SPRING FLURRIES

Whew! Been busy for a while there. And that right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the understatement of the year.

Since social media is all the rage, and since pics speak louder, here they go:

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I'm not really into classics, but this here did something to me.

Ahh! Homemade burgers!



Lil' cuz graduating a few weeks ago. In the timeless words of my [other] illustrious cousin, "Watu wame-grow!"



I only hope Kenya isn't someone's name here.



Oh fate, why dost thou torment me so? What are the chances that the exact same WRX I want is parked right outside my window? Curses!



Alcohol - the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems.
Cinco de Mayo - same thing. People were all bleary-eyed at work the following day.



Laptops are such a pain in the ass to dissect. Why do I keep doing it?



Apparently, this still happens. There goes my 5-hour-long torrent.



Was in Michigan for another graduation. My only regret is that I had to drive through Ohio, the boringest stretch of highway I've ever seen, with roads so straight you'd swear the earth's flat.



Yeah. Stuff in Michigan is weird.



Of course, Michigan also means Motor City, which also means you get to see cool stuff like this - partly assembled vehicles. Never mind the ever-lengthening crack on the windshield.



How the hell did he make my steak & shrimp in 3 minutes flat?



Couch? Floor? Table? Bar? Standing up? She can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.

BLACK BOO... I MEAN, BEAUTY

Lord help me in these apocalyptic times - I loves the booty.

Hear me out:
Maybe it's my 'tanned' disposition. Or maybe it's something much less tangible and much more spiritual, but I'll say it again - I loves the booty, especially of the chocolate kind.

Shawty says I love the chocolate because I'm caramel, coz she likes the caramel and she's chocolate. She might have something there.

Nevertheless, the bubble is where it's at, for me at least. YouTube Timothy Bloom's 'Til The End Of Time' if you dare.

SNAKE OIL

Rarely is schoolwork interesting, for me anyway. The other day I was forced to help someone with their business composition assignment, aptly dubbed 'Ewconomics,' and I found myself rather enjoying it.

The premise of this assignment was to try and make something really terrible sound really good, like a used car salesman would. Or an army recruiter. Or the HR people who duped me when I got my first job - you see what I mean.


For instance, the example the instructor gave for #6 went something about the fish really biting right off the beach. See what she did there? Quite clever.

I'm not gonna post my answers since I don't wanna embarrass myself before y'all intellectual types, but feel free to help a brother out with some of these if you'd like. Didi? CB? KK? G? Where y'all at?

LIKE GLUE

It was when I saw a quarter lying on the ground and picked it up that my workmate was like:
I'll bet no one can resist a quarter. That right there started it all.

We're pretty much always bored when here at work. If not that, overloaded with work, which makes something different, anything really, awesome. So you know what that crazy mofo did? He grabbed a couple of quarters and super-glued them to the pavement, one right outside my window and the other in the back of the building, and the rest is history.

The first one to fall for it was the owner of the company right next to ours. He's familiar with our antics so when it didn't budge when he tried to pick it up, he knew exactly what was going on and burst out laughing. He is though, by leaps and bounds, the wittiest of all who've tried to pick that quarter up.

People spend minutes trying to dislodge it. This one older cat even resorted to trying to kick it loose! That sh*t had me dying. Some other dude fell for the one in the back of the building - and the one at the front! Hilarity.

Are we wrong? Maybe. Is it worth it? Totally.

BOW WOW WOW YIPPIE YO YIPPIE YAY!

He who picks up a dog's poop after them is someone's bitch.
How's that for a thesis statement?

***********************************

I was fortunate, at an early age, to have had considerable international exposure. Where I'm from, somewhere in Murang'a, [or is that Mulang'a?] is a very poor place. I'm talking about where-will-my-next-meal-come-from, mud-hut-straw-thatch poor. It follows that there were a lot of missionaries, priests and such all around us.

