Because of the physiology of our bodies, drinking cold water or liquids when we're hot does not make us cooler (the consumption of liquid nitrogen, oxygen, or any other super cooled liquid being the exception, of course). By drinking a cold beverage you fool your body into thinking your core is cooler than what it actually is, and when we're cold our body reduces the flow of blood to our skin surface and extremities to reduce heat loss, so we're making our body do the very opposite of what we really need it to do. By drinking a hot beverage the reverse occurs, our body thinks our core is hotter than what it actually is so it increases the flow of blood to our skin surface and extremities to promote heat loss; despite this, when we're hot and sweaty a hot cup of tea or coffee is usually the last thing on our minds.
I was on the Elliptical Trainer at the gym this morning for all of 12 minutes. I started off at 130spm(strides per minute), after about 3 minutes stepped it up to 150spm for 5 minutes, then finished off the last two minutes or so at 170spm, before slowing right down for a couple of minutes around 100spm. Apparently I burned up 1600 calories in just 12 minutes. I didn't really start perspiring until about 5 minutes in to the workout, but the difference between the Elliptical Trainer and the Treadmill is not just in the impact level of the workout (with two dodgy knees I want as low impact as I can get), I usually don't perspire anywhere near as much using a treadmill as I do on the Elliptical Trainer. I also seem to have to run for 20 to 30 minutes on a treadmill for it to tell me I've burned anywhere near 1000 calories, let alone 1600.
Let's see...if I have a 3-foot (or 1 yard) stride, then in the 12 minutes I did:
3x130 + 5x150 + 2x170 + 2x100 = 1680 strides
1680 strides = 0.95 miles in 12 minutes = approx. 4.75 miles per hour
which is not even what I set the treadmill on for a workout, so why was I sweating like a pig for doing considerably less than the average treadmill workout, and why was I still sweating at work almost an hour later...well that was because the building management decided to follow Mayor Villaraigosa's idiotic directive and set the thermostat at 78F so it's not like the building was cool when we got here.
But if my calculations are correct, I took approx. 1600 strides, and the machine claimed I burned off 1600 calories...that's like 1 calorie per step! I reckon I burned off more though, what with the rate I was perspiring even after I'd finished exercising, but still...1600 calories in 12 minutes??? I dont even burn off that much after 30 minutes on the treadmill.
How can 12 minutes on the Elliptical Trainer provide a more intensive workout than 30 minutes on the treadmill? Riddle me that, Edward Nigma.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
The war on Tourism...I mean Terrorism
This is bloody ridiculous!
The Property Manager of Southgate, a very large Mall and popular tourist shopping spot in Melbourne, Australia, is upset because some tourists were taking photographs of "obscure things...things that would be of no interest to put in a photo album". The items being photographed were facades of buildings, i.e., shop fronts, which I'm sure some people would find interesting. Maybe Ms. Barrance does not find them interesting, although she's Property Manager of Southgate so I'd think she should be fascinated by facades of buildings, but that doesn't mean other people wouldn't be fascinated by them.
When we were in Australia we took a photograph of a mural inside a large department store that featured a male model. The mural had been painted over a wall and a door in such a way that the door "knob" was in an extremely inappropriate but very amusing position, in relation to the male model, that is. So we took a photograph of it. No, we didn't display it in a photo album, but we showed it to several friends when we got back :)
Tourists take photographs of things, often things we consider mundane and ordinary, but these are tourists, this is the first, last, & only time they might see these things, even if it's just a shop front. I walk down the streets of Los Angeles and people are taking photographs and video taping everything and anything. If it moves, shoot it. I understand. I did that when I first got here, too. I took many, many photographs of downtown Los Angeles. When we got the photos developed Liz asked me where I'd taken them. I told her they'd all been taken within a block of her office, and yet it was the first time she'd seen most of those objects and buildings.
I think Ms. Barrance needs to learn the difference between a tourist and a terrorist.
The Property Manager of Southgate, a very large Mall and popular tourist shopping spot in Melbourne, Australia, is upset because some tourists were taking photographs of "obscure things...things that would be of no interest to put in a photo album". The items being photographed were facades of buildings, i.e., shop fronts, which I'm sure some people would find interesting. Maybe Ms. Barrance does not find them interesting, although she's Property Manager of Southgate so I'd think she should be fascinated by facades of buildings, but that doesn't mean other people wouldn't be fascinated by them.
When we were in Australia we took a photograph of a mural inside a large department store that featured a male model. The mural had been painted over a wall and a door in such a way that the door "knob" was in an extremely inappropriate but very amusing position, in relation to the male model, that is. So we took a photograph of it. No, we didn't display it in a photo album, but we showed it to several friends when we got back :)
Tourists take photographs of things, often things we consider mundane and ordinary, but these are tourists, this is the first, last, & only time they might see these things, even if it's just a shop front. I walk down the streets of Los Angeles and people are taking photographs and video taping everything and anything. If it moves, shoot it. I understand. I did that when I first got here, too. I took many, many photographs of downtown Los Angeles. When we got the photos developed Liz asked me where I'd taken them. I told her they'd all been taken within a block of her office, and yet it was the first time she'd seen most of those objects and buildings.
