I Have Fans

For starters, people actually read this. Thanks so much to Djere and Kate for reaffirming my faith in the human spirit and the fact that anyone can get readership on the internet.

Now to my fans. I have a fan base . . . I suppose. You know those fanatical followers who dress like you and go out in public parading around as you. No, not the stalker ones, the good ones. Okay, so maybe I don't actually have fans, but I did convince my friend and ex-roommate, Matt, to go to our schools masquarade as me. I didn't actually get to see him, but he called me to get a shirt (one of the plaid ones I where around campus everywhere). Sure enough I get back here and my brown and greenish-bluish-greyish shirt, the epitome of Phil style, is gone. I just hope he gets pictures.

POST-SCRIPT (2-29-08): I actually heard later that he had people coming up to him and asking him, "Are you supposed to be Phil?" Score!

I HATE MY EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

E-mail is a terrible, terrible thing.

Okay, so maybe I'm just annoyed that I've been busy with e-mail so much tonight. I had to email crew for my production, cast for it, radio people, audio people, people I don't even know! And people emailed me. It's driving me crazy!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I feel better. I am so glad no one reads this anymore.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Lucky Me

Fortune favors the lucky.

It's true. I found this out while searching for S&S Pest Control today. After getting bizarre directions from BR, our office manager, which lead me to an abandoned house, I consulted my dad, the main salesman at our company. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey, where's S & S Pest Control?
David: Huh? Oh, I think is down on Enterprise Road or something.
Me: Really? Bobby Ray's crazy. He sent me to an abandoned house in Opelika

My dad, David, got a good laugh out of this, although couldn't believe it, really. This was yesterday.

Today, I set out again. I drove down to Enterprise Drive. Nothing. Then I went down Centerhill Road, a branch of Enterprise. Nothing. I was about to turn around and give up when I noticed that a construction site on the road had signs up informing everyone that thier site was protected by S & S. It also included a phone number to dial. So, I called and got directions.

It turns out it was just a ways further down the original road I found the abandoned house on. What's worse? It was less than a mile down the road from my house. I pass it on a regular basis, which explains why I could visualize the sign in my head the whole time. Go figure.

Flaming Kiwifruit.

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt 6

Will it ever end? We'll see. In the meantime . . . THUD! There it was, a floor mat! It barreled under the car and came flying out the other side . . . Ooooh . . . how anticlimactic! I bet you were thinking it was something more dangerous than a floor mat! So . . . No sooner had the poor mat flown off down the interstate, than we entered the first monsoon of the trip.

The water pelted the car, the windshield wipers were trying their darndest to clear the windshield!It was a monsoon, no more, no less. And on the Silver backed monkey plume of death scale of monsoons, it was a 7 out of ten. Not too bad, but certainly not great. We slowed our pace, looking out for other vehicles which may be before us. It was long, torturous. Eventually, we saw clear skies ahead.

But . . .(Dramatic Music to hold you in suspense). . . . . . .It didn't last.

We spent two or three minutes under clear skies before we were hit by our second monsoon. This reached a 9 on the scale. We set the fourway flashers on and drove, or rather, crept down the road. It was even longer and more torurous. Most pulled off to wait out the storm. WE braved it! The little windshield wipers tried to help, but they could hardly put a dent in terrential downpours. So, we waited . . .

Soon we found clear skies once again. Daylight broke just as we reached Gainsville, our next parental checkpoint.

So I made the call:
Mom: Hi!
Me: Hey, we're in Gainsville.
Mom: Good. How's the triaffic?
Me: Not too bad!
Mom: Great! Well, Talk to you later. Drive carefully!
Me: We will. Bye.

So blissfully unaware. Ah, well. Ignorance is bliss. In case your wondering, I live in a state full of happy people. . . .

Hmm . . . such an anticlimactic place to stop, but my fiancee called, and, sadly for you, that takes precedent . . . at least you doin't have to wait in suspense untill we decide to post again.

The Chimp

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. . . 5 . . . I think

Wow, this has really spun out of control. Kind of like that copier. So, where was I?

Ah, yes, the siren. So I checked my rear view mirror and lo and behold, behind me was a fire truck. Being a good citizen, I pulled to the side of the road to let the truck pass. So did everyone else. And it passed.