This one particular family of Americans liked my Dad a lot, being a schoolteacher and active in church and all that jazz. Though they had a house in Nairobi, the missionary family was over at our crib a lot, our home being their base of operations while they did their stuff around the area and beyond. His kids, about my age, would help around the farm, drink our water and eat our food which was, now that I think about it, remarkable. I've never known any other 'Merican or Euro to trust 'our food' so completely. They didn't even get queasy and swear off meat when watching animals being slaughtered for food! All in all, they were great people. I was sorry to see them go back, when I was like 12.

Of course, needless to say, they were responsible for a lot of our first brushes with American culture: They were responsible for my first hot dog, Archie comic books, M&Ms, Legos, and countless other things. When they departed, they left us their queen-sized bed and a bunch of other things. My eldest siblings were making money then, so they helped my Dad purchase the missionaries' Nissan Bluebird station wagon [1800cc!], which I thought was the sh*t. The greatest gift they could ever have given me though, and they did, were their 3 dogs.

[I'd always been surrounded by dogs since I was a baby, but we hadn't had dogs for like a year before we got those three, all because a bunch of thugs came over one night, [F*ck you, you pieces of sh*t] killed my 2 dogs and smashed the house up. Thank you for not touching my Moms tho. (Story for another day.)]

One was a Labrador mix twice as big as I, named Solomon. [Quite fitting; the dog was quite the snob] The other was a German Shepherd and much younger than Solomon, named Buckwheat. The third was a female - I forget the name coz we gave her away and didn't get to bond.

Solomon & Buckwheat got along great unless the female was around; they'd almost kill each other then. Good Lord, their fights were vicious! So, we gave the female away and their beef stopped almost immediately. Interesting.

The best time of the day for me, after school and slaving at the farm all evening, was right before dark. I'd "let the dogs out" from the kennels, watch while they devoured their one-meal-a-day, then took them deep into the farm for exercise and for them to relieve themselves. They were well trained - never pooped in the kennel. I loved those dogs to death, but I learned at an early age that dogs WILL come and go all too soon so I, when they died right before I came here, was heartbroken but alright.

Fast-forward to this day and age.

All these years, I've always wanted to keep another dog but haven't, and for three reasons:
One: I can't afford to keep one, financially and time-wise.
Two: I'm not picking anyone else's poop after them.
Three: If aliens came to earth one day and saw me picking up after my dog, they'd hypothesize I were the inferior species. That's just not happening.

Every morning on my way to work at 6.30 in the morning, and every evening when I get home, I see the same thing: people walking their dogs around, leash in one hand and plastic bags in the other. Hell to the no, I'm not built for that. I love dogs but unless I have a big 'ol yard where they can run around and go #2 wherever they want, that just won't fly. Plus, I reserve the right to keep them outside, which I can only humanely do in the South where it's warm so, until that day, I'll just have to be dog-less.

But more power to anyone who keeps a dog. Thanks too for letting me pet them. Can't wait for the day I can have one.

INSPIRATION ALL THE WAY TO PRODUCTION

Here's a short clip of some goings-on at my illustrious [hardly] place of work. You'll lose about 6 minutes of your life watching this, so I hope it doesn't put you to sleep.

I to X

Today's one of the saddest days of my automotive life.
I pray, to all things holy, that this isn't true.

INSPIRED

I'm full of sh*t, I know: A mere couple of months ago I declared I didn't, and wouldn't, need a better mobile phone. Well, the other day the techie bug hit me with a vengeance and I splurged. Now I realize just how great it is to be abreast with 21st century technology, and it's an eye-opener.

As anti-Apple as I always am, it means I'm now running Windows 7 on all computers, and Android on the phone. Sweetness. That iPhone 4 is sweet tho, I won't even try and pretend.

Maybe I can now start blogging again, now that I actually want to be on the computer. What are those Facepalm and Twit-whatsitsname things again? Maybe I can reacquaint myself with them.

DEUCES

People are sometimes just gross. I'm starting to understand why The Dishwasher, once he started going to school for that medical stuff, became a borderline germaphobe. Not to say I'm getting there, but I'm now acutely aware of how nasty people can get.

I'm right now sitting at my desk at work, feeling like I need to disinfect everything in sight, all the while while listening to J. Cole. [Like the little engine that could, that lil n*gga is good. He said so himself, and he's right]

OK. Back to the story.

