... err ... one

entrata - just what everyone has been waiting for, a bakiwop portal!

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BIG swing and a miss; strike two for work.

You may remember that I was supposed to create a site that looked like this - only blue. That was strike one.

Strike two involved the following conversation with an account manager (AM):

AM: "Can't you make it bigger?"

Me: "Make what bigger, exactly?"

AM: "You know, the site?"

Me: "What about the site design would you like me to make bigger?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Me: "The text. You would like a larger font?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Me: The images. You would like the images to be larger?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Me: "The logo. You would like the logo to be more prominent?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Me: "You don't like the fixed width. You would prefer that I make the page stretch all the way across the screen?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Me: *finally wises up and keeps my mouth shut*

AM: "It needs...something..."

Me: *keeps wised up and keeps my mouth shut*

AM: "You know. Something."

Me: *keeps wised up and keeps my mouth shut*

AM: "It needs to be bigger."

Me: *keeps wised up and keeps my mouth shut*

AM: "Bigger."

Me: "Is this something the client wants, or something you want?"

AM: "Something I want."

Me: "You are the weakest link. Goodbye."

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Stttttttttt eeeeeeeeeeeeeee rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike Threeeeeeeeeeeeee!

AM: "Can you change the nav? Make it bigger. Make the text 2 points bigger. Also, If you change the logo, that would be great. Oh yeah, and the colors, change the colors."

Me: "Was this site approved before you had me cut it up and make it live?"

AM: "No. The client wanted their site up ASAP, so we just put up what we had at the time. We were just trying to make the client happy."

Me: "And are they happy that we went and put up a site that they don't like?"

AM: *noncommittal grunt*

Actually, since I have to keep paying my bills, I suppose I will have to call this one a foul-tip. But...pow! bang! zoom!

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AAAARRRRGHHHH! I just realized I have turned into a whiny bahstahd!!! So, instead of whining about my job, I figure I will do something about it! My inspiration came from Dawn and a headline found on her site, eventual blog .

The headline reads: Former lottery winner jailed for meth manufacture.

What a great idea! Drugs!

This guy won a million dollars and turned a 400% profit! Isn't that what capitalism is all about?! Talk about your good money management! Talk about your smart investing! Let's see those Wall Street fat-cats do better!

Look at all the poor saps who invested their money and themselves in the so-called "legitimate" investment of a dot-com. Oh sure, for a few months they were driving around in SUVs and drinking double-mocha cappucinos, but where are they now? Laid-off, walking to Starbucks and buying single-mocha cappucinos. The inhumanity of it all!

Arresting that poor lottery winner was horrible - just another sign of big government trying to keep the small busineesman down! All he did was invest his money in a profitable business model!

So, inspired by a drug-lord millionaire, I am going to keep the dream alive! Now if I can just find some venture capital.

See you all in 3 to 5.

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I'm cool.

You may not have known that. You may not have suspected that. That thought may never have entered that beautiful head of yours. But I assure you, it's true.

Here's why.

It was a slow day at work today. None of the big-wig boss-types were in, and most of us little-wig non-boss-types were gone - but not me. I was puttin' in my time to the man.

Can you dig that? I knew ya could.

So it got to be around 1:30 or so, in the post meridiem that is, and I started thinking to myself, "Hey, I'm a cool-cat who is done with his chores. Let's say I blow this pop-stand."

So I puckered up and blew.

Can you dig that sassy-frassy-malassy? Heck, I knew ya could.

So I took the road to splitsville. I amscrayed. I ran, did not walk, to the nearest exit and departed the den of my dear employer. Two hours early.

Yeah.

What a fine and glorious day it was outside. Bright sun, cool breeze, and the great it's-a-friday-afternoon-i have-the-whole-weekend-ahead-of-me vibe was undulatin' to my very core!

Oh yeah.

So I hop in the car, open up the moon-roof, roll down the windows, and pop B.B. King Live at San Quentin into the cd player.

Let the good times roll, baby. Let the good times roll.

I am about to get on the highway when I see a Dairy Queen off to my right. Quick pocket-check turns up a five-spot. Ten minutes later I am on the highway, chocolate malt in hand.