Now, one would assume that once passed by a fire truck, there would be nothing more to worry about. You wouldn't expect to see the truck again until you reached a fire/accident/cat in tree. However, as soon as I reached 65 I began to notice I was gaining on the truck. So was everyone else. Now, I wasn't quite sure what rules applied to passing a fire truck with it's sirens on, considering one would assume that the truck would be going at least the speed limit. So, I stayed back. So did everyone else.

For lack of anything better to do, we began speculating on why the truck was going so slow and who would pass it first. It seem the beat up station wagon with the old scruffy looking guy would do it, to me, but Rachel saw it differently. She was hedging her bets on the nerdy looking guy in the SUV. I objected.

Rachel: I think it'll be the SUV.
Me: No, no, it's being driven by a nerdy looking middle aged guy.
Rachel: Dad.
Me: Good point.

My father is a nerdy looking middle aged guy, who drives fast. Understand, I don't say this in mockery (since he's one of the few people who reads this), but rather with the terrifying realization that I will one day be a nerdy looking middle-aged guy. I'm even starting to get the hairline.

Soon after this discussion, I saw a little sports car coming up behind me.

Me: I bet it'll be that hot rod behind me.
Rachel: You mean the ambulance.

This is when I noticed an ambulance had come up behind me with its lights on. It was still a ways off, but I quickly pulled over, being passed by several other vehicles while I waited. And I continued.

Not long after this we saw the ambulance racing through the other side of the highway. We continued until we came to the aforementioned fire truck, trying desperately to turn around in the emergency turnaround thing on the interstate. It looked confused as if it had missed its turn.

And I was glad that I hadn't been in an accident in this area. Somewhere between the apathy and confusion of the emergency response vehicle, it would have been bad. But all was well for approximately 2.4 seconds. That's when we heard it.

THUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TO BE CONTINUED

Man, I don't even think the trip took this long . . .

(Inspiration)

Inspiration can come from the most unlikely places. Two recent examples:

1. I've been working at a copier place, not the most exciting job on the planet, right? Then why did I get so inspired by it that I'm currently writing a sci-fi series pilot set at a copier place. Who knows?

2. More interesting is what I just did. I was playing guitar, except my hand was all oily and so the pick kept slipping out of it. I was annoyed with it, so finally I decided to have some fun with it and write a stupid song about it. It went something like this:

What have I got
But greasy hands and a pick prone to wander
And fling itself out of my hand and onto the floor
Which just happens to be the same color
As my pick

I played this along with various verse type things I've now forgotten. I played it so passionately that I actually began to enjoy it. I like the song. So, I turned it into this:

What have I got
But filthy hands and a heart prone to wander
And fling itself out of your hands and onto the floor
What have I got
But the promise of grace, forgiveness to hold
Mercy to stand, and a love that is stronger than me
A love that is stronger than me

I never would have expected that.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. 4

It's a bad idea to leave people stranded in the middle of a story.

It's not my fault, really. It's not anybody's fault. You see, we've been going back and forth on the stories, my sis and I, but she was procrastinating on it and now, she's gone away to Huntsville. I may have to take her next installment. On the other hand she should only be gone a week. However, I feel I must not leave you hanging for to long lest you let go and fall to your doom, so, here it is:

So, there we were a raging copier of doom flying at us with eyes full of hatred for years of forced labor. What were we to do?

Well, it was quite obvious, we would take a coffee break . . . Just kidding, I'd already had enough coffee and Rachel doesn't even like the stuff. No, actually as I focused on making sure the van stopped before we were in the path of the truck, Rachel valiently stretched out here hand to stop the 300 or so pound copier. This was obviously a bad idea, but it didn't matter.

You see, this was when the sorter we were carrying valiantly dove straight into the path of the copier, stopping it cold. Okay so it didn't really dive, more like, just lay there. The force of the sorter and the fact that the van was at a complete stop was enough to end the copiers reign of terror.