This same thing happened yesterday, incidentally, but with a different person: A little while ago I was hovering around the bathroom area, right by the 'watering hole,' when I heard the toilet flush. The door promptly opened and some dude got out, newspaper in hand.

"Whatever you do, don't go in there," he quipped. "15, 20 minutes at least."

That's right - he dropped a deuce and didn't wash his hands. WTF?! I'm sorry, but that's just nasty. I can excuse the occasional piss without washing one's hands, but a #2? Getthefuckouttahere. Then I'll be out there, see the same dude and give him a pound? The very thought of shaking a doodoo-flecked hand gives me the willies.

Where those disinfecting wipes at? I think I see some discolorations on my keyboard. Oh wait, what's that outside?



All better now.

FOOD, SHELTER, EVO.

I was lying in bed late last night, trying to catch my breath right after putting that thing in the sarcophagus. (See what I did there?)

It was raining ice and I could hear the clink-clink of the icy pellets against the pavement, right outside the bedroom window. The heat kept blowing incessantly, and my frugal Kikuyu mind kept thinking of how steep the power bill will be this winter. Sh*t, it’s already been up there these past few months and seeing how Old Man Winter has the entire continent’s balls in a vise-grip lately, that won’t change any time soon.

That said, I don’t know why I don’t like spending money on myself. I threw away a second pair of jeans yesterday because they were torn – and about 7 years old. I know I need new clothes bad, but I won’t get myself any. Matter of fact, the last time I got myself any gear was back in 2008. I cringe to think that I’m becoming el cheapo. I don’t think that’s it exactly though, coz I splurge on other people. I’ve no problem getting my family or friends things, just getting things for myself. WTF is wrong with me?

Truth be told tho, all I want, next to food and shelter, is a Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution X. That and an iPhone 4. Till I get those, clothes be damned.

OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE... SAME.

I think God must be an impossibly intricate being. Of course He is, I can hear you say. For the first time though, I’m beginning to realize just how complex an entity He [or she, or they] are. And not in a bad way at all; He just has a strange way of doing things, that's all.

Picture this: one morning you’re getting up to go to work and while driving there, BAM! This happens.


But you’re virtually unscathed, which is the best possible outcome, coz everything else doesn't matter and can be replaced. And replaced it was, by an identical [save the color], better and more inexpensive iced-out version.


As in iced-out literally, this morning. The weather’s been a b*tch lately.

But here’s the thing: the entire situation can be summed up as someone coming up to you and telling you this:
Let me punch you in the face and scare you a little, and I’ll give you a couple of thousand bucks.
So, as you can see, all’s well that ends well.

And now, 2 of my local tuner’s drag-racing cars. You should hear them run, even idling out there - loud as a mofo.

LUCKY #13

It's weird - there's something about me and the number 13. I'm not superstitious and have never entertained that there might be something unlucky about the number, because if I were I'd be in a constant state of paranoia. I mean, check this out:

- I was born on the 13th
- My parking space at work is #13
- My mailbox number at home is 13
- I have exactly 13 pairs of shoes
- I was 13 when my eldest sibling got married
- Had my first crush when I was 13, on some Redbone neighbor named Angela
- My first day of work at my current job was on the 13th
- I have 13 toes

Okay, I'm kidding about that last one. But you must admit that's one too many 13s in one person's life.

And now, some random parking fails, four of them all at the same time. *SMH*

THE GAME

Wow. Time really does fly. 2011 already? What’s next? 2020? Life really is fleeting, I see.

For the first time in eons, I went to church this New Year’s Eve. Trying to start the year off right, y’know? I was skeptical about the service, thinking there wasn’t gonna be anyone over there. Boy, was I ever wrong. There were so many there it was unbelievable. There barely was space to sit, and we had to go to the overflow section even! People, black people especially, love God, apparently.

But seeing how that was Friday night, it left Saturday night open for a little mischief. I hadn’t been to a club in forever, but this time we were like: F*ck it – let’s do this! Fortunately, it was uncharacteristically warm that night, much to my relief. So, three of us jumped in the hooptie and headed downtown to DC.

