I haven't had a nice dinner in a while. I haven't been treated to a nice dinner even longer than that. However, last night I got a two-fer: filet mignon and calamari steak dinner, complete with fried rice and orange sherbert dessert. Now, what I had to endure to enjoy the evening:
A long, arduous day driving to a client's office to set up a new computer. An old man, one you'd want to call 'grandpa' right off the bat for his good demeanor. I mean, he was a 'Gilbert.' How could you not want to help the guy out? Oh yeah, and he was deaf. Not 'hard of hearing' deaf, but "my left ear sits here for decoration" deaf. Ok, a challenge.
I set up his webcam so he could video chat with his niece, enlarged his icons and text so his tired old eyes would know where to look when he wanted to check his email, and declined an invite to lunch so I could expense one of my own on the company.
Client 2: Mr. "Bleeding edge technology, watch me install Office 2007 and lose all compatibility with synchronization plugins." Yes, let's adopt software that's only a few months old and that other developers are trying to keep up with. You, sir, are a beta tester. We call these ID10T errors...
Colleague calls to offer me dinner for my patience in dealing with Client 2. I accept, and sit at a nice table sandwiched between the two wives on my left and my colleague and his buddy on the right. To my left, I hear the words 'Braxton contractions' and 'depo shot.' To my right, I hear: "Can you believe that dumbass had to sell his Lambo because the sub-prime market tanked?"
I decided to disable one of my five senses. Fortunately, it is only the remaining four that come in handy at dinner time.
The chef, 'Dimitrios,' Mexican - it is customary of Kyoto Palace employees to assign themselves names mismatched with their real ethnicity - made the best fried rice I had ever had, but each item was cooked sequentially, so as I am listening to the science of birth control cycling and current trends in the loan industry I can only focus on the calamari steak bubbling from its own moisture and the sexy, marbelized filet mignon being seasoned to my liking.
I did enjoy every bite. I made sure each piece of meat had garlic butter on it and each grain of rice stuck between my teeth so my gums could siphon off the flavor before it was properly digested. Granted, that much sodium and fat could make asbestos taste like a French pastry, but I knew what I was eating. And I knew it was free.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Inventions
I was thinking of creating the world's first Short-Term Memory Foam.
Imagine a pillow that never remembers your shape, such that every time you lay your head down it is as if a freshly fluffed pillow - handled by an equally imaginary french maid necessary to complete this imagination - has been waiting to receive the full weight of your tired head.
What is the point of current memory foam technology? I don't want to lay in a bed that feels used. That is a fancy evolution of the prison-mattress, squeaky spring, unverifiable crime scence-DNA feeling you get at motels that charge extra for toilet paper. I want to forever preserve the feeling of joy without the need to preserve the expectation of it. You feel something for the first time so soothing that memory scrambles to hold onto the sensation, and you forever crave and try to go back to this feeling.
I am looking at ad spots between 12:30 am and 4 am PST, at which point usually the Emergency Broadcast System comes on all channels of the universe except the ones airing Dianetics and Oxyclean. Slowly, I will compete with other infommercials and eat into their time slots, either reselling it to them at "capitalist competitive pricing" or looping my now 4 hour slot of time to induce Dejavu in insomniacs and sleep walkers. Besides, they were my inspiration.
Imagine a pillow that never remembers your shape, such that every time you lay your head down it is as if a freshly fluffed pillow - handled by an equally imaginary french maid necessary to complete this imagination - has been waiting to receive the full weight of your tired head.
What is the point of current memory foam technology? I don't want to lay in a bed that feels used. That is a fancy evolution of the prison-mattress, squeaky spring, unverifiable crime scence-DNA feeling you get at motels that charge extra for toilet paper. I want to forever preserve the feeling of joy without the need to preserve the expectation of it. You feel something for the first time so soothing that memory scrambles to hold onto the sensation, and you forever crave and try to go back to this feeling.
I am looking at ad spots between 12:30 am and 4 am PST, at which point usually the Emergency Broadcast System comes on all channels of the universe except the ones airing Dianetics and Oxyclean. Slowly, I will compete with other infommercials and eat into their time slots, either reselling it to them at "capitalist competitive pricing" or looping my now 4 hour slot of time to induce Dejavu in insomniacs and sleep walkers. Besides, they were my inspiration.