Being that I was on an interstate on-ramp at the time of the incident, and being that I was to panicked to actually think, I did not check on the copier at this time, rather I got on the interstate. I stopped at the next exit and there found nothing. Yes, I am serious this was the most pointless exit in all of America. There was nary a gas station, hotel, restaurant, or even a prison, like the lovely exit we got off to use the restroom at in Orlando. (Yes, I forgot to tell that part. No, we didn't stop at the prison. I hate prisons, they give me the creeps.) A ways down the road we finally found a nice fledgling commercial/residential development (I couldn't tell which) to pull over in.

I stepped out of the car, like the way cool cowboy unmounting his trusty steed, except not as cool, and went to the back. It was sickening, the carnage. A tiny piece of plastic even broke off one of the paper trays. Horrendous. So, we worked to return the copier to it's rightful position and thanked the sorter for its valient efforts. The sorter was speechless. This is probably because sorters don't talk, but you never know.

I remounted my trusty steed, only to remember that my 'trusty steed' was a dorky minivan. Oh well. Then I remember something else . . . the bottom paper tray. So, rather than get 0ut of the van and go back around, I crawled through the perilous bowels of the dorkmobile to replace the tray and hopefully curb anymore 'incidents.'

And we returned to the road.

Not long had I been on the road when I saw flashing lights behind me. Egad! It's another cliff hanger . . . HAHAHAHAHAHA. That's just sick.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. 3.141592654

Okay, I know what you're thinking, "I wonder what's for lunch?" . . . No, wait, that's what I'm thinking. You're more likely thinking, "What kind of idiot drives around with and unstrapped copier in the back of his van?" I thought long and hard before reaching my decision.

Copiers, I reasoned, are large and heavy. Things that are large and heavy do not move (e.g. my house, the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Piza, the moon, my dogs, ect.) I suppose I should have considered that noone, as far as I know, has ever tried to move the Eiffel Tower in a minivan. I could be wrong about this.

So armed with one maniacal copier of DOOM, we haeded out on the long journey home. It was quiet for a while . . . too quiet. I could just hear the copiers gears turning in it's head, plotting evil. Okay, I really couldn't hear them or I would've know what was coming . . . In a violent display of violent type motion, the copier, quite literally, stuck it's tongue out at me (by tongue, I mean, paper tray.) This could only mean one thing. The paper tray had come out.

We quickly decided that this could not continue, so we decided that at the next stop, we would remove the tray from the copier. So, we stoped for lunch, where I got a tiny piece of bone stuck in my teeth. I got it out.

After leaving the 'reputable establishment,' by which I mean, nasty gas station with a fast food joint, I proceed to carry out our plan. I reached into the heart of the machine, with all the valour I could muster while still bloated from lunch, and ripped out the tray . . . okay, more like gently removed the tray. Then, for good measure, I took out the bottom paper tray as well. I laughed at the copier. The copier laughed louder, it would have it's revenge!!!!!!

And it did, before we had even gotten back on the interstate. I began to enter the onramp that would take me to the interstate, when I suddenly noticed a large tractor trailer with the right of way. So, like any sensible person, I braked. The copier saw it's opportunity. In a sudden violent blur it leaped forward, throwing its bulking mass at us with such hate and anger that it seemed no one would survive.

To Be Continued . . .

Flaming Kiwifruit

P.S. We survived.
P.S.S. I just ruined the suspence for you
P.S.S.S. I just wanted to see three 'S's at the end of the 'P'

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey Part 2

And so, there I was. Standing among strangers in the distant land of 'Not Home Base' while Kiwi ran around trying desperately to figure out what was going on. Finally, he learned of his plans and he plopped himself down in the office chair and proceeded to explain to me, in detail, the various functions of each memo/note book, folder, piece or scrap of paper of every kind that was roaming that table they call a 'desk' . . .

Shane, the aforementioned delivery guy, finally returned from his 'delivery just down the road', carrying a newly purchased beverage, talking on a cell phone, and walking immensely too slow as if no one in the world was waiting on him to return with that hideous golden-brown van. And so, we departed . . . finally.

First Phone Call of the trip:

Time: App. 9:00 a.m. Central Standard Time

Mom: Where are you guys?
Me: Opelika.
Mom: Still!
Me: Yes . . . (grumble . . . grumble . . .)
Mom: Ok . . .

