Friday, September 28, 2007

I'm On My Second Corona

And it's only 1:04 PM! Though I mostly hate my job and company and life...sometimes, there are perks. Like today. Today one of the depts set up a taco bar in their cubeland with Coronas et. al. I like this. I like the way they think. They'll go far, that team.

We used to have random margarita or beer Fridays, but those had waned into almost never. So this is nice. Especially when I go to check what the weather will be like for the next couple of days and I see this:

Boo! All you people wanting to move to this state...look above and consider yourselves warned. WARNED.

I should be working. I have things to do. But I don't want to work. I can't focus on anything lately. I'm bored. I'm bored with this place. But don't tell them. I currently get to do a lot of blog reading.

So, does anyone else hate Crocs? I do! Fucking ugly ass shoes. They make shoes look bad. Well, let me amend that to they make buying shoes look bad. To turn to someone and say "I have several pairs of Crocs" is not a boast...it's an admission that you think brightly colored, holey rubber looks good on your feet. Shame on you. You shouldn't be allowed to vote. And there's all these "styles" now...mary janes...ballet flats...nuh uh. Someone needs to nip this shit in the bud.

What you see below is something called "suede-vamp Crocs". I don't know if any of you have ever heard the word "vamp" before in your lives, but if you have, you'd know that the definition of the word doesn't land anywhere near what is pictured below. What's pictured below is what happens when "vamp" gets old, whithers and dies...or retires to a home. I, personally, would like to hand feed these to sharks. That's how much I hate them.



The next set below offend me on a different level. Let's examine that, shall we? First of all...Crocs are not traditionally Winter wear. They're meant for gardening...yard work...weeding...taking out the Summer trash...etc. They have holes in them...this lets rain and cold air in. This...sucks. They are not meant to cross over. This shouldn't have to be debated. It should be obvious. At the beginning of October, they go in the closet and don't come back out.

Crocs (TM) is trying to fuck with that. Nevermind the holes! Nevermind the rubber! We'll just stuff fleece in them and call them the Winter Crocs! No dice, people. What you end up with is an all-around evil shoe. The reasons for this are twofold:
1. There are still holes in the shoes, people! Have you ever worn wet fleece? NOT PLEASANT.
2. They're even uglier with the fleece. Get me? Uglier. It's like one of those man/woman people in the circus. A freak of nature.


Blah blah blah, don't buy Crocs. Now they're trying to get kids to wear them. Except that I read somewhere yesterday that sometimes the kid Crocs can get caught in escalators and cause all sorts of horrible accidents resulting in stumps. True story. I just can't remember where I read it, so I can't link it. But it's true.

God, I'm bored. Maybe I should start giving advice. That might be interesting. I mean, I know stuff about shit. Why shouldn't I be an advice giver?

I think until I get the Condicast going again, that'll be my shtick. So, yeah...email me questions and I'll answer them and junk.

Oh...you'll need an email address, won't you.


jivecooky at yahoo.com

Let's see if anyone emails. I'll do it once a week to start with. Then...if people keep emailing...maybe I'll do it more. But, you know, I doubt that will happen. And it can be anonymous or whatevs. I don't care. I'm just bored...and halfway through my second Corona.


Thursday, September 27, 2007

Hugging Inanimate Objects

From The New York Times:

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the president of Iran, said Tuesday that he considered the dispute over his country’s nuclear program “closed” and that Iran would disregard the resolutions of the Security Council, which he said was dominated by “arrogant powers.”

Funny, that sounds just like the line my parents would use when I would throw a fit about not getting my way. I was such an unruly 20 year old.

My favorite bit is the obviously U.S. and U.K. aimed use of the term “arrogant powers”. I’m fairly certain that if you put Bush and Ahmadinejad in the Thunderdome and stood back (behind Tina Turner…you can’t be obstructing her view), you’d witness a battle of arrogance instead of fists. The arrogance would ooze out their eyeballs and ears in the form of a bright light. At that point, the shit would go all Star Wars and limbs would start flying. It would be awesome. But I digress.

I saw the president of Bolivia on The Daily Show last night. My knowledge of South American politics/history is painfully lacking…but I felt a giant teddy bear vibe emitting from Evo Morales and had to resist the urge to hug the screen. Kansas would’ve flipped... the screen would’ve gotten all smudged.

I want a President that I can pretend I’m hugging when I hug the television. Is that too much to ask? I don’t think so. I mean…look at teddy bears. Sure, they’re cute and cuddly and relatively harmless…and not alive…but if they are alive they can become a bad ass, protective bear that can kick the shit out of anything that comes near their cubs (i.e. the rest of the country). What kind of country wouldn't want a bad ass teddy bear for a president?