For once, we had no problems whatsoever. But then again, we are all grown and had done it all, so all we wanted was to have a good and safe night, unlike back in the day when things were a little crazy, involving fights and cops and whatnot. We actually found a great parking spot, which is nothing short of a miracle downtown, then walked over trying to find a spot to go to.

In a few minutes we encountered this one place that felt right. It was 2 floors worth of goodness – R&B downstairs and Hip-Hop upstairs. The bouncer collecting the cover even gave me a discount because, and I quote, I paid for the ladies. Less money out my wallet? That’s always good.

But it was when we went in that I realized just how much I’d missed the nightlife - the loud music, the pulsating lights and the festive atmosphere, not to mention the dancing. It’s a beautiful thing. But the best part of it all? The game.

See, Shawty and I have this harmless [I hope] little game we play sometimes: We act like we’re not together, just to see who’d get hit on the most. Needless to say, the odds are almost always in her favor; guys will hit on anyone fine whether they have a man or not, but girls are a lot more – shall we say – perceptive. Never have we played this game and Shawty struck out – all she has to do is go to the floor and *bam* - some dude shows up. I on the other hand, have had nights where no one tried to holla, save for giving me the eye across the room.

Of course, there are risks to this game, and my testosterone-fueled paranoia never lets me forget it – I can’t help but keep an eye on her. The minute some dude tries to cop a feel or mess with the goodies, it’s over, and I go break it up. Not that I’ve had the chance to, coz she’s fiercely protective of them, and especially because she knows I'd be livid. But I can’t help but watch, nevertheless. Hey, gotta mark the territory, right?

On the other hand, she doesn’t seem to mind anyone else all over me. One time sometime back I went to get another round and got accosted by this one girl by the bar. Let’s just say I took too long and Shawty came to see what was up and caught me with the other girl’s arms around me and mine gripping her waist, gyrating to the music. The horror on my face must’ve been apparent, but she just laughed it off and was like: I see what you’ve been doing. No no, don't stop.

I’m not an idiot. I stopped right away.

But anyway, back to the tale.

This time around, Shawty and her girlfriend downed their drinks and promptly hit the floor. In what seemed like seconds, the vultures were all over them, much to my amusement. I was just standing there on the sidelines for a long time, sipping on my drink, watching them and scanning the crowd, when I noticed one girl by the bar giving me the eye. I seriously considered going over and chatting her up or asking her to dance, but then Shawty came back to check on my ‘success,’ of which I had none. Something about the way we spoke, or the body language, must’ve seemed too cozy for the girl by the bar coz when Shawty went back to the floor and I looked up, she was gone. And that was it – no ‘play’ for me that night.

But that’s quite alright. I being the simple creature that I am don’t need any compromising situations. But girls seem to able to tease without personalizing it, something I don’t do well. I love the feel of a woman’s body too much to ignore it. Not to say I lust over everyone I dance with.

And it was with great satisfaction that, after the night was over and with the vultures watching, I escorted the ladies back to the car, which was still in one piece. I didn’t even have a parking ticket pinned against the windshield, and the Lancer seems to attract those more than bird-poop. All in all, it was a great night.

Happy New Year, everybody. Knock 'em dead this year.

SCROOGIN'

‘Tis the season, they say. O joy. I’m a regular Scrooge around Christmastime. Maybe it’s because I’m not spending it with my Moms-n-‘em again; I miss my family terribly. But I suspect that’s not the real reason I’m Grinchin' this time of year – it’s that damn Christmas music.

Allow me to elaborate.

When I was back home, I loved Christmas as much as the next guy. That meant my siblings would be home for a few days at least, that there’s be tons of good food, and that I’d [finally] get a break from farmwork for a little while. My sister, the family chef, would go all out and I’d happily devour everything she cooked. Even my dogs and cats would be full that time of year, especially the dogs, which always seemed hungry.