Essential Quotes
"When you can look at yourself without comparison, you are beyond comparison." - J. Krishnamurti, Freedom From the Known
"Curiosity is a willing, a proud, an eager confession of ignorance." - Leonard Rubenstein
"The world must be all fucked up when men travel first class and literature goes as freight." - One Hundred Years of Solitude
"God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh." - Voltaire
"I only got two things in this world, my word and my balls. I don't break 'em for nobody." - Scarface
"Whenever cannibals are on the brink of starvation, Heaven, in it's infinite mercy, sends them a fat missionary." - Oscar Wilde
"Curiosity is a willing, a proud, an eager confession of ignorance." - Leonard Rubenstein
"The world must be all fucked up when men travel first class and literature goes as freight." - One Hundred Years of Solitude
"God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh." - Voltaire
"I only got two things in this world, my word and my balls. I don't break 'em for nobody." - Scarface
"Whenever cannibals are on the brink of starvation, Heaven, in it's infinite mercy, sends them a fat missionary." - Oscar Wilde
Pharma Fear
I remember when the promise of strong bones and vitals came in two Wilmas and a Bam Bam. Maybe a slice of Kraft singles and some Ovaltine. As long as you got your daily dose, you'd be climbing walls and breaking other children's bones in no time. "10 million strong.....and growing." Well, we grew the fuck up. Now, things have changed a bit.
My health goals are now beyond climbing the water fountain so mom doesn't have to lift me by my Huggies. I have a new vocabulary: free radicals, organic, enzyme, intracellular, anti-inflammatory.
I take fish oil - anti-inflammatory - and Co-Enzyme Q10 (cardiovascular health), some Echinacea plus Goldenseal (immune system boost) and Resveratrol (anti-aging, anti-oxidant and anti-viral). I'm an honor student at Pill Popping University. I can pop them by feel; no need for even color coding, the weight of the pill tells me what it is. They have the convenience of pop tarts, and after sliced bread, that's saying a lot.
But it's natural, they say, an extract. Well, what happens when the intake of a natural compound becomes supernatural? Doesn't that affect the body adversely? I can take 20g of fish oil a day, but can I realistically eat 9 fish filets in 24 hours? I couldn't even eat that many fish sticks. Of course, the companies are telling us how much healthier we could be if we downed 4 tabs, 2x daily with meals @ xxx mg per tab. I am wondering if this isn't just a big ploy to destroy our stomach lining then claim in 20 years that there's a new wonder extract that's supposed to rebuild your stomach walls.
I propose Adult Flintstones. Sort of like Saved by the Bell: College Years. You'll buy them for the nostalgia and that'll guarantee a bit of short term consumer loyalty for the manufacturer. "10 million strong and growing...old." New slogan, same impact. There is nothing more reliably exploitable than nostalgia. "Rich, Chocolatey Ovaltine...Now with Vicodin!" there could be a new class of health maintenance drugs. Now, I just need some stoner VCs to think how cool this idea is and I'll make so much money off my generation I could buy Rupert Murdoch himself.
My health goals are now beyond climbing the water fountain so mom doesn't have to lift me by my Huggies. I have a new vocabulary: free radicals, organic, enzyme, intracellular, anti-inflammatory.
I take fish oil - anti-inflammatory - and Co-Enzyme Q10 (cardiovascular health), some Echinacea plus Goldenseal (immune system boost) and Resveratrol (anti-aging, anti-oxidant and anti-viral). I'm an honor student at Pill Popping University. I can pop them by feel; no need for even color coding, the weight of the pill tells me what it is. They have the convenience of pop tarts, and after sliced bread, that's saying a lot.
But it's natural, they say, an extract. Well, what happens when the intake of a natural compound becomes supernatural? Doesn't that affect the body adversely? I can take 20g of fish oil a day, but can I realistically eat 9 fish filets in 24 hours? I couldn't even eat that many fish sticks. Of course, the companies are telling us how much healthier we could be if we downed 4 tabs, 2x daily with meals @ xxx mg per tab. I am wondering if this isn't just a big ploy to destroy our stomach lining then claim in 20 years that there's a new wonder extract that's supposed to rebuild your stomach walls.