I think Ms. Barrance needs to learn the difference between a tourist and a terrorist.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Eccythump, this one's for you
I've brought over a lot of stuff from Australia, including almost an entire suitcase full of Games Workshop miniatures (1.5" high, plastic models for table top battle games). One of those games was Necromunda, a game Eccythump and I spent many months playing and arguing over, on account of the rules being a little ambiguous and so Eccy and I could never agree on exactly which rule applied in each situation.
A week or so ago, JE discovered the clear plastic storage box containing the Necromunda game, the box of which is decorated with savage looking punks with bright red mohawks wielding very BIG Guns. Guns deserves a capital G because they have really BIG Guns.
Being 6-years old JE immediately wanted to play with this fascinating looking game, unfortunately many of the pieces are missing, on account of me leaving the game in the care of my 6 year old nephew for 6 years. I don't blame the nephew, I left it for him because he'd always wanted to play with it but I knew exactly what would happen if he did, and I left it to him anyway. The plastic models were also mostly unpainted on account of me being a lazy bastard, and Eccy and I didn't really care about them being unpainted, we just had fun playing and arguing and spending quality time together.
Today I bought new paints (on account of the old ones being dried up, after 5+ years of non-use ;) and just spent over 2 hours painting 6 models. And the following pics are the results of my 2+ hours of concentration. Not fantastic, not bad, but not great work either. But then all I wanted to do was get a few models painted for JE to play with, and he's not going to care about a slap dash job, he just wants to play with them.
Aah, Eccy. Those were the good old days. When are you next coming to visit us? It's only a 15-hour plane ride ;)
Here's the best of the pics. One of them is not so hot, but it shows 5 of the 6 models I painted, all together. The pics are clickable and will blow up to Epic Proportions if you do so. Fairly warned be thee, says I.
A week or so ago, JE discovered the clear plastic storage box containing the Necromunda game, the box of which is decorated with savage looking punks with bright red mohawks wielding very BIG Guns. Guns deserves a capital G because they have really BIG Guns.
Being 6-years old JE immediately wanted to play with this fascinating looking game, unfortunately many of the pieces are missing, on account of me leaving the game in the care of my 6 year old nephew for 6 years. I don't blame the nephew, I left it for him because he'd always wanted to play with it but I knew exactly what would happen if he did, and I left it to him anyway. The plastic models were also mostly unpainted on account of me being a lazy bastard, and Eccy and I didn't really care about them being unpainted, we just had fun playing and arguing and spending quality time together.
Today I bought new paints (on account of the old ones being dried up, after 5+ years of non-use ;) and just spent over 2 hours painting 6 models. And the following pics are the results of my 2+ hours of concentration. Not fantastic, not bad, but not great work either. But then all I wanted to do was get a few models painted for JE to play with, and he's not going to care about a slap dash job, he just wants to play with them.
Aah, Eccy. Those were the good old days. When are you next coming to visit us? It's only a 15-hour plane ride ;)
Here's the best of the pics. One of them is not so hot, but it shows 5 of the 6 models I painted, all together. The pics are clickable and will blow up to Epic Proportions if you do so. Fairly warned be thee, says I.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
An illegitimate minority?
I'm seriously considering checking the "Other" category on any form that ask for my ethnicity (other than those where I might get in trouble from the Feds), then writing in Australian-American, for that's what I am. I think if someone whose family has never set foot outside of the U.S. anytime in the last 200 years can claim to be an African-American, I, who have only been here in the U.S. for 8 years, can call myself an Australian-American.
I'm an American citizen but I don't think like an American, but after being here for eight years I also no longer think quite like an Australian. I'm not an American, and I'm not an Australian; I'm an Australian-American. In fact that's legally correct because I am a citizen of both countries.
I'm sure I'll get funny looks from some people, but I'll just explain that while I may look Caucasian, I'm actually an Australian-American.
I'm an American citizen but I don't think like an American, but after being here for eight years I also no longer think quite like an Australian. I'm not an American, and I'm not an Australian; I'm an Australian-American. In fact that's legally correct because I am a citizen of both countries.
I'm sure I'll get funny looks from some people, but I'll just explain that while I may look Caucasian, I'm actually an Australian-American.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Use Google for good, not evil
Actually it's not so much evil...just googling the wrong things, and not even the wrong things, really, just sometimes I google my previous life, like the Twin Cities Archery Club. I used to belong to this club. Shot in a few tournaments with them. Won a few trophies. Had a good time with the gang. I just googled them now (as you can probably tell) and it made me depressed. Not because of anything that's happened, just because this is one more chapter in my life that's closed to me now. I know the President and Secretary. I could email them...but there's no point. We might email each other back and forth, and then we'd stop, and life would go on, as it always does.
Circus! Curcus!
We took JE to the Circus last night, it was pretty good, and the seats Liz bought were awesome, just 3 rows from ringside. The Circus (or at least Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey, whose show we saw) appear to be giving their shows a theme and tying everything in together; this time around it was the Circus of Dreams, where all of your dreams can come true.