Fast-forward some years later, and my first job stateside was at a popular retail store, one of the biggest here. I started working there around September, and quickly started to dislike it. For one, they put me up at the cash register. I don’t do people coz people suck, so I went and asked management to give me something different to do. As a form of punishment, I suppose, they placed me in the – hold your breath – infants section. I’d restock the shelves, straighten everything out and help flustered mothers carry strollers or formula or whatever they’d just bought.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the greatest department to be in. Parents were always in a hurry, and ill-tempered for it. Badass kids yelling at their parents got to me. [Who yells at their parents where I’m from? I’d have been “D.E.D. dead,” and you know this] I’d have loved to be in some cool department like Electronics or even the Tools Section, but there I was restocking pacifiers and diapers. I was soon an expert about everything infant, even making suggestions about what customers should get. I was captain and ran a tight ship, and nothing was rarely out of place. [I said that like I enjoyed doing it, right? Wrong – I detested every second of it. But hey, gotta work.]

To make matters worse, when there wasn’t much to do, especially around closing time, I was expected to go help other people out that still had stuff to do. Of course, some of the other cats weren’t expected to do this and perpetually horsed around, even tossing [American] footballs back and forth, but that didn’t bother me. Sometimes this other African cat and I would be sent out in the freezing cold to gather the shopping carts and bring them inside, and as we stacked them by the entrance I’d see a football flying back and forth across the store. But that was OK too - I liked to work. Made the time go by fast, freezing digits notwithstanding.

But then Christmas season came, and it was a wrap. Everything changed, and not for the better. There were always so many people in there it was unbelievable. They’d come in and wreak havoc on the shelves, topple stacks of whatever and rummage through the toys, making cleanup a nightmare. I worked every weekend in November and December and had no choice in the matter. Plus, I had tons of homework, seeing how it was semester’s end. All of it was wearing me thin.

What convinced me to quit was neither of the above issues. Those I would handle, but I just couldn’t take that damn Christmas music playing throughout the store all day long in a tight loop! No lie, they played the same songs 10-plus times while I was there. Jesucentric Christmas music is OK by me because, after all, Christmas is all about Jesus, but they were playing songs about some fictitious obese, red-clad geriatric who supposedly gave presents to everybody who had been nice. There were even songs about his elves and reindeer!

[I know my uncle had a song about his favorite cow, which I thought was hilarious, but this? At least he could get milk from that damn cow, but Rudolph the reindeer never deserved a song. He’s not even real!]

To top it all off, it was my first winter ever and I detested every moment I had to go out in the cold, but one of the songs was about some dude wishing for, and I quote, a white Christmas! WTF? Rub it in, dude, why doncha?

They say incessant repetition may cause insanity and that Christmas music, while working there, got me hammering at insanity’s door, for real. The day after Christmas, I emptied my locker, clocked out, said bye to the African dude and never looked back. I didn’t have another job lined up yet, but I’ve no regrets about that decision.

5 days later, while chillin’ at the crib, the supervisor called me and was like:
“D, you haven’t shown up for work some days now,” he paused, awaiting my response that never came. “We’ll have to terminate your employment.”
“I didn’t show up because I quit 5 days ago,” I responded, and hung up.
Ah, I can still taste how good that felt!

But anyhow, Merry Christmas to you and yours. Have fun, and that’s an order!

SO 32-BIT.

[I check the Heat
and I Replace The Fuse]

I have a strange relationship with my cellphone. I realize I need it, but I could care less where it is - till I have to make a call or text somebody. Kinda like the nice, to-the-point note the maintenance guy left me a few days ago, [above] I'm very to the point with the cellie, doing nothing I needn't do with it.

But it's never been like this before; I was always super-excited by cellphones before. Shoot, I remember getting my first cellie like it was yesterday. Leaving the AT&T store all those years ago, I could hardly keep my hands off it while driving home. Sure, everything was green and black on the display, and it was built like and shaped like a brick, but I couldn't get enough of it. I discovered every single one of its 'advanced' features that same night. The plans they had back then were horrendously expensive and I was roaming everywhere, but I didn't mind it one bit.

Every single year after that first cellie, I got a new one. The only other one I remember after that first one had *gasp* a color display! I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. And I could actually check, using the phone, how many minutes I had left for the month?! And send SMSs?! I was untouchable!!