Most of the preceding trip to Orlando from this point on was a sleep deprived, caffiene-induced haze. Yes, sadly it is true, we were so sleep deprived and caffiene filled that if anything amusing did happen, we could scarcely remember it . . . or, really, not remember it at all. So we shall jump ahead . . . We arrived in Orlando. I proceed to go out with my fiancee, who's house we were staying at, for a nice dinner. Kiwi . . . well . . . he drove to Lakeland and had a nice dinner with his old roommate. Aside from this, nothing of note happened, except that Kiwi, loved by all little dogs, had a small dog strangely find him as he walked from the parking lot back to my fiancee's house. The dog followed him all the way to the door and would have followed him inside if allowed, but there was already a little dog in there who quickly came to see Phil, his good buddy. All little dogs love Phil. We don't know why, they just do. It's odd. But, back to our quest.

We had to go the next morning and help a fellow employee of Phil's, Scott, load two copiers before we could retrieve our own little AR-336. Naturally, we had only an adress, and we didn't know when we were to meet Scott. Phil tried many times to call Scott, but they were all failed attempts. Having recently heard how Scott gets his phone to work when it's broken, I think I might know why. But, that's another story entirely.

Any ways, we got up early and headed out. Finally, the call came. Scott was 45 minutes away. Despite what you're thinking, this didn't mean we had to sit in a parking lot and wait for 45 minutes; rather, we took what Phil might describe as a 'scenic tour' of Orlando. It didn't seem very scenic to me as we went up and down the same street the entire 45 minutes. We FINALLY found the place and pulled in directly BEHIND Scott. . .

They retrieved the copiers, I sat this one out, so if anything amusing happened, Phil will have to fill you in (no pun intended, belive me!).

So, jumping ahead to our own little copier. We arrived at the place where it supposedly was. What we found was a seemingly abandoned building with no signs of a business being, having been, or planning to be there. Of course, Phil also was never able to get a phone number for this place before we left, so he called back to the office ('Not Home Base') and retrieved a number which he used to call the business. It turns out, they had moved on Saturday, this being Thursday. So, we went to their new location. It seemed simple enough . . .

Secretary: It's all set. Just pull around back and you can pick it up.
Phil: Thanks.

So, we pulled around back where we found a myriad of large trucks amidst which our little golden-brown van was feeling very out of place. The back wall was lined with large openings through which trucks could recieve their respective copiers, these openings being approximately 5 or 6 feet off the ground and there being no ramp in sight. So we went inside and found the man who was to help us, in his office eating lunch. He gladly came out to help us and brought us to the copier, a shiny Sharp AR-336. It looked so deceptively innocent in the bright light of the early afternoon . . .

A conversation ensued which went something like this:

Man: Where's you're truck.
Phil: We don't have one.
Man: Oh?
Phil: We have a van.
Man: Oh. I guess you'll have to go back around front.

So I drove the van back out front, and shortly after, Phil and the man arrived with another guy and a ramp. Only, the copier was too big for the van, so they couldn't roll it up the ramp. They had to take it off it's stand and hoist the monster into the back of the van, after which another conversation ensued:

Man: How are you gonna strap it in?
Phil: I'm not.
Man: Oh.
Phil: It should be fine.

I think we can all see where this is going.

So, we set out on the long journey home . . .

TO BE CONTINUED

The Chimp

MacGyver Could've

Ducttape can fix sandal. Ducttape and powerful industrial chemical are not 'friends' by any definition of the word. Except maybe mortal enemies, which I'm pretty sure is not a definition of friends. If it is, my friends and I need to have a talk, but I doubt it is.

Anyway, my old trusty sandals finally bit the dust the other night. So, what was I to do? Wear shoes! No, that wouldn't work at all. That'd be like asking penguin to dance a jig (note to self: try this sometime). So, I ducttaped them together. That is once I realized that neither scotch nor masking tape would work (scotch tape that is, not the alcoholic beverage).

