Month: December 2003

Phil Marsupialtuxedo has a blog now, which is nice, since he had started to blogjack other people’s via their comments, and something was going to have to be done about it. In a previous entry he mentioned he would be writing his one-year reminiscences of the big ice storm that shut down the Triangle, most of North Carolina, and probably some places I don’t care about. My first thought was, “Oh, great. Why would I want to read about that? I lived through it and it was a total pain in the neck” But he did a pretty good job. His picturesque description of chopping ice with a Chinese cleaver to melt in a Japanese tub has actually made me nostalgic for the week I spent without power in a 40-degree house.

Maybe I focus too much on the negative here at Fistful of Plooble. Maybe I would be happier, and help make the world a better place, if I too could see the beauty to be found all around us, even in moments of adversity. With that in mind, here are my memories of the ice storm.

The soft grey light filtered in through the blinds as I awoke on Day Seven to find my house still enveloped in the tranquility of powerlessness. Clouds of steam swirled about my head as I yawned and stretched, recoiling as my hand touched the metal bedstead, lest it stick there. Hastings roused himself slowly, squinted his eyes, then dug his claws into my chest in terror when he realized I intended to get out of bed. Stuffing him back under the covers, I stood up, wearing everything I owned, and waddled into the bathroom, passing the shower, unused for a week. I drew a deep breath and filled my lungs with crisp, bracing air mixed with the warm, heady aroma of sweatpant and ass. How peaceful, I thought. How calm it is to be released from the tyranny of power, the yoke of electricity, and return to a more honest, natural state of … itching… constantly… all over. Later, opening a can of mackerel for breakfast and settling down to read a book by goddamn candlelight, I smiled at the simplicity…

Oh, never mind.

maybe I should have worn the plain blouse

I was feeling normal enough today to go out for more unguents and elixirs of the cough-suppression variety, although I’m sure I looked pretty rough, judging by the number of people who let me have an aisle to myself in Harris Teeter. However it didn’t deter one older woman who practically stood in my shoes while I was comparing generic and branded Dayquil. I think that’s so rude, but one little shove and I’m the one everybody gets mad at.

For anyone in my condition, I have discovered the ultimate sinus clearer. We already know the psychosomatic as well as scientific benefits of chicken soup, but try adding a teaspoon of Texas Pete and a tablespoon of Inglehoffer’s Extra Hot Horseradish. It brought up stuff that had been there since the Carter administration. In fact, I just found a mood ring in my tissue.

Thanks. I’m here all week. Try the soup.

Due in part to the Cream of Drano, I felt pretty good for my phone interview this afternoon, but not so good afterward. Let me just say that I am sick and tired of being asked, “What are you worst at? Does anyone answer that question honestly, or does everyone just say, “I guess I’m too much of a perfectionist” or “I’m a workaholic? I’ve answered that question by saying that I like to brainstorm and do the creative aspects of a project, but I used to bog down in the details and have learned many ways to overcome that. It’s an honest answer that I suspect has cost me two jobs in the last month. Maybe I should just be totally honest.

Q: What attracted you to our company?

A: You’re hiring.

Q: Where do you see yourself in five years?

A: Five years? How the hell should I know? I could be onstage at the Oscars or running through the streets with a rifle trying to find food.

Q: What are you best at?

A: Blogging on company time and creating humorous PowerPoint presentations that lampoon corporate executives.

Q: What are you worst at?

A: Masking my contempt.

I’ve got a fever of 103. Well, I did Sunday night. Twelve hours later my temperature was 96, and I don’t know which is worse. But don’t worry, it’s just bronchitis, and it’ll go away in a few days. How do I know? Because I’ve had it every year for the last ten. And no, I’m not going to the doctor. Why? Because here’s how it goes:

Me: “I have bronchitis. I know there’s nothing you can do to cure it. Give me codeine cough syrup”

Someone in a White Coat Who Isn’t Really a Doctor But Charges Like She Is: “Well, hang on. What are your symptoms?

Me: “The symptoms of someone with bronchitis”

DoctorLite: “Uh huh. And what is your “icky stuff” like?

Me: “Like the “icky stuff” of someone with bronchitis”

DoctorLite: “And are you having trouble breathing?

Me: “Much like someone with bronchitis, I am having trouble breathing”

DoctorLite: “Sounds like you have bronchitis. That’ll be $94”

Without it being officially prescribed, I have gotten plenty of rest in the last 24 hours. Watching TV has been hard, because I’m too brain dead for anything intelligent, and laughing hurts too much to watch anything funny. Luckily “Mr. Deeds was on.

I also learned that all it takes to get a show on cable access TV is a working video camera, and after watching the end of a show about butt implants and the start of a show about Russian mail order brides, I decided the Discovery Health Channel is probably misnamed.

And I’ve learned a new maxim. If it hurts to talk, everyone you know will call you on the phone, and a potential employer will set up a phone interview. If they’re looking for someone with extensive experience in a coughing and wheezing environment, I’m their man.