A "family" was randomly picked out of the audience, and they just happened to be sitting in the very front row, right in front of us in fact. Dad, Mom, older daughter, Jan, and younger brother, Dan, all ran into the center ring and were asked what their "dream Circus job" was. As soon as Dad opened his mouth it was obvious they were plants. "Well that's easy," said Dad, "I want to be the Ring Master so everyone has to do what I say." And with that a bright red, sequined Ring Master's jacket was lowered from the ceiling and "Dad" slid it on. "Oh yeah! This is great," he said, as he ran off backstage. Mom said she wanted to be a trapeze aerialist and a ring was lowered from the ceiling. Mom climbed in, showing too much familiarity with the ring than would be expected in a non-Circus Mom, and the ring was hoisted away up into the ceiling. Jan said she wanted to be a Circus Dancer. She received a multi-colored wraparound skirt like that worn by the other Circus Dancers, and when she put it on and stepped in with the Dancers she was indistinguishable.
Then Dan spoke up saying he was just a little kid, what could he do? Quite a lot, really. Dan, like Dad, Mom, & Jan, was a ringer. He was actually one of the youngest actors in the Chinese Theatre group which gave three performances throughout the evening. As well as the very athletic Chinese acrobats we were treated to several performances by the Clowns. The Cossack Horse Riders also gave several excellent shows, and were later described by Liz as "yummy". She then had to explain to our 6-year old son with the big ears what "yummy" meant :D
Madame Shamshiva gave two performances which involved a lot of tricks with dogs, cats, and doves, but midway through her second performance I started to develop a dislike for her. The trained animals were very good, I just got bad vibes from her. Maybe it was the way one of the dogs cowered from her and rolled onto his back, which is what he was meant to do, the rolling on the back that is, not the cowering. Maybe it was that she seemed to take all of the credit for the animals, and accepted all the accolades when they performed a difficult trick, rather than directing your applause to the animal who actually performed the trick. Yes, she may have trained them, but to me she gave off a vibe of "I taught him that. Aren't I clever?"
The real highlight of the show was the Globe of Death, or something like that. Three motorbikes (the enduro variety, not street bikes) rode up the ramp and inside the Globe, positioned themselves, then began riding around the inside of the Globe until they were actually riding sideways, then they began riding higher and darting in among each other, crisscrossing in an awesome display of skill (& trust) where one wrong move would have been catastrophic. Then another bike joined them and their dance with death resumed. Then two more bikes rode in and it was just a blur of machinery inside the Globes as everyone rode seemingly at random between everyone else, but in what was obviously a brilliantly choreographed dance. I guess you'd start that with two bikes, but it's not something that could be practiced at slow speeds, because at times the bikes were doing complete loops, riding upside-down across the roof of the Globe, and there's no way you can slowly ride a bike upside down. I forget if there were eventually 6 or 7 bikes inside zipping around and missing each other by inches, but as the riders set a new World Record for 5 bikes inside the Globe of Death way back in 2003, I suspect it was probably 7.
All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Yahoo Maps? What's that?
I may never use Yahoo Maps again (except for the fact that I have a ton of saved addresses in My Yahoo Maps®) because Google Maps are Friggin' AWESOME! Did they recently upgrade their Maps? Or have they always been this awesome?
Type in the address, maximize the window, and there's a full screen Map, not like this piddly little thing Yahoo gives you. Need to zoom in on an area, position the mouse cursor over your point of interest and roll the mouse wheel forward. Want to Zoom out, same thing but in reverse. Want to scroll the map? Left click & hold anywhere on the map...and drag! It's that simple!
Printing. Google Maps provide a much easier to read map than Yahoo.
But the real clincher, more for the fun & wowness factor, is the button in the top right corner that says Satellite. Click it and the Map changes to a recent Satellite photo that can be Zoomed in to disturbing levels.
I can see my House!!!
Type in the address, maximize the window, and there's a full screen Map, not like this piddly little thing Yahoo gives you. Need to zoom in on an area, position the mouse cursor over your point of interest and roll the mouse wheel forward. Want to Zoom out, same thing but in reverse. Want to scroll the map? Left click & hold anywhere on the map...and drag! It's that simple!
Printing. Google Maps provide a much easier to read map than Yahoo.
But the real clincher, more for the fun & wowness factor, is the button in the top right corner that says Satellite. Click it and the Map changes to a recent Satellite photo that can be Zoomed in to disturbing levels.
I can see my House!!!
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Scratch & Sniff : Public Transport
Aah, the smells of Public Transport.
This morning on the bus the guy that chose to stand over top of me had an interesting aroma that I just couldn't quite place. It wasn't B.O., but it was definitely an unwashed kind of odor, and when I finally placed it, man did I wish I hadn't.
It was stale urine, as if the guy had pissed in his pants a few days ago and hadn't washed them or even changed out of them.
This afternoon, thankfully just a few stops before mine, no, it wasn't the same guy; an older guy got on and I offered him the seat next to me (I had the aisle seat). After he sits down he turns to me and says "thank you", and I pretty damn near got drunk right there. This guy was also pissed, but in a different way than the morning guy.
We drove past the police station and the guy tells me he works there. Phew! I try to avoid breathing whatever the hell he's blowing out coz he reeks more than the morning guy. Then, he tells me they've been knocking back a few at work.
Like it's not already obvious!