Then Motorola came out with a phone that could actually play MP3s and was sync-ed through a then new-ish iTunes, and I had to get it. Truth be told, that was a sorry excuse for a phone, but I kept it for an entire year and a half, till I got the best phone I've ever had, a Sony Ericsson Walkman phone, which I kept for Lord knows how long.

But here's the thing about the Sony - it did everything so well, fulfilled my meager needs so completely, that I had no desire to get another for the longest - until it called it quits. After that, I lost all interest in cellphones, and I don't understand why.

I play with my friends' and workmates' smart-phones all the time, all the while oooh-ing and aaah-ing at how cool they are. I played with Crackberries, iPhones, Droids and everything in between and soon realized that I have the sh*ttiest phone I know. My lil' cousin has a better phone than I. Shoot, I don't even have a data plan! But does that bother me? Not one bit.

Am I losing my techie edge? I sure hope not. At least I keep abreast of other things like computers, but I'm still a far cry from how I used to be like. Help me, Steve Jobs. Help me, Bill Gates. Hell, help me, Tom Cruise.*

*Talladega Nights.

POP CULTURE

I still maintain that without exposure to all sorts of different people, one doesn't know sh*t. You know, the whole he-who-doesn't-travel-thinking-his-mom's-the-best-cook thing. A week or so ago, I got an interesting peek into so-called "civilized" culture.

I used to travel, drive around I mean, all the time. And I mean all the time. That would explain the many miles on the Slo-Z, I guess. This year tho, I haven't driven around much at all. Matter of fact, I haven't been anywhere I didn't need to be for months. But that all changed the weekend before last.

On Friday, I got off work early as usual, and promptly took a nap soon as I got to the crib. A few hours later my 'driver' came over, and soon after we left. I hadn't driven the Zoom-Zoom in a while and I'd missed that lil' bugger, so I told my driver to slide over to the co-seat and shut up. A few hours later found us in the Philly area.

The following day, I called up one of my oldest friends and made plans to meet up later. While we were driving there, their kids had gotten hungry and tired, so they asked to meet up at some restaurant. Thanks to technology, I looked up the restaurant's address on the phone, plugged it into the GPS and we were good to go. Herbert, the GPS's new voice that Shawty hates, got us there in no time.

But we were in for the shock of our lives when we got there: The restaurant was in a freakin' country club! Not only was it gated and surrounded by acres of manicured grass, and frankly I was surprised there wasn't a wochi at the gates, but there was a County Police vehicle idling at the far end of the parking lot.

We parked and sat awhile in the car watching the people walk - no, waltz - into the lobby in genuine horror: we were severely under-dressed! It was cold that night and had thought we were only going to be at our friends' house, so were were both in sweats and sneaks. Meanwhile, everyone walking in and out of the restaurant was in khakis and dinner jackets. Pearls adorned every other lady's neck and diamonds sparkled in each ear. Little boys even wore khaki pants, dress shirts and those sleeveless Carlton Banks-like sweaters, whatever they're called!

Shawty was mortified and wouldn't get out of the car at first, and I too was reluctant to make a spectacle of myself, but then I remembered I was born with a pair. I grabbed them, assured Shawty it'd be alright and strolled into the restaurant like we owned the place.

I looked up and around at the expensive furniture, massive chandeliers and the impeccable servers sashaying about. Then I really looked around and noticed, much to my amusement, that we were the only chocolate and were surrounded by a whole lot of vanilla, if you catch my drift. That never bothered me too much, however, so we walked over to the dining area and were immediately accosted by a female server.

"Do you need a table, sir?"
"No we don't," I replied. "We're joining another party."
"Right this way," she gestured, and pointed at a table by the far wall. Lo and behold, there were our friends!

After greetings all around, my friend was like:
"How did they know to bring you here?" she inquired. "I only told our server that we were expecting 2 more people, not that girl who brought you over."
"Somehow I don't think she had too much trouble figuring that out," I replied.