Wow. Sometimes even I’m amazed at what an articulate, logical person I am.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Bow To The Cuteness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday to The Face! He's one and it's a big fucking deal so you can all just shut the hell up and watch his cuteness be all cute.


video

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

I'm So Excited, I Could Pee

I want to live in this man's world.



See if you can guess what my favorite line is.



Monday, September 24, 2007

It Springs Eternal, You Know.

Effective ways of dealing with the drudgery of a Monday can be accomplished through several methods. Caffeine fixes are a popular one. Spending the first 20 minutes of work reading and Dilbert and The Onion is another. Sometimes, it’s yelling at people from the driver’s seat in the ol’ bumper to bumper. For others it’s reading a trashy bodice ripper on the bus. For me, it comes at the tale end of my short ride into downtown, when I pass a certain group of people. They’re currently laying tracks for the MAX train to run by my office. Since that seems to create a sense of lawlessness in the area, they’ve upped the level of transit police/security. You can see them in their little “Transit Security” uniforms, wandering a rather large chunk of blocks, looking very stern and authoritative. Well, that was before. Now they all look like kids in a candy store. Why is that, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you why. It’s because Portland’s Transit Security agents now patrol the area while riding on…wait for it...segways.

They crack me up. For serious. It’s like dozens of Gobs (Arrested Development), rolling about the place. The joy it fills me with is immeasurable, and it’s all I can do not to run up and knock one of them over so I can take the world’s best and most useful invention around the block for a spin. I wait every day with great anticipation in the hopes that I’ll witness a high speed chase or…well…any sort of pursuit. It hasn’t happened yet…but what is life if not hopeful?

Friday, September 21, 2007

What the HELL is IN Pamprin Anyway?

It’s not often you have the type of manager who offers to stand in front of you in the role of a buffer as you flip off an asshole coworker when he's walking away down the hallway. It’s these people that make my world okay. These rare…rare people.


You know, in 2004, I was in election MODE! I was listening to the radio, watching all the debates, joining grassroots movements, attending rallies, everything short of actually participating in protests (unless you count that one time when I was leaving my office and literally stepped out of the door into the middle of one. I got trapped). I was involved.

I was devastated when Bush won. Completely deflated. I couldn’t believe people could continue to be THAT stupid. I wanted out of here. Desperately. I even looked into becoming a mail order bride. Turns out my standards are too high. That’s not allowed in the mail order bride community. Bastards.

The next election is in 2008…but it feels like it’s been going on since 2006. And you know what? I’m already sick of it. I hate everyone in it. On both sides. I think they’re all mud slinging disingenuous bull dogs who will wave their over-blown patriotism, their touted love of ‘god’, and their empty promises of universal healthcare in front of our faces to get whatever it is they want. None of them are real people. None of them will instigate real progress. None of them have any real new or original ideas. They’ve had 8 million debates and I haven’t watched a single one. Every time they do a breakdown of them on NPR, I get more disgusted. I really don’t believe there to be much hope of a positive voting outcome and have pretty much come to terms the idea that we’ll probably be stuck with the former mayor of New York with his mistress turned 3rd wife or a Mormon with a dumb name and a wife who’s name I don’t know (his other wives are probably hidden in a cave in Utah somewhere). I have no faith in the people to elect anyone progressive…not after 2004. I’m going to do my part and vote, but don’t ask me to support anyone. Screw it.

This isn’t a very upbeat topic for a Friday. A payday Friday at that. Well, what can I say, my jeans are tight.

The waif bought me polka dot shoes from Italy. I will be posting a picture of them on here as soon as I take one. Until then, they sleep on the extra pillow…next to mine…well, only when Kansas is on a work trip. Selfish boy.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

It's Tuesday Night, Bitches

What? Huh?
Oh god, more wine?
Food. Eat. Food.
What's going on? Kellie, why don't you know?
Amy and Laurie know. They know.
Wine. Rad.
Amy accosts Kara.

Kara escapes.Laurie's shoes match the decor.
Food. More. Food.

Love. Kisses, Kara.
It's Britney, Bitch.It's midnight fifteen. Goodnight Tuesday.


Eff YOU, Teeth.


As of today, I have spent $1,500 on my teeth this year.

Goddamn modern dentistry.


Goddamn lack of insurance.


Goddamn lack of universal healthcare.


I mean...shit...they're not even my best feature.


