...of intelligence.
Why do I never learn. If I ignore the texts, they only come once every 3 months. If I type STOP, then they come every 2 weeks. YAY!
Texting STOP and the DO NOT CALL list should hook up one day and have a bastard child called the DO NOT STOP CALLing list. Word bitches. Word.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Sucker...
I've been getting calls from a (530) number and a (603) number everyday for the past month. Tonight I finally had enough. 530 called and I gave in and answered. Lo and behold it was UCD and its student minions begging for money. But they were sly about it. They chat you up and ask how you're doing and make sure your contact information is correct, and then they talk about how they want you to come back to the homecoming games and see other special Alumni. And right before the conversation gets to that awkward silent phase, they slip in this SOB story about how the campus desperately needs money in this financial crisis and how it's up to the alumni to support a school that has given so much to them blah blah freakin blah.
Well I hope you're happy UCD, you suckered me into giving you even more money. This must be what it feels like when the Mafia demands protection money. Bastards.
On another note, the Do Not Call list is a joke. Biggest. Scam. Ever.
603...STOP CALLING ME. I don't know anyone from New Hampshire. And guess what, I'm giving your number to the internets in hopes that they'll start calling you every stinkin day.
603-214-3645 - Take a long walk off a short pier.
Well I hope you're happy UCD, you suckered me into giving you even more money. This must be what it feels like when the Mafia demands protection money. Bastards.
On another note, the Do Not Call list is a joke. Biggest. Scam. Ever.
603...STOP CALLING ME. I don't know anyone from New Hampshire. And guess what, I'm giving your number to the internets in hopes that they'll start calling you every stinkin day.
603-214-3645 - Take a long walk off a short pier.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A's stands for...
Awful or awesome?
Both adjectives seem to sum up the events of today. Work was pretty crappy with even more primer problems and indications that there's been a contamination in a publicly used plate since early Nov '08. What's even more troubling is that everyone who uses that gene and my $500k primate study has been affected by it. Troubleshooting is a bitch, but I guess someone has to do it. Let's just hope that things pan out before I get in too deep.
It didn't seem like there would be much to salvage the day. That is until I got a text from my friend, E, inviting me to the A's game. Little did I know it would be full of awesome.
We started out in the outfield by the foul pole, then got a call from E's coworker to join him in a luxury box, which happened to be Al Davis' private suite. Leather seats, a kick ass stereo, private blinds for the windows and 4 tv's awaited us. To make it even better, we were on TV when the cameras panned into the room.
The A's pretty much sucked tonight, but it was the end of the night that made up for it. We snuck into the Yankee's player parking lot and took pics and got autographs from C.C Sabathia. That dude is freakin tall.
Blah I want to write more, but I'm uber tired. Sleep calls.
Night!
Both adjectives seem to sum up the events of today. Work was pretty crappy with even more primer problems and indications that there's been a contamination in a publicly used plate since early Nov '08. What's even more troubling is that everyone who uses that gene and my $500k primate study has been affected by it. Troubleshooting is a bitch, but I guess someone has to do it. Let's just hope that things pan out before I get in too deep.
It didn't seem like there would be much to salvage the day. That is until I got a text from my friend, E, inviting me to the A's game. Little did I know it would be full of awesome.
We started out in the outfield by the foul pole, then got a call from E's coworker to join him in a luxury box, which happened to be Al Davis' private suite. Leather seats, a kick ass stereo, private blinds for the windows and 4 tv's awaited us. To make it even better, we were on TV when the cameras panned into the room.
The A's pretty much sucked tonight, but it was the end of the night that made up for it. We snuck into the Yankee's player parking lot and took pics and got autographs from C.C Sabathia. That dude is freakin tall.
Blah I want to write more, but I'm uber tired. Sleep calls.
Night!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Boom! Head shot!
You know what really grinds my gears? Flies.
Flies are useless. They're not like bees or butterflies who help contribute to the world around them by pollinating flowers or providing honey for humans to eat. Flies contribute nothing. They buzz around annoying the crap out of you and stick their disgusting mouth/tongue all over our yummy food. And they love poop. Wtf.
As you can see, my love for flies is apparent. It's so apparent that one unlucky fly tried to make friends with me this evening. Buzz buzz here, buzz buzz there, flying around like it owned my room. MY room. That was the last mistake it'd ever make. But this was no ordinary house fly. This was the daredevil of flies. It wasn't just cruising around in a holding pattern like some 747, no sir, we're talking full out balls-to-the-wall Top Gun 4G inverted dives. It was faster and more maneuverable than my fly swatter, I'll give it that. That's why when one tried to make me its bitch, I had to bust out the big guns.
I waited till it landed on my desk and then, like the sneaky bastard that I am, revealed my secret weapons. In one hand, my trusty Maglite flashlight. In the other, Ol Blue, my fly-killing swatter of death. All great generals will tell you that when you're facing an adversary, your greatest ally is the element of surprise. And with many years of Risk, Starcraft, and countless other strategy games providing me the tools and knowledge of a successful flanking maneuver, I began my double pronged Panzer strike.
I began repeatedly attacking the its senses with a disorienting strobe light action from the Maglite while encroaching from the rear with Ol Blue. Masterfully, like a maestro of death, I timed my flashing with the beats of Trevor Rabin's "Evacuation" from Armageddon until the culmination of pulsating light and technosynth reached its crescendo and death rained down in one fell swoop.
One down, Graham's number - 1 to go.
Flies are useless. They're not like bees or butterflies who help contribute to the world around them by pollinating flowers or providing honey for humans to eat. Flies contribute nothing. They buzz around annoying the crap out of you and stick their disgusting mouth/tongue all over our yummy food. And they love poop. Wtf.
As you can see, my love for flies is apparent. It's so apparent that one unlucky fly tried to make friends with me this evening. Buzz buzz here, buzz buzz there, flying around like it owned my room. MY room. That was the last mistake it'd ever make. But this was no ordinary house fly. This was the daredevil of flies. It wasn't just cruising around in a holding pattern like some 747, no sir, we're talking full out balls-to-the-wall Top Gun 4G inverted dives. It was faster and more maneuverable than my fly swatter, I'll give it that. That's why when one tried to make me its bitch, I had to bust out the big guns.
I waited till it landed on my desk and then, like the sneaky bastard that I am, revealed my secret weapons. In one hand, my trusty Maglite flashlight. In the other, Ol Blue, my fly-killing swatter of death. All great generals will tell you that when you're facing an adversary, your greatest ally is the element of surprise. And with many years of Risk, Starcraft, and countless other strategy games providing me the tools and knowledge of a successful flanking maneuver, I began my double pronged Panzer strike.
I began repeatedly attacking the its senses with a disorienting strobe light action from the Maglite while encroaching from the rear with Ol Blue. Masterfully, like a maestro of death, I timed my flashing with the beats of Trevor Rabin's "Evacuation" from Armageddon until the culmination of pulsating light and technosynth reached its crescendo and death rained down in one fell swoop.
One down, Graham's number - 1 to go.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Fail
Project 24 is an epic fail. My goal was to take one picture a day for an entire year. Why? I'm not quite sure. Vanity perhaps? A small sense of accomplishment? Well it seems my laziness has gotten the best of me and in a 2 month period, I only ended up taking ~ 20 pics. Oops. I guess I have to start smaller with my ambitions. Maybe instead of a year, I'll start out with 1 month. Unless you have any other suggestions for a new project. Well, do you?
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