***************************

"In this white man world, we the ones chosen."
Kanye West - Power

I'M BAAAAACK!

Been an eventful couple of weeks, and not necessarily in a good way. Still, life is such that it must go on, regardless. And seeing how I'm on the clock and so much has been happening, allow me to describe what I've been up to lately with some photos:

Downloaded J Cole's new mixtape. This kid is the future, for real. Can't remember the last time allhiphop.com gave 10 stars to any mixtape.

This is the best burger joint in Newark. Newark Delaware, that is. Good luck finding it on a map, tiny as Delaware is already.

More parking mishaps, right outside the office. Dude parked, scrutinized his handiwork and just walked away. For the life of me, I don't understand it.

Wasteful and proud of it. I can dig it.

When pigs fly? No, wait - when winged, chromed-out hogs.... sit? Or is it some mythical creature, some bacon Pegasus? I give up.

Clearly the sign wasn't heeded, but chewing it up like this? How is this even possible?

Yes, I assure you, I made this for the real Terry Bradshaw.

And for the real McConaughey.

About to do some maintenance on my cousin's car. Anyone guess what type of car this is, make & model?

The 1st generation Viper is surprisingly small, smaller even than the Slo-Z, as you can see.

Spanglish at its best.

Hadn't seen this in years, when it hit me the other day at work. Perfect excuse to [finally] petition for Windows 7. The bossmen pinch pennies these days; there has to be a good reason to buy new software.

And after work, a little fun. Hey, can't be all work and no play, right?

R I P, J.W.N.

Rest in peace, lil' cousin.
The good die young, they say, but you were way too young.
Much love, and see you on the other side.

MAC OS XP!

So, word on the street is that Bill Gates' wife won't allow anyone in her family to use any Apple product. Not MacBooks, iPods, iPads - nothing. Gotta admire her stubbornness, especially since she knows full well that the iPod Touch, for instance, kicks ass. Not to mention the iPhone itself.

I'm a Windows fanboy and won't touch anything Apple, [tho the iPod touch keeps calling my name] so it was with great amusement that I stumbled across this theme that gives Windoze the look and feel of Mac OS X. [I know, I gotta be a geek to even find this remotely amusing] O what sacrilegious delight!

OK, I'll stop.

IT WAS ALL A DREAM

Sitting here at my 'command center' [work] at seven in the morning, I'm having one of those contemplative moments about life. You know, kinda like the 'intellectual' jibber jabber that ensues while intoxicated with a bunch of friends.

I don't know why I never thought about it, but I live a destructive lifestyle. Most of us do, anyway. Is the human forever destined to live this way? I mean, all I do is work and go back home and not much else. Of course I'm glad I have a job, especially in this recession of sorts, don't get me wrong. But that's the problem right there - I'm supposed to be glad I have a job. I'm supposed to work all day. I'm supposed to pay my bills on time. I'm supposed to do all these things, and I've no idea why I'm supposed to. Who the hell thinks they're the boss of me?

Why, just the other day someone suggested that since, for the first time ever, I've been in a relationship a couple of years now, I should think about marriage. And I know exactly what would happen next - if we were to jump the broom, we'd be expected to spit kids out immediately. Why? Who said that's how things have to be done?

But I have a solution, my friends. Since this society is irreparably flawed, there isn't any point in trying to change it. What I need to do is start a completely new civilization. In that civilization, I'd keep out the things that plague our society [money, politics, OFFICE WORK, Apple computers, dentists] and keep the good like electricity, [a completely new] internet, PCs, smart phones and cars.

All I'd need is a deserted island somewhere along the equator. Since it'd be perpetually warm, I'd mandate that the women wear as little as possible. [What? It'd be hot there!] The only work that would be done is work that would ensure sustenance, like farm-work and masonry, computer and auto repair. Everyone would be required to work out an hour a day minimum - no lard allowed. Vegetarianism would be outlawed. There'd be no PETA, and every man would own a cat and every woman a dog. [It'd help them understand one other - the simplicity of man and complexity of woman]

*Yawn* Oh man, it's 8AM already? Now I'm up. What the hell am I talking about?! Back to work!