Me and my frozen face are going to sit here and brood for a while before beginning to contemplate how I'm going to drink my tea with a straw.


Ramen for lunch yesterday...Spaghettios today.

I's offically po'.

Friday, September 14, 2007

I'd Rather Eat A Brussel Sprout

So, anyone else find it disturbing that the “president” of Russia just completely dissolved his government on a whim? Yeah, me neither.

Has you heard of Daily Candy? It’s a daily (obviously) email that promotes something “cool” like a designer, an author, a restaurant, a site, etc. I get them for gift ideas, mainly…but every once in a while, something appears in my inbox that not only forces me to question not only the validity of these people’s opinions…but the very point of man’s existence at all. Today…in my inbox...my Daily Candy consisted of this tragedy.

You can imagine what manner of existential questioning erupted from such an assault on my corneas. The first of which was “What the FUCK is that?”

The answer, my friends, is…it’s a pantsuit. A horrible, horrible pantsuit. Apparently because it is French…it is has left the sphere of classic pumpkin Halloween costume and journeyed into the land of the “couture”…also a French word (I believe). I, for one, am somehow unable to lower my standards for fashion in this instance. I’m sorry. I just can’t do it. My rule since the age of pre-teen has been NO UNISUITS OF ANY KIND…and for the most part, despite the one slip up in college involving a pair of train engineer over sized overalls, I have kept that belief steadfastly in place. Slapping a French name and calling it couture isn’t going to change that. And charging over $400 for it (true story), certainly isn’t going to change that either. I don’t care how comfortable it is. Nor do I care if it extinguishes the problem of attempting to match tops to bottoms in the wee hours of the morning with eyes half open. NO DEAL.

So…recap: I will remain unfashionable til I drop dead and rot before adorning myself in something that forces from me such melodramatic revulsion as to say that I find it offensive to all 5 of my senses.

Good day.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The World's Latest Review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

So much to say, I don’t know where to begin. It’s been an eventful week. As tempted as I am to barrage about Britney Spears pathetic display of lip sync and butt cheek, I feel as though her performance speaks for itself. And beyond that...YouTube will continue to speak for her. Glorious YouTube.


I was going to go into the chaos that was my life last week. My Mongra's funeral (which I will write about at some point in the near future), seeing Eugene Mirman on Saturday night. Seeing Wolf Parade for free in the front of the VIP section late Sunday night (thanks James!!!). God they're an awesome band. Do you remember when I told you that once before? Well...a year later, my opinion still stands.


I was going to jump into some world events...give a little social commentary...a little editorial piece for the masses. But I didn't have enough energy yesterday (Going out on a Sunday night has become difficult. Damn adulthood). And I don't actually have time to do it today. Stupid job.

So I'm not going to talk about any of those things. I am, however, going to inform you all that I have finally finished the very last ever Harry Potter book. I know some of you are thinking "Gee whiz, Kara...that was, like so 2 months ago". And some of you are thinking "Shucks, Kara...I've already reviewed it on my more traffic-receiving website.". Well I know that everyone and their grandmother has reviewed it. But none of them matter. Well, they may matter, but their reviews don't. Because I'm here to do mine. Unless I have to stop writing this and go back to work (may happen any second...the honeymoon with this position is definitely over)…see, just there, I had to let this post sit for, like an hour. Blurgh.

Back to Potter. It took me so long to start it because a. I don’t get a lot of time to read nowadays. And b. I wanted to re-read book 6 because I’d just seen 5 in the theater and I wanted it to all be in a row. Because I’m LINEAR like that. Suck it. Anyway, I finished book 7 about midnight last night…which sucked because I was soooo droopy from the night before, but I soldiered on. AND at the second to last chapter, I got teary eyed. TEARY eyed! Don't worry, though. I’m choosing to believe that was because of the late hour and my body was just sad that I wasn’t sleeping yet.

I guess calling this a review is somewhat totally misleading, because I’m not going to go into the story. I was ok with how it ended, I was mildly ok with who was killed off and who wasn’t. And I had a HUGE suspicion confirmed to my satisfaction, so all in all…it was a fitting end in many ways. But that’s not the issue here. The issue here is that it’s THE END.

There will never be another Harry Potter book. Yes, she may go on and write other fabulous books, and I’m sure she’ll create new and wonderful worlds and characters. But fuck that. I want to continue to have an excuse to insert the word “muggle” into general conversation. I want to continue to see kids lined up in cloaks and stupid looking hats in front of Powell’s on the eve of the next book release. I want to continue to be able to completely immerse myself in a world that, though it’s meant for the young’uns…allows me to take a jaunt down that fanciful lane once again without having to feel like I’m dumbing myself down for doing so. And I’m not convinced that there will ever be anything else comparable to these stories when it comes to inspiring children to read. Not only to want to…but to really be driven to.