It worked fine until I went to work. I was again cleaning covers with the chemical I like to complain about when it ate through, not only the ducttape, but the sandals and the surrounding floor as well. HA! Just kidding. The floor was fine. All it really did was allow the thingy that holds my foot in to escape from the ever weaking grasp of the dying tape. So, now I have new sandals. And David doesn't have to smell the old stinky things anymore . . . unless I leave them in his room next year . . . but rest assured I would never do such a dastardly thing unless I thought it would be funny.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Oddessy, Pt. 1

Sometimes the tiniest job can baloon into a tale of epic preportions. Observe:

It seemed like a simple task. I was to go to Tampa . . . or Orlando . . . or somewhere close by it such as Chicago or Tokyo . . . we really weren't sure where . . . to pick up a copier. I didn't 'sweat the small stuff' (where is the copier, what is a copier, how are we going to get there, ect.) as I was informed of the journey several weeks ahead of our scheduled departure date (June 16). So, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, June 15th rolled around. I went into work, just like any other day. As the day began spiraling to an end, I came to the sudden realization that, the 'small stuff' was still hanging above like an elevator held up by a piece of silly string. Except that silly string can't actually hold things up. So, I'm pretty much crushed . . . but I wasn't crushed, so it's just a bad analogy. But I degress.

So, brought it up with my boss. He seemed quite caught off guard by the question, not even daring to feign memory of the above referenced trip. He quickly told me in no uncertain terms that we were quite uncertain about the whole ordeal. This comforted me. No it didn't. I agreed to call him at 8 in the morning to find out what was going on, if Rachel was coming with me, if there was really such a place as 'Tampa' or 'Orlando.' So I waited.

And wait . . . no, I really didn't wait that long this time. A few hours after my arrival at 'Home Base' (codeword for home. it sounds more dramatic). I learned that Rachel and I were to report to the Auburn office ('Not Home Base') at 0800 hours to depart. So I did.

And did.

And did.

And I'm really overusing that dramatic device, aren't I?

I managed to get to the office right on time. This was a silly thing to do. I should've known no one would be there. Well, except my boss's wife, who assured me he was simply at breakfast and would be back in no time. Soon, the office manager showed up. I explained the situation and he spent app. 15 minutes running around the office frantically trying to confirm that he had no clue what was going on. He seemed well aware of this fact already, and kept pointing it out as he trudged on.

Shane, the delivery guy, came in and went on a delivery.

Finally the boss came back and gave me money for food and stuff, the addresses of the places I would be going to, and instructions, which involved me and the company van. Understand, I was mortified at the thought of driving this trip in the company van. It's not that the van is unsafe, rather . . . uncool. It's a golden-brown minivan. Golden-brown minivan must be the most uncool vehicles on the road (sorry, if you have, have had, will have, or are trying to sell one. the truth hurts). I mean, these things are the modern day equivalent of the white station wagon with the wooden paneling!

But, there was a bigger problem than my personal feelings about the van . . . It was gone!!!!!!

Okay, that seem dramatic enough to leave you guys hanging miserably until I forget to post the rest . . . so . . .

TO BE CONTINUED?

Flaming Kiwifruit

Narcissism

I have a sister! Okay, so I knew that already, but you newcomers probably didn't. You probably thought I just signed all my posts because I'm a narcissist. I am a narcissist, but that is not why I signed all my post. It's because it keeps you, the innocent readers, from thinking my quality has declined suddenly. For example:

Average Reader: WHAT??!!! That is SO stupid! I can't believe the Kiwi wrote that!
Someone Else: That's not the Kiwi. That's the Chimp. See, it's in that ugly orange color.
Average Reader: Oh, I see. Phew, scared me for a second there.
Someone Else: I'm gonna go have a turkey sandwich now.

I like turkey sandwiches, but . . . wait . . . that's not what I was talking about. Yes, we must keep my greatness seperated from the 'common people' (read, lesser beings) (don't read that in parenthises if you're a lesser being/common person)(oh, never mind, it's too late now). So anyway, as I was saying, that's all folks!

Flaming Kiwifruit

P.S. I am SO cool!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just want a PENCIL!!!

If you want to do something simple, the world will turn against you.