This guy continued to talk the rest of the way, changing subjects almost every sentence, and blowing out a massive amount of alcohol fumes with every breath. I've never been so glad to get to my stop. I said goodbye to the old lush, got off the bus and staggered, I mean walked home.
This morning on the bus the guy that chose to stand over top of me had an interesting aroma that I just couldn't quite place. It wasn't B.O., but it was definitely an unwashed kind of odor, and when I finally placed it, man did I wish I hadn't.
It was stale urine, as if the guy had pissed in his pants a few days ago and hadn't washed them or even changed out of them.
This afternoon, thankfully just a few stops before mine, no, it wasn't the same guy; an older guy got on and I offered him the seat next to me (I had the aisle seat). After he sits down he turns to me and says "thank you", and I pretty damn near got drunk right there. This guy was also pissed, but in a different way than the morning guy.
We drove past the police station and the guy tells me he works there. Phew! I try to avoid breathing whatever the hell he's blowing out coz he reeks more than the morning guy. Then, he tells me they've been knocking back a few at work.
Like it's not already obvious!
This guy continued to talk the rest of the way, changing subjects almost every sentence, and blowing out a massive amount of alcohol fumes with every breath. I've never been so glad to get to my stop. I said goodbye to the old lush, got off the bus and staggered, I mean walked home.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Sixth Sense 2 *Contains spoilers*
Do a Ctrl-A or just click & drag to highlight the below text.
Why did Malcom's patient shoot him at the start of SS(1)? Because Malcolm didn't help him like he said he would.
In SS2 it's revealed that Malcolm's patient (& murderer) is actually an adult Cole. In SS(1) Malcolm's ghost actually traveled back in time to find and treat a young Cole, but as we all know from the end of SS(1), while Malcolm accepts his death and moves on, Cole still sees dead people!
Now, after years of seeing dead people at all hours of the day and night (as will be chronicled in SS2), Cole goes insane and takes out his frustration on the one person who he thinks let him down most, Dr. Malcolm Crowe.
The mandatory Shyamalan twist being that Malcolm won't even attempt to help Cole until after Cole has killed him!
Why did Malcom's patient shoot him at the start of SS(1)? Because Malcolm didn't help him like he said he would.
In SS2 it's revealed that Malcolm's patient (& murderer) is actually an adult Cole. In SS(1) Malcolm's ghost actually traveled back in time to find and treat a young Cole, but as we all know from the end of SS(1), while Malcolm accepts his death and moves on, Cole still sees dead people!
Now, after years of seeing dead people at all hours of the day and night (as will be chronicled in SS2), Cole goes insane and takes out his frustration on the one person who he thinks let him down most, Dr. Malcolm Crowe.
The mandatory Shyamalan twist being that Malcolm won't even attempt to help Cole until after Cole has killed him!
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Babies; nature's chemical weapons
Liz falls for it almost every time. I pick Amber up and stick her butt in Liz's face and ask if she thinks Amber is dirty, so Liz takes a big sniff. And that's definitely the wrong thing to do when someone shoves a baby's butt in your face :D
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Using Blogging powers for good, not evil
Mog's Blog reminded me of my recent trip to the Vet/Kennel where I was picking up Anzac (who we're trying to find a new home for, by the way, so if you live in the Los Angeles area, or even the Southern California area, and are in the market for a good doggy, check out this page.)
Mog stopping to pick up a kitten abandoned on the highway reminded me of the kitten a chap brought into the Vets while I was there. The little guy can't have been much more than four weeks old yet someone had dumped him in this fellow's yard. The reason for the dumping was quite clear; although the kitten was very cute, his left eye was twice the size of his right and it was obvious he'd need surgery, but it was just as obvious that he was destined to go through life with one eye. So someone didn't want to deal with the expense of taking care of the kitten, and couldn't even be stuffed taking him to the animal shelter and claiming they'd found him, so they just dumped him in someone else's yard. Nice one, asshole, solve your problem by making it someone else's problem.
In the two days that the chap said he'd had him, the kitten had totally bonded with him; finding himself a surrogate mother. The guy was most likely in for several hundred dollars of Vets' bills, and at the end of it all, his new pet would still be missing one eye, but the guy didn't seem overly concerned with that; he was more concerned with making sure the kitten got taken care of, properly.
Some people are pet people, some people should never be allowed near pets.
Mog stopping to pick up a kitten abandoned on the highway reminded me of the kitten a chap brought into the Vets while I was there. The little guy can't have been much more than four weeks old yet someone had dumped him in this fellow's yard. The reason for the dumping was quite clear; although the kitten was very cute, his left eye was twice the size of his right and it was obvious he'd need surgery, but it was just as obvious that he was destined to go through life with one eye. So someone didn't want to deal with the expense of taking care of the kitten, and couldn't even be stuffed taking him to the animal shelter and claiming they'd found him, so they just dumped him in someone else's yard. Nice one, asshole, solve your problem by making it someone else's problem.
In the two days that the chap said he'd had him, the kitten had totally bonded with him; finding himself a surrogate mother. The guy was most likely in for several hundred dollars of Vets' bills, and at the end of it all, his new pet would still be missing one eye, but the guy didn't seem overly concerned with that; he was more concerned with making sure the kitten got taken care of, properly.