I got some iiiiiiiiiice cream, and you ain't gooooot none. Want some ice cream? Psych.

I'm hittin' about 82 m.p.h. (in a 70 zone mind you), and I pass myself a group of about seven cars. Just ease right by 'em in the left-hand lane.

I say, can you *dig* it?! Mmmmhmmmm.

So I'm cruisin' right along. Not a care in the world. Cool as a cat. Cool as a cucumber. Cool as a cube of ice on a hot summer day. Cool as an antarctic night.

Pick your metaphor. Mix 'n' match, if you'd like. Cool

So, like I said, I'm cruisin' right along, somewhere in the low 80s, when all of a sudden I see a copper, the fuzz, the law, the man - sitting there in the left-hand break-down lane.

Not cool.

I check the rear-view, the nearest car is about a 1/2 mile back. No one to hide behind. I am stone-cold busted. It's the slammer for me, the lock-up, the big-house.

Well, at least a hefty fine.

Ya dig?

So I blow by the copper, about 80 or so. Nothing. No lights. No siren. That pork-mobile is just sittin' there. Maybe that copper's a cool-cat catchin' a little cat-nap.

Check the rear-view again. Nope. There's the copper, pullin' out.

Sheeeeeiiiiiiit

Move to the right lane. Slow down. Turn down the volume of the cd player. Check the rear-view again. Copper-lights are flashin'.

Wait? What's this? That copper done gone pulled over one of those cats I passed a few miles back!

Shweeeeeeeeeet.

Hit the left-hand lane. Turn up B.B. Reach comfortable cruising speed. Get home safe and sound.

Can you dig that?

I knew you could.

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It was Saturday night, around 10:30, and my girlfriend and I were driving back from a weekly outdoor car show in downtown St. Paul.

I don't know much about cars, except for the fact that there is a pedal for acceleration, a wheel-thingy to turn with, and some knobs to play with the radio.

Oh yeah, there is also a pedal for slowing down, but I don't use that much.

So we are driving back from this car show and I hear this advertisement on the radio:

"Abosulte Bail Bonds. Buy one of our t-shirts for $19.95, and the next time you get arrested while wearing one of our t-shirts you get 10% off the up-front money of your bail bond. Why are we doing this? Because Absolute Bail Bonds wants *your* patronage! Call xxx-xxxx today"

Excellent.

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Aaaaaacccchhhh! Aaaaarrrrghhhhhh! Eeeeeeeeeek! (insert surprised semi-nonsensical word here)

So I just found out that my *mother* and *father* are reading my blog! I couldn't fucki...I mean...hi mom and dad!

So, I am afraid I will have to take a day or two to scour my log for all the naughty bits and remove them. Until then, here are some recent logs I have discovered (or rediscovered).

He's not a loony! I had hours of fun trying to discover the difference between "pissed off" and "pensive" on his "who" page (I guess I have that simple mind, simple pleasure thing going on).

She's dynagirl! I''m from the Milwaukee area and it is nice to find a good blog down there.

What?! Bob the Corgi?! She's actual size but she seems much bigger.

Michele has a fire inside. She's a Yankees fan, but she is still very nice.

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Tuesday night.

For my Thursday night class I have just over 200 pages of book reading, just over 50 pages of research paper reading, and a 10 page paper to write. I have to really buckle down so I can get it all done in time. So I ask my girlfriend if she wants to go see a movie.

Quick run to the ATM. Hop on over to the theater. Pay for tickets.

"That'll be $15.50 please."

"Huh?" I say trying to explain that she must have made a mistake.

"$15.50."

"What?" I manage, adding a confused look.

"$15.50."

"Uhh." I argue - and rather coherently I thought.

"1...5...dot...5....0."

"..." I add.

"$15.50, *please*."

"Here you go," says my girlfriend handing over a $20. "Come *on* honey!" She says grabbing the change while smiling at the cashier in a way that suggests I am feeble but not dangerous.

"But...but...but..." I explain to my girlfriend.

"Yes, dear," she says. "This is what people pay when they go to an evening movie."

I manage to nod my head and close my mouth. In my defense, we usually go to matinees.