I propose Adult Flintstones. Sort of like Saved by the Bell: College Years. You'll buy them for the nostalgia and that'll guarantee a bit of short term consumer loyalty for the manufacturer. "10 million strong and growing...old." New slogan, same impact. There is nothing more reliably exploitable than nostalgia. "Rich, Chocolatey Ovaltine...Now with Vicodin!" there could be a new class of health maintenance drugs. Now, I just need some stoner VCs to think how cool this idea is and I'll make so much money off my generation I could buy Rupert Murdoch himself.
The Pick-up Artist
I sat down to enjoy a sugar-free Red Bull and chocolate chip (with walnuts!) cookie, while deciding whether or not to ask the classmate two tables away if our lab section tonight will require us to have the lab manual. I'm a gentleman, so the decision to let her finish her pizza and I my cookie came easily.
It was almost as if that very decision was being clairvoyantly observed by another guy who materialized out of nowhere. Heisenberg would've been proud. He had the "Jee golly, I didn't know I'd find you here!" innocent, introductory tone, and began with the classic: "Hey, aren't you in my (x) class?" I'm an unashamedly admitted voyeur, so this I had to watch.
Now, it's always been one of my guilty pleasures to watch people pick up on others. Ranks right up there with low budget commercials - my number one guilty pleasure - and infomercials - Oxyclean and Bowflex are top-notch. So instead of being the dude that 'cock blocks' this mortal who thinks he's going to pick up on my classmate (apparently he is a mutual classmate of both of us), I let him indulge my patience and her time.
Don't get me wrong, he was a solid 5, maybe 6 since he asked open-ended questions. Very textbook, nothing spectacular. Certainly, nothing I couldn't have come up with in my adolescence, but it was see-through. He was like a bible salesman holding a bible and asking you about sports, the weather and interest rates, all the while you are thinking 'when is he going to make the pitch?'. I was wondering if this was the current state of the dating world. It was a counterfeit pickup. A real pickup is so good the other end doesn't know what hit them. In fact, I've seen some so polished that, even as an observer, I was surprised and blown away. I can give credit where credit is due, but points are reserved for originality.
I got up to use the restroom buried inside the student center buildling, took my time to wash my hands and finished my aluminum dispenser of man-made energy, and walked back outside, only to see them still talking. At this point, I couldn't tell if she was still there and caught in a position of cordiality - we call this 'tarouf' in my language - or whether he was actually getting somewhere with his Jr. Pickup tactics.
I know engineering girls aren't usually put in the same class as poli sci or psych girls, but I expected more of a fight out of her. I'm disappointed. Maybe I should change majors.
It was almost as if that very decision was being clairvoyantly observed by another guy who materialized out of nowhere. Heisenberg would've been proud. He had the "Jee golly, I didn't know I'd find you here!" innocent, introductory tone, and began with the classic: "Hey, aren't you in my (x) class?" I'm an unashamedly admitted voyeur, so this I had to watch.
Now, it's always been one of my guilty pleasures to watch people pick up on others. Ranks right up there with low budget commercials - my number one guilty pleasure - and infomercials - Oxyclean and Bowflex are top-notch. So instead of being the dude that 'cock blocks' this mortal who thinks he's going to pick up on my classmate (apparently he is a mutual classmate of both of us), I let him indulge my patience and her time.
Don't get me wrong, he was a solid 5, maybe 6 since he asked open-ended questions. Very textbook, nothing spectacular. Certainly, nothing I couldn't have come up with in my adolescence, but it was see-through. He was like a bible salesman holding a bible and asking you about sports, the weather and interest rates, all the while you are thinking 'when is he going to make the pitch?'. I was wondering if this was the current state of the dating world. It was a counterfeit pickup. A real pickup is so good the other end doesn't know what hit them. In fact, I've seen some so polished that, even as an observer, I was surprised and blown away. I can give credit where credit is due, but points are reserved for originality.
I got up to use the restroom buried inside the student center buildling, took my time to wash my hands and finished my aluminum dispenser of man-made energy, and walked back outside, only to see them still talking. At this point, I couldn't tell if she was still there and caught in a position of cordiality - we call this 'tarouf' in my language - or whether he was actually getting somewhere with his Jr. Pickup tactics.
I know engineering girls aren't usually put in the same class as poli sci or psych girls, but I expected more of a fight out of her. I'm disappointed. Maybe I should change majors.
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