Some people are pet people, some people should never be allowed near pets.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
More from the douche bag
This guy is great! :)
I told you I love to hate him. And it's not just me, either, everyone loves to hate him...or maybe everyone just hates him :P The guy loves to talk, but he always seems to ask the most inane questions. Today we had an hour long training session with a Cisco Rep on how to use our new Cisco phones (which come with voicemail), and we lucked out and had Mr. D in our session. When the Cisco Rep was talking about the voicemail, Mr. D asks her what they're supposed to do with voicemails. The Cisco Rep appears confused by Mr D's question, and rightly so, because it's definitely a "what the f**k???" kind of question.
"Um, what do you mean, what do you do with voicemails?"
First up Mr D blows his own trumpet by saying many people know his name, as if he's extremely important (more likely everyone knows his name so they know who to avoid), then he elaborates, explaining that because everyone knows him, he keeps getting calls from people so he has all these voicemails (today is our second day in the new office with voicemail), but as Mr D continues with his story he informs us that it's actually the one guy who's called and he just leaves his name and number but no message. And apparently he's left ten messages since yesterday.
Mr D explains that there's no actual message, just a name and a number, and he appears averse to just returning the call and asking why this fellow keeps calling him, so, what should he do? Should he forward the messages to someone? What...should he...do?
The Rep takes in the room and our expressions, and she realizes that we're all familiar with Mr D and his WTF questions, so she goes with the flow and tells Mr D that if this guy has left 10 messages for him, maybe he should return his calls.
As Mr D is about to ask something equally stupid, or perhaps repeat his question in the hope that he will be provided with some magical number to which he can forward all his voicemails and never have to deal with them himself, two other coworkers cut him off and ask slightly more relevant questions, like how many days will messages remain in the voicemail box, and how many messages can it hold. Everyone thinks Mr D will be the first to discover the answer to that second question. With the training session over everyone got up to leave, except for Mr D who apparently stayed behind to ask more WTF questions.
One of the best features of our new phones is call forwarding. We decided we should set up Call Forward so all our incoming calls go to Mr D's line. We also thought of leaving voicemails for him using a funny voice and giving Mr D's own number, so if he ever returns our calls he will get his own voicemail. Mr D makes life so much fun :)
I told you I love to hate him. And it's not just me, either, everyone loves to hate him...or maybe everyone just hates him :P The guy loves to talk, but he always seems to ask the most inane questions. Today we had an hour long training session with a Cisco Rep on how to use our new Cisco phones (which come with voicemail), and we lucked out and had Mr. D in our session. When the Cisco Rep was talking about the voicemail, Mr. D asks her what they're supposed to do with voicemails. The Cisco Rep appears confused by Mr D's question, and rightly so, because it's definitely a "what the f**k???" kind of question.
"Um, what do you mean, what do you do with voicemails?"
First up Mr D blows his own trumpet by saying many people know his name, as if he's extremely important (more likely everyone knows his name so they know who to avoid), then he elaborates, explaining that because everyone knows him, he keeps getting calls from people so he has all these voicemails (today is our second day in the new office with voicemail), but as Mr D continues with his story he informs us that it's actually the one guy who's called and he just leaves his name and number but no message. And apparently he's left ten messages since yesterday.
Mr D explains that there's no actual message, just a name and a number, and he appears averse to just returning the call and asking why this fellow keeps calling him, so, what should he do? Should he forward the messages to someone? What...should he...do?
The Rep takes in the room and our expressions, and she realizes that we're all familiar with Mr D and his WTF questions, so she goes with the flow and tells Mr D that if this guy has left 10 messages for him, maybe he should return his calls.
As Mr D is about to ask something equally stupid, or perhaps repeat his question in the hope that he will be provided with some magical number to which he can forward all his voicemails and never have to deal with them himself, two other coworkers cut him off and ask slightly more relevant questions, like how many days will messages remain in the voicemail box, and how many messages can it hold. Everyone thinks Mr D will be the first to discover the answer to that second question. With the training session over everyone got up to leave, except for Mr D who apparently stayed behind to ask more WTF questions.
One of the best features of our new phones is call forwarding. We decided we should set up Call Forward so all our incoming calls go to Mr D's line. We also thought of leaving voicemails for him using a funny voice and giving Mr D's own number, so if he ever returns our calls he will get his own voicemail. Mr D makes life so much fun :)
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Where's my coffee?
We moved to our new office today (finally merged with the crew from the Main Office after 5 years, that I've been here) , and I find out I'm still in charge of the coffee. I thought I'd be able to fob it off on some poor, unsuspecting schmoe from the Main Office but no such luck. It's a little annoying, and disruptive, to be in charge of the coffee. I get bugged a few times a day for change (because I keep all the money, I think I'll just start telling people I have no change) or because the pot needs refilling, and yet we have a Keurig machine which makes an 8oz cup of freshly brewed coffee whenever you need it.
In preparation for the move I did some OT this past weekend. There were a few peeps in the office but I was the only one there that drank coffee, so I was damned if I was going to make a 12-cup pot of coffee for me; I just used the Keurig machine. Mid-way through the morning one of the guys I love to hate showed up.