I learned this lesson the hard way. I came to my computer desk to retrieve a couple of nicely sharpened pencils. My dad was seated at the computer, he suddenly mad eme stop my task to ask me to list my six favorite songs. Something about the pyramid method and he needed six volunteers, forced volunteers of course. So . . . I obliged him. Naturally, as I stood there with a handful of broken, non-sharp pencils, because that's all I found at the desk . . . Naturally, I could not remember a single song, let alone six, let alone six that I liked . . . so, after thinking, I compiled a list and headed off to my personal stash of pencils. Alas, they too were broken and dull.

Eventually I found the pencils I needed, but by that time, I couldn't remember why I needed them.

Ah, life!

The Chimp

Things I know Today . . .

I have a blog! Oh, wait . . . I did know that yesterday. I could lie and say I forgot, or that I have been living in a weird spacial anomoly, or that my computer crashed, or even simply that I have been too busy. But, alas, the truth is . . . It's such a hassle to post. I have to log on, and then type, and then submit. Okay, maybe it's not such a hassle . . . I guess I really don't have an excuse. But, I am back now! Try to contain your shouts of joy.

After Kiwi Boy's uninspiring post, I had to come back. Besides, I'm the one who shoots for mediocracy! Aiming for perfection is so overdone!

Wow, months of not posting, amusing stories and occurances, and I decide to come back on a day when nothing amusing has happened. Sorry about that. More mediocrity. I think this is even less then mediocrity. Ah! It feels good to fall short of your goals! Especially when you've set them so low!

Well, now that I've made my not so triumphant return, perhaps I'll have something interesting to post tomorrow . . . That is if I post tomorrow . . .

The Chimp, returned from exile!!!

Self imposed exile though it be . . .

Mediocracy and Tedium

It feels really, really, really good to finish a project that you been getting annoyed with. At least, until you get the next project that you get annoyed with. C'est la vie! (For those of you who don't speak French, 'Such is life.'

Anyway, I finally finished backing up all the files yesterday. Life was good. Then I had to go clean covers at the Opelika office. This is a job which has all the tedium of copying files, but with out the air conditioning . . . and with exposure to potentially dangerous chemicals. Granted, I don't quite know how they're dangerous, but it has been 'suggested' that I wear heavy rubber gloves while I do it. The funny thing is even with my annoyance with the task, I was in a very good mood today. Maybe it's because I know I have tomorrow off. Maybe it's because I've returned to the Djere.net forums. Maybe it's just because. Oh, well, life is good.

So, that wasn't quite as amusing as I hoped. I could rewrite it, but, like I always say, 'Why shoot for perfection, when you can settle for mediocracy?'

Wait. I don't really say that, do I? No, I suppose not. Maybe I was just hoping that a witty, pessimistic, off-beat, uninspirational saying could redeem this post. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should stop typing now. Except to sign this post.

Flaming Kiwifruit

The More Things Change . . .

The more things change, the more they . . . well . . . change.

My sis and I took our nephew and neice to the 'Monkey' Park today. It's the local municipal park we used to play at when I was a kid. Just being there with bright-eyed, excited children brought back memories. I can remember happily running around there, full of energy, content to spend the rest of my life there. Well, except that one time I was there with my VBS class all day, and I didn't bring any extra drink. Alabama summers are killer. But, I degress . . .

The point is, those days are gone. As I watched the kids running around happily, I felt like a child again. Then, I tried running around happily. Soon, I had an epiphany . . . I need to work out more. After a half an hour, maybe an hour, I was beat. I don't even think Rachel lasted that long. You have to understand though, this was no walk in the park . . . sorry . . . These kids were INSANE! They wanted to run up every playground, tree, or 50-foot gorrilla in sight . . . Not that there were any 50-foot gorrillas, but if there were, they would have climed up them. So, finally, I came upon the idea of throwing myself upon the giant concrete turtle and playing dead. This failed, as my sandal kept falling off and concrete turtles aren't that comfortable.