Head on over to the concession stand and get a large, buttery, salty popcorn and a large box of junior mints. Oh yes, we also get *medium* sodas - have to watch our health.

"Now honey," I said. "Are you *sure* you don't want to get the extra-large popcorn?"

"No. I don't want any."

Right

Show the tickets to the ticket-taker guy. Try to figure out if he mumbled "on your left" or "on your right". Find the correct theater. Get some good seats. Previews begin. Our hands meet romantically in the popcorn box.

"Hey," I say as indignantly as I can while whispering with a mouth full of popcorn, "I thought you didn't want any popcorn."

"I'm just taking it from the side," she offers.

"Perhaps you don't understand how this works," I say. "It doesn't matter from *where* you take the popcorn, it still leaves the box."

Receive small peck on the cheek as she reaches in for another handful of popcorn.

Movie begins.

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CNN Headline News usually uses the tagline, "CNN. The get to the point news network." before cutting to the commercials.

And there are a *lot* of commercials.

Point taken.

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Rosa

The year was 1995; I had this car.

Rosa was a bright red, mid 80's Nissan 200sx xe with power windows, power moonroof, power mirrors, air conditioning, radio/cassette with equalizer, 5 speed manual transmission, pop up headlights, keyless entry, and that voice that would tell you when you left your lights on or your door ajar.

This was, however, 1995, not the mid 80's.

The power windows only worked if it was above 50 degrees (I lived in Minnesota at the time), the power mirrors only worked if I used my own power to move them, the air conditioning button did depress and light up when pushed - but no cold (or even slightly cool) air would come out of the blowers (unless of course it was winter), the radio could only catch one frequency (a golden oldies station that played music like Chubby Checker's The Twist and Jerry Lee Lewis' Great Balls of Fire), the pop up headlights would not pop down, the keyless entry was indeed keyless - the driver's side door would not lock, and the voice would only say "Yo or s ar" (translation: Your door is ajar) but it would say this often because the driver's side door was a bit off of its hinges and did not close entirely properly.

The power moonroof and the manual transmission worked fine.

I loved this car.

Rosa was given to me by my cool cousin who was moving to Australia to begin some high-paying business-type job. He knew that I was in college and was looking for a cheap car. Rosa cost me $1 to buy and $20 to register. She was perfect for me.

Over the years that I owned her, I had to make a few modifications.

I had to put duct tape over the sharp, pointy, metal edges by the doors so people (including me) wouldn't keep snagging their shirts, sweaters, and coats on them. I had to use dental floss (surprisingly strong stuff!) to help hold the license plates in place. I had to hold the manual transmission firmly in first gear because of its propensity to slip out into neutral. I had to stock a goodly number of spare fuses in the glove compartment because the radio's fuse kept blowing.

All of this was okay though.

She was *my* car. She was fairly maintenance free (besides the occasional changing of the duct tape, dental floss, and fuse). And I only used her a couple of times a week, mostly to pick up groceries, friends, or dates.

Speaking of friends and dates, they didn't like her much. They didn't like the way she looked, the way she sounded, or the way she smelled (in her declining months, there was some sort of exhaust problem) - she was pretty much an assault on the senses.

The groceries didn't mind her at all.

The last few months of her life she struggled.

She couldn't make it up large hills. She couldn't produce any warm air for the blowers. She could no longer say "Yo or s ar". The transmission warning light was always on. The parking break stopped working (this along with her propensity to slip into neutral made parking difficult).

I had to giver her up.

I couldn't even get the fifty bucks that the salvage yard offers people for their cars because they had to come to my home and tow it instead of me being able to drive it out to them. Cheap bastards.

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The year is 2001; I have this car.

It's a nice, shiny, new luxury car with power windows, power mirrors, air conditioning, seat warmers, cd player, etc.

Everything works. It is a very nice, comfortable, safe car.

But it isn't Rosa.

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I was driving with my girlfriend the other day, when I noticed someone tailgating me. I mean really riding my butt.

Now I can understand why this person would want to do that - my derriere being the fine example of anatomy that it is.

But I didn't like it, so I moved over when I could, to let them pass.