Just to bitch about this guy for a minute, we used to host training sessions for engineers from other bureaus, and we'd cater for those sessions, brewing up a pot of coffee and bring in donuts and pastries. Although there was also coffee in the break room, this guy would come into the conference room and help himself to a cup of coffee and a donut or two, but he'd wait until nobody was in there to pull this shit. It got so you couldn't leave the room for a second or he'd be in there eating everything. In the break room we have both the Keurig machine, and a drip filter pot. The drip filter coffee is crap, compared to the Keurig stuff, but this guy drinks the drip filter coffee and claims it's gourmet stuff (I make it, it's nothing flash, it's the cheapest coffee I can buy at those office supply stores. It's crap), but I think he drinks the pot stuff so he doesn't have to pay for it. The pot coffee is donation, whatever you want to pay for it. 25c, 50c, 60c, doesn't matter. The Keurig is 60c a cup, not negotiable, unless you want to pay more. This guy got the idea in his head that the drip filter coffee is free, and despite being told otherwise, in his mind it's free so he never pays for it. Every time you tell him it's not free, he acts amazed as if that's the first time he's heard that.
So he gets in to work on Saturday, goes into the breakroom, comes out and asks me what they're doing about the coffee. I play dumb with him because as I said earlier, I love to hate this jerk.
The machine is in there, I say.
But there's no coffee, he says.
Sure there is, I say. There's a whole rack of the K-cups for the coffee machine.
In the pot? he asks, probably really confused.
I relent and tell him I wasn't making a pot for just a couple of people so he can just use the machine.
Now this is why I love to hate this guy.
Instead of paying 60c for a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the Keurig machine in our breakroom, this guy hits the streets of downtown L.A. on a Saturday morning, in search of a coffee shop, where he will probably spend $2 or more for a cup of ordinary coffee. Of course while he's out for an hour he's still billing OT, even though he's not actually working in the office. Finally, when he gets back in, he complains that nothing is open, at 8:30am, in downtown L.A., on a Saturday morning.
So today we move into the new office, we're finding our cubicles and getting used to a new office layout, we're unpacking all our boxes (almost everyone has 10 boxes, some people have a lot more), the office is pretty much a madhouse.
And this guy comes up to me and asks what we're doing about coffee.
I play dumb again, but I'm busy unpacking and setting up computers for me and my girls so I'm not really into the game today. The best I can manage to do is to tell him the Keurig machine will be installed tomorrow (the vendor took it away Monday and is hopefully servicing it prior to it's reinstallation in our new office).
What about today? asks this guy.
We've got a cafeteria downstairs, I tell him (and we do, it's a friggin' awesome cafeteria). I tell him, if you want coffee, go downstairs and get a cup.
I just know once the Keurig machine is set up tomorrow, he's going to ask where the drip filter pot is. But because the biggest wig in the office doesn't want a drip filter pot in the breakroom, we're not setting it up. This guy won't be pleased, but I don't give a shit.
Actually I must give at least a shit, or I wouldn't have posted this :P
I wish we lived in the south, coz this guy is the perfect candidate for that unbeatable southern defense plea: "He just needed killin'."
In preparation for the move I did some OT this past weekend. There were a few peeps in the office but I was the only one there that drank coffee, so I was damned if I was going to make a 12-cup pot of coffee for me; I just used the Keurig machine. Mid-way through the morning one of the guys I love to hate showed up.
Just to bitch about this guy for a minute, we used to host training sessions for engineers from other bureaus, and we'd cater for those sessions, brewing up a pot of coffee and bring in donuts and pastries. Although there was also coffee in the break room, this guy would come into the conference room and help himself to a cup of coffee and a donut or two, but he'd wait until nobody was in there to pull this shit. It got so you couldn't leave the room for a second or he'd be in there eating everything. In the break room we have both the Keurig machine, and a drip filter pot. The drip filter coffee is crap, compared to the Keurig stuff, but this guy drinks the drip filter coffee and claims it's gourmet stuff (I make it, it's nothing flash, it's the cheapest coffee I can buy at those office supply stores. It's crap), but I think he drinks the pot stuff so he doesn't have to pay for it. The pot coffee is donation, whatever you want to pay for it. 25c, 50c, 60c, doesn't matter. The Keurig is 60c a cup, not negotiable, unless you want to pay more. This guy got the idea in his head that the drip filter coffee is free, and despite being told otherwise, in his mind it's free so he never pays for it. Every time you tell him it's not free, he acts amazed as if that's the first time he's heard that.
So he gets in to work on Saturday, goes into the breakroom, comes out and asks me what they're doing about the coffee. I play dumb with him because as I said earlier, I love to hate this jerk.
The machine is in there, I say.
But there's no coffee, he says.
Sure there is, I say. There's a whole rack of the K-cups for the coffee machine.
In the pot? he asks, probably really confused.
I relent and tell him I wasn't making a pot for just a couple of people so he can just use the machine.
Now this is why I love to hate this guy.
Instead of paying 60c for a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the Keurig machine in our breakroom, this guy hits the streets of downtown L.A. on a Saturday morning, in search of a coffee shop, where he will probably spend $2 or more for a cup of ordinary coffee. Of course while he's out for an hour he's still billing OT, even though he's not actually working in the office. Finally, when he gets back in, he complains that nothing is open, at 8:30am, in downtown L.A., on a Saturday morning.
