I interrupt one last time, "But you do have a story with aliens in it, right?" The other two guys are busting a gut, but Pablo is just irritated that I am stopping him from telling his story.

Then again yesterday we are 25 minutes into our commute home when Pablo starts to tell us about the time his friend pulled the pin from a grenade, tossed the pin and dropped the grenade at his feet. Lenny, Wayne and I are getting pretty punchy after spending all day at the trade show. We are tired, so we are just letting Pablo go.

At one point in the story, Pablo pauses for effect and I couldn't help myself. I am gazing out the window, deep in thought, "I shot a man once, just to watch him die."

Silence. Then Pablo says, "Really?"

"Ya, in Reno." Lenny loses it and Wayne almost goes off the road. "I ended up in Folsom prison and that prick, Johnny Cash stole my story. The rest, as the say..."