<a href=”Hastings, however, has never been happier. Hot and sedentary is just the way he likes me.

hot pilgrim’s chick

Friday I had lunch with an old friend and colleague at a restaurant in Lake Boone Shopping Center in Raleigh. Lake Boone is one of those strip malls that isn’t sure if it’s on the way up or on the way down. An argument for the latter would be the presence of the Upscale $1 Store “it’s actual name, right there on the damn sign and everything”. I headed in there the moment lunch was over. Since I didn’t have my camera “and since I’m not sure the clerks would have appreciated me flashing and snickering at their merchandise”, I had to buy all this crap. At least my Christmas shopping is done.

First, some green tea for Mom, because I know how refreshing she finds it after a long bike ride. Then I thought Dad might like a <a href=”nightlight, but now I’m not so sure. My parents are pretty healthy but they are getting older, so maybe waking up in the middle of the night and seeing a glowing Jesus in the room might not be too comforting after all.

I picked up <a href=”something for Britney Spears “if only it were that easy”, and should I find a job in the next few weeks, I have a <a href=”gift for my new boss. “Take a close look at that label. It doesn’t even look like the models were actually wearing the bandanas, and I can’t say that I blame them.”

If only I knew two Rachels who would appreciate <a href=”these, but I’m sure I know several people who could benefit from this Canadian <a href=”dandruff shampoo, complete with disclaimer “”marginally more effective than hot water alone”. I’ll let Rebecky, Myküll and Pinky fight over the <a href=”lunchbox from Mars.

<a href=”This I will certainly have to reserve for a special someone.

Finally, I’ve always wondered where you buy <a href=”these, and now I know. Hmm. Who do I know who would <a href=”wear it?

Yesterday I saw a green pickup truck that looked like it belonged to the North Carolina forest service. It had a bumper sticker that read “Real Trees Make Scents” with a little picture of a pine tree. Is there an aggressive, in-your-face marketing campaign for pine trees? And not to get all Andy Rooney again, but am I paying for it? What is the issue here? Did some bureaucrat in Raleigh decide that our state tree’s Q rating was too low?

“This month’s numbers are in. We’re getting our asses kicked by oaks and maples, and don’t even get me started on the frigging beeches. We’ve got to do something or we’re all going to be begging for jobs with the Cattleman’s Association. With that in mind, I’ve brought somebody new on board. She’s from California, and I’m sure you’re all familiar with the work she did for the redwoods”

When I worked for Big Telecommunications Company Who Sucks and Laid Me Off, I went into the cafeteria one day and saw a poster proclaiming September National Rice Month. This was too much to resist, and inspired by Don Novello’s Lazlo Toth letters, I wrote to the USA Rice Federation. “You may remember their breakthrough campaign, “It’s Not Just for Commies Anymore””

Hello!

I just saw a very handsome poster in our company cafeteria advertising “National Rice Month” First of all, congratulations on getting your own month! Well done! I love rice and eat it at almost every meal “even breakfast – I love Rice Krispies!”. What would it take for me to get a copy? “The poster says “September: National Rice Month and has a very nice image of rice waving majestically in the field, or paddy, I guess. [I don’t know as much about rice production as I should!] It would look great in my kitchen! I’d be sure to tell my guests where I got it, and to eat more rice!” If it’s possible to get one “or even two – I have a friend who loves rice almost as much as I do!”, I sure would appreciate it “and I’d eat even more rice!”.

They fell for it. I suppose I should put the poster up. But I’m saddened to report that www.nationalricemonth.com is no longer there: no doubt another tragic casualty of the economic downturn.

Addendum: The “Real Trees Make Scents campaign is apparently the work of AgriBusiness Communications Group, right here in the Greater Chapel Hill-Carrboro metroplex. They’re the folks who also brought us “Catch the Sweet Potato Wave” “Someone needs to tell them that no amount of fancy photography can make a sweet potato look pretty.”

I wonder if they’re hiring.

Many thanks to One Good Thing, who helped me rediscover one of my favorite Internet absurdity time sinks. If you go to Merriam-Webster’s site and look up a word, it will not only give you the definition, it will also give you a little speaker icon which lets you hear the word pronounced. It will say any word. Yes, any word “at least I haven’t stumped it yet”, no matter how silly, prurient or NC-17. With a little work, you can have it say entire sentences. This is very useful for leaving voice mail for someone who needs to be told anonymously that he is an odoriferous Belgian pizzle pirate.

I got a little frustrated though, because I can’t get it to say Plooble, since Plooble isn’t in the dictionary “yet”. I did some poking around on the web, and hoo, boy; if you thought the talking dictionary sounded like fun, wait until you try the AT&T Labs text-to-speech generator. Select the voice of “Charles: UK English and have him say, “Oh dear. I’m afraid I’ve soiled myself”

Hmm? 38. Why do you ask?

Voiceover work isn’t very steady, so me and the gang there have started another little venture. Operators are standing by.