So today we move into the new office, we're finding our cubicles and getting used to a new office layout, we're unpacking all our boxes (almost everyone has 10 boxes, some people have a lot more), the office is pretty much a madhouse.
And this guy comes up to me and asks what we're doing about coffee.
I play dumb again, but I'm busy unpacking and setting up computers for me and my girls so I'm not really into the game today. The best I can manage to do is to tell him the Keurig machine will be installed tomorrow (the vendor took it away Monday and is hopefully servicing it prior to it's reinstallation in our new office).
What about today? asks this guy.
We've got a cafeteria downstairs, I tell him (and we do, it's a friggin' awesome cafeteria). I tell him, if you want coffee, go downstairs and get a cup.
I just know once the Keurig machine is set up tomorrow, he's going to ask where the drip filter pot is. But because the biggest wig in the office doesn't want a drip filter pot in the breakroom, we're not setting it up. This guy won't be pleased, but I don't give a shit.
Actually I must give at least a shit, or I wouldn't have posted this :P
I wish we lived in the south, coz this guy is the perfect candidate for that unbeatable southern defense plea: "He just needed killin'."
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Real Life in dreams
I hit snooze a couple of times this morning. The third time the alarm went off I was dreaming I was in a planetarium with Liz and we were lying back watching the star show but it turned into one of those 3D-rides you go on at Amusement Parks, where you watch the movie as the seats move around and you feel like you really are flying over Antarctica in a helicopter.
When the alarm went off the song on the radio intruded into my dream but it didn't wake me up, it just became the background track for the 3D-movie. Liz eventually had to shove me to wake me up :P
I've turned alarm clocks off in my dreams before. Quite literally picked up the alarm clock in my dream (and in real life, too, I guess) and turned the alarm off, and the dream continued on but without the alarm ringing.
The most bizarre time I did this I was playing soccer (in my dream of course) on the field at my old Primary School and when the alarm went off I noticed a door in the field, like a storm shelter door. I opened the door and went down the steps and sitting on a shelf in this storm shelter was a ringing alarm clock. I picked it up, turned off the alarm, and went back up on to the field and continued my game of soccer.
When the alarm went off the song on the radio intruded into my dream but it didn't wake me up, it just became the background track for the 3D-movie. Liz eventually had to shove me to wake me up :P
I've turned alarm clocks off in my dreams before. Quite literally picked up the alarm clock in my dream (and in real life, too, I guess) and turned the alarm off, and the dream continued on but without the alarm ringing.
The most bizarre time I did this I was playing soccer (in my dream of course) on the field at my old Primary School and when the alarm went off I noticed a door in the field, like a storm shelter door. I opened the door and went down the steps and sitting on a shelf in this storm shelter was a ringing alarm clock. I picked it up, turned off the alarm, and went back up on to the field and continued my game of soccer.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Not Safe For Work
Nooooo, definitely not safe for work, or kiddies, or prudes, or Republicans...not even sure the Democrats would like this one. Nope, you've got to have a wicked sense of humor (and some privacy) to appreciate "Do you take it?" by The Wet Spots.
Friday, June 16, 2006
So long, and thanks for the Fish Tape
Before we went out earlier I threw out some trash, and as I threw it into the dumpster I saw an extremely long strip of narrow metal and I thought, that looks like a Fish Tape. Liz doesn't like me Dumpster Diving and as she was already in the car with Amber I knew I had no chance of checking out my hunch, so out we went.
When we returned and put Amber to bed she had a poopy diaper, so I took it straight out to the dumpster (rather than leave it in our bin in the kitchen all night to stink our house up) and when I lifted the lid of the dumpster, there was my Fish Tape. In I went and as soon as I grabbed the tape I knew my hunch was correct. I managed to pull it out and the only problem with it was the handle had come off the side so the Fish Tape couldn't be wound back into the case.
No problem. There was still a square bit where the handle had been attached (it looks more like the handle slips on and off this square, so maybe they just lost the handle) and I have spanners, so I took the Fish Tape into the garage, took out a 1/2" spanner, which fit the square perfectly, and using the spanner as a handle I wound the Fish Tape back into the case.
I was going to buy a Fish Tape because at some point I want to run the Internet/Cable TV cables down the inside of family room wall behind the TV, and I'll need Fish Tape to do that. But it's worth the trouble of doing that because that will look a damn sight more professional than what we currently have; cables emerging from the closet, running across the wall, over the top of the door frame, and in behind the TV. Yep, now I can do a professional cable install...but when I'm ready and not a moment before :P
Actually my sister & her husband will be here later this year, and he's an Electrical Engineer. Not quite the same as an Electrician, but damn close to it. I might enlist his help with this little project ;)
* EDIT *
Fish Tape is a thin, narrow, strip of metal with a hook of some kind on the end; in my case, it has a spiral of wire akin to a spring. The fish tape is fed down into the space inside a wall, between the drywall and the studs, until it reaches the hole you've cut in the drywall for your TV cable to come through. You then attach a thin piece of wire to the hook (wire spring) and reel in the Fish Tape, which pulls the wire up along with it. You now have a piece of thin wire in your attic running down inside the wall to the hole in the drywall which is where you'll put your TV cable outlet. In the attic is also your Cable TV cable, which you attach to the thin piece of wire. You then pull the wire back down which pulls the Cable TV cable along with it, and now, you have a small hole in your drywall with your Cable TV cables coming out of it. Finally you feed the Cable TV cable through the hole in your outlet plate, attach the plate to the wall, and you have a professionally installed (or so it would seem) Cable TV outlet where none existed before.