These books were the Arrested Development of children’s literature.

Yes, you can use that. I give you all permission.

Oh well.

What’s wacky is...this was the first time I ever saw Harry’s birthdate in any of the books that I can remember. He’s my age. I don’t know how I feel about that. Except…kind of good.

I’ll miss you Harry. I'll miss the world you live in. I'll miss the way you helped me forget what a mundane world I live in...if just for a while. Well...a little over a decade, but who's counting.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Lunchtime Excitement

Marie and I just saw this dude in The Pearl. That makes us awesome.

He's on TV and junk. Don't know his name, though.

I'll do a real post later. Happy Friday.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

A Lemonade Stand…In The Twilight Zone

Sunday afternoon I was walking Quimby. It was blazing hot and he’d already done his bizness, so I turned a block early to get back to the house quickly. As soon as I started down the sidewalk, I realized my error. Halfway between the street I just turned off of and the next one I could turn on to was a lemonade stand. Right smack in the MIDDLE of the sidewalk. Totally unavoidable. So if I turned and went back the other way, I’d be an asshole. And if I crossed the street to avoid them, I’d be an asshole. I was trapped. Little bastards. It was brilliant.

So I kept walking. But I was optimistic. I hadn’t brought my wallet…I bet I didn’t have any money. YES, no money! I could walk on by with the same shrug of the shoulders and sorry expression I reserve for obviously able-bodied gutter punks pan handling downtown. It would be perfect. But then I remembered…we’d gone to the store earlier and I hadn’t brought a wallet then. I’d just shoved the cash in my back pocket. And I’d gotten change…including quarters. Shit. Cornered again. I’m a shitty liar…if I tried to pass with the wad of change bulging in my back pocket, they’d know. They’d know and they’d judge. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be judged by some dirty little upper-middle-classed ankle biters.

As I approached the children (2 boys and a girl) stopped playing school or house or whatever, and ran up to me.

Blond Boy: Come see our commercial!
Little Girl: Yes, come see it! It’s called ‘Why dogs love lemonade’
Brunette Boy: Ok, I’m going to be the dog!

So Quimby (who is deliriously excited by the energy just oozing from these little figures) and I stop to watch the commercial.

Little Girl: This dog is so angry!
Brunette Boy: *BARKS madly on all fours in the grass*
Blond Boy: Quick! Give him some lemonade!
Little Girl: Here doggy! Here’s some lemonade!
(pretends to give him a cup)
Brunette Boy: *crazy BARKS turn to happy YIPS*
Little Girl: Good boy!
(pets Brunette Boy’s little brunette head)

Then the stopped and took a bow. With a leash in one and a bag of crap in the other I couldn’t really clap. Now I HAD to buy some lemonade.

So, as I tried to dig into my back pocket with my right hand for a quarter while keeping the bag of pooh aloft with my left and controlling the giant chocolate lab with the leash handle between my knees, I attempted to make conversation with the children as they stared at me expectantly.

Me: Have you made a lot of money?
Little Girl: Not very much today, but we have $29 from the other day.
Me: Wow, that’s a lot of money. What are you guys going to buy with your wad of cash?
Little Girl: Um, we’re going to buy a “Slow Down, Kids Playing” sign for the street, since there are a lot of kids that play on this street.
Me (shocked): Really? Well, I suppose that’s a good way to spend money…
Little Girl: And anything extra we get is going to be donated for Children’s Cancer.
Me (dis-fucking-belief): Wow. Well that’s nice of you.

Blah blah blah, she hands me the lemonade and I get the hell out of there.

What the CRAP is that? A street sign and a donation to cancer research? What the hell has happened to children? Where are the little selfish bastards of my youth? When I had a lemonade stand, I was going to use the money for TOYS. What kind of Children of the Corn are people breeding nowadays? I’ll not stand for it! Worries about signs and cancer research are part of the burden of being adult. In exchange, we’re allowed to vote and go to bars. Kids shouldn’t have to be dealing with this shit. They should be saving up for trampolines and Polly Pockets. It’s just wrong.

I’m never going down that block again. I’ll stick to the block before it. The block that already has a “Slow Down, Kids Playing” sign. The whole bizness made me uneasy. I was creeped out the entire day. The lemonade was good, though.