So I had a better idea. What better way to end a fun, fun night than by all going to the convenience store and getting sugary things in much to large quantities. Tyler jumped on the idea. Holly did not. It also reminded me of being a kid. "Just a few more minutes . . . PLEASE!" The truth is most kids have figured out that with enough 'few more minutes' you can stretch out to eternity. What they don't realize is that parents/uncles/grandparents/Godfathers also figured this out to use on the responsible/quasiresponsible adults in thier lives. Needless to say it fail. She also tried the most unique stalling tactic I've seen. "I need to get my leaf!" Which was of course on the other side of the play ground. We returned home, at which point, myself, Rachel, and Ralph Nader collapsed from exhaustion. Okay, Ralph Nader wasn't really there, but I just like mentioning him in my posts and I haven't in a while. This has been long. Now, it is over.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Ah, Children

It's east forgot what a . . . joy it was to have small children around. I has it's ups and down. My nephew and neice have been at our house for the week and I've had some time to catalogue the more interesting observations from thier stay since Saturday:

Legos are great. Kids love them, and having kids around gives adults a reason to play with them. Admit it, you love those little colorful blocks too.

Children 12 and under should not even be allowed to look at a hatched. While building a treehouse I turned around to see Tyler, my nephew, valiantly chopping down a branch . . . approximately 6 in. from my head. I quickly explained to him that the hatchet was for myself and his grandfather. (And I wasn't quite sure about his grandfather.either.)

Children have . . . novel approaches to getting the job done. Once when Tyler returned to the treehouse telling us Holli, my neice, did not need his help I turned to see her raising an 8 foot landscaping timber straight up and then letting it fall. This was her plan for moving it. I quickly explained the finer points of construction and the proper way to do a job . . . with help.

Here are some of my favorite quotes from the week so far:






Okay, so I can't think of any right now, but as soon as I do, I'll post them. Have a nice day and a happy middle-aged year.

Flaming Kiwifruit

I Made a Stupid Pun!

I remember doing something today. It was quite amusing and I learned a rather humorous lesson from it. It also had this long intricate story with it. It would have been immensly amusing to all involved. If I ever rember what it was, I'll tell you. Instead, I give you this less amusing, but still entertaining post.

Be careful what you wish for. I didn't have much to do at work. Mostly, just answer phones, which rang approximately every half hour. So, I wanted something to do. Now, I'm making back-ups of all our important files, the hard copies that is. Well, it's something. I'm almost to the "N's" now, but . . . It was "L" for a while there . . . Sorry, dumb pun. That happens when work drives you crazy. Until next time.

Flaming Kiwifruit

(Don't quite know who I'm gonna be next time.)

The Really, Really, Really Dark Side

George Lucas is like Darth Vader. This point was, again, brought home to me by my father. See, in the movies, Vader starts out good, then he gets merged with technology, causing him to become evil. Similarly, Lucas used to be a great film maker. Then, he got technology. Now, he is, to put it nicely, or not, on the dark side, out of touch with audiences who want to see a good film, not a bunch of cool special effects tied together by poor dialouge and bad acting (with the exception of Ewan McGregor). Granted, acting with Hayden Christianson could make Al Gore seem interesting, but it's impressive that McGregor managed to pull off such a convincing act in an unconvincing world. In case you're wondering, I just saw Revenge of the Sith. It was better than the first two, and worth seeing once, just to complete the story, but it doesn't hold a candle, or even one of those cheap Fourth of July sparklers, to the first three. My advice, see it once, then forget it exists.

On a more spiritual note, I learned tonight that Abba was more of a proper name for a father and slave were not allowed to use it. Thus when Paul say we can say "Abba, father" it is a symbol of our freedom and acceptance as children of God. Okay, deep thought over. Have a good day, night, or whatever it is when you read this.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Your Call Is Very Important to Us . . .

If your boss leaves you to answer phones, and they don't ring for a long period of time, get suspicious. Here's what happened to me yesterday.

(All times approximate)
8:30 am - Our office manager, Bobby Ray, leaves me to answer phones.
9:15 am - Jim, one of our technicians shows up, prompting, by his mere presence, a sudden influx of calls.
9:30 am - I field the last of the influx of calls.
11:00 am - Scott, another technician, shows up and I help him unload copiers. He notes the lack of service calls. I explain it's been a slow day.
11:30 am - Bobby Ray returns, asking why I wasn't answering calls. We quickly determine that the phones are dead.

So, anyway, it turns out they were doing construction down the road and failed to tell anybody what was going on. If you're wondering why I didn't catch on, going that long without any phone calls isn't really unusual.

Flaming Kiwifruit