When they *did* pass I noticed it was a family - mom, dad, five little kids in the back seats, and a dog - they were in a minivan.

When they went by, the mother and two of the little kids flipped me off.

I even thought I saw the baby pull the pacifier out of its mouth and throw it at the window.

I glanced at their license plate, it read, "FMLY VLS".

Family Values.

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I think my girlfriend and I may have a problem.

You see, I was an "Electric Company", "Sesame Street", and "Mr. Rogers" kind of kid while she was a "Land of the Lost", "Electric Boogalos", and "HR Puff 'n' Snuff" kind of kid.

Yeah, like puff 'n' snuff is a good message for kids - can you say "sponsored by big tobacco" boys and girls?

Like I said, problems - serious compatibility issues.

I think we do have a saving grace, however.

We did both like "The Great Space Coaster" (come on board! it's the great space coaster, yeah, yeah, yeah!).

God bless Speed Reader and Gary Gnu.

There's no news like Gary Gnus!

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It has come to my attention - through Tara - that HR Puff 'n' Snuff was actually HR Puf'n'Stuf.

Damn women always proving me wrong. How can I make a good anti-tobacco joke from puf 'n' stuf?!

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Each day this week I've felt that it was a Friday.

Even Monday, which I usually think of as an evil and horrible joke perpetrated on (or by) humanity, I felt it was Friday.

So each day this week I've been trying to talk myself out of the "Friday feeling".

Now that today *is* Friday I pretty much feel validated, and a little confused.

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"Honey, can you get the remote for me?" She said as we were both lying in bed, very comfortable and in no mood to move whatsoever. The remote was at the far edge of the bed.

Maybe if I just lie here she will think I'm asleep.

"I know you are up, love...pleeeeaaaassseee."

Okay, can't play 'possum - battle stations!

"Hoooonnneeeeyyyy!" I said, going for the whine, thus indicating that I didn't feel like moving.

"Pleeeaaaasssse," she said, batting her eyelashes a bit.

"If you want it, why don't you get it, dear?" I said, hoping logic might win the day.

"Pleeeeaaaassse," she said again - more eyelash batting.

Uh oh, she isn't even bothering changing tactics - this does not bode well.

"Woman, get it your damn self!" I say in my best "woman don't you mess with me I am your master voice".

"Pleeeeeaaaaasssse." Again with the batting. She didn't fall for it - I never could get that caveman approach to work.

"Alright! Alright!" I said extending one of my arms and making a humming noise.

"What are you doing?!" She asked

"Using the force."

Hum ten seconds.

"Honey, the force isn't working. I'll try super-samurai-ninja-kick."

Super-samurai-ninja-kick manages to fling remote off the bed.

"Honey, super-samurai-ninja-kick didn't work. I'll try simple levitation."

Close my eyes, put my fingers to my temples, concentrate hard.

"Honey, simple levitation didn't wor..."

"I have the remote," she said having gotten off the bed and retrieved the remote.

"I'll try not-so-simple levitation," I said grabbing the remote and flinging it across the room.

"What did you do that for?!" She asked.

"Not-so-simple levitation, dear. I'll try vulcan mind meld!"

"I'm taking a shower." She said, getting up and leaving me alone.

If your interested, the vulcan mind meld didn't work either.

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I am *so* geeking out this week:

Me: "DIE REBEL SCUM!"

Her: "What?"

Me: "DIE REBEL SCUM!"

Her: "But I don't want to be rebel scum!"

Me: "No no no. You don't understand - rebel scum is a good thing. That means you get to be Luke Skywalker or Princess Leia."

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When I was young, lying in bed, and scared because of a storm, or because of the shadows in my room, or because of the monsters under my bed I would close my eyes real tight, pull the covers up over my head (to quote an author, "covers are boogey-man kryptonite, baby"), and try to think my happy thoughts.

My happy thoughts generally revolved around Mickey Mouse. Those big ears, that fun smile, those happy eyes.

Usually, thinking of Mickey Mouse worked. I would go to sleep with that image in my head and I wouldn't have bad dreams.

Now, of course, I know Mickey Mouse to be the corporate whore that he is.

caveat lector