You do this so you don't have cables emerging from your closet and running around the floor and through doorways and across ceilings.
When we returned and put Amber to bed she had a poopy diaper, so I took it straight out to the dumpster (rather than leave it in our bin in the kitchen all night to stink our house up) and when I lifted the lid of the dumpster, there was my Fish Tape. In I went and as soon as I grabbed the tape I knew my hunch was correct. I managed to pull it out and the only problem with it was the handle had come off the side so the Fish Tape couldn't be wound back into the case.
No problem. There was still a square bit where the handle had been attached (it looks more like the handle slips on and off this square, so maybe they just lost the handle) and I have spanners, so I took the Fish Tape into the garage, took out a 1/2" spanner, which fit the square perfectly, and using the spanner as a handle I wound the Fish Tape back into the case.
I was going to buy a Fish Tape because at some point I want to run the Internet/Cable TV cables down the inside of family room wall behind the TV, and I'll need Fish Tape to do that. But it's worth the trouble of doing that because that will look a damn sight more professional than what we currently have; cables emerging from the closet, running across the wall, over the top of the door frame, and in behind the TV. Yep, now I can do a professional cable install...but when I'm ready and not a moment before :P
Actually my sister & her husband will be here later this year, and he's an Electrical Engineer. Not quite the same as an Electrician, but damn close to it. I might enlist his help with this little project ;)
* EDIT *
Fish Tape is a thin, narrow, strip of metal with a hook of some kind on the end; in my case, it has a spiral of wire akin to a spring. The fish tape is fed down into the space inside a wall, between the drywall and the studs, until it reaches the hole you've cut in the drywall for your TV cable to come through. You then attach a thin piece of wire to the hook (wire spring) and reel in the Fish Tape, which pulls the wire up along with it. You now have a piece of thin wire in your attic running down inside the wall to the hole in the drywall which is where you'll put your TV cable outlet. In the attic is also your Cable TV cable, which you attach to the thin piece of wire. You then pull the wire back down which pulls the Cable TV cable along with it, and now, you have a small hole in your drywall with your Cable TV cables coming out of it. Finally you feed the Cable TV cable through the hole in your outlet plate, attach the plate to the wall, and you have a professionally installed (or so it would seem) Cable TV outlet where none existed before.
You do this so you don't have cables emerging from your closet and running around the floor and through doorways and across ceilings.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
It's the first day of Summer!
I don't know, it might be, it might not be. I'm just being silly because Hermes, or Mr. Crabs (depending on the time of day and who's asking) has finally resurfaced. It seems like he went underground three weeks ago, and I was starting to worry about the little guy. What he was doing was molting, again. This is the second time that I know of but I'm sure he's molted more than twice. But now that he's located on the kitchen bench next to the sink he's more visible than he was when he was on top of the toy shelf in the corner of the living room. He also seems to like his new location a little more. He seems to be more active (not that we paid him much attention when he was in the corner), and a couple of times he's actually climbed on top of his log hut (a half circle of pine bark placed on its side). He may also be ready for a new shell now. When I look at the shell he was in when Liz bought him, it's so tiny compared to how large he is now. I might have to stop at the pet store and pick up another shell or two for him.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Why do Manequins have nipples?
Anatomic Correctness is the obvious answer, but while that explains proportionality of legs to arms to torsos to heads, and yes, breasts, that doesn't explain why female manequins need nipples on those breasts. The only logical answer I can come up with is so when skimpier lines of clothing are being designed, the designers can take into account the nipple location and thus ensure sufficient coverage of the nipple occurs.
The illogical answer, and the one I fear to be more accurate, is that over the years manequin sculptors developed a wicked sense of humor, or perhaps they had it all along, but in more prudish times were never allowed to express themselves. Now, in more open, accepting times (unless you're a homosexual who wants to get married to another homosexual) the average person finds nothing wrong with walking past a manequin that seems to be feeling the cold.
So, has anyone observed a male manequin in his natural state, or near-undress? Do they possess Anatomic Correctness bordering on the obscene? The question that then springs to mind is, on what side does a male manequin dress? Or are male manequins, like Barbie's on-again/off-again boyfriend Ken, in possession of nothing more than a small plastic mound?
The illogical answer, and the one I fear to be more accurate, is that over the years manequin sculptors developed a wicked sense of humor, or perhaps they had it all along, but in more prudish times were never allowed to express themselves. Now, in more open, accepting times (unless you're a homosexual who wants to get married to another homosexual) the average person finds nothing wrong with walking past a manequin that seems to be feeling the cold.
So, has anyone observed a male manequin in his natural state, or near-undress? Do they possess Anatomic Correctness bordering on the obscene? The question that then springs to mind is, on what side does a male manequin dress? Or are male manequins, like Barbie's on-again/off-again boyfriend Ken, in possession of nothing more than a small plastic mound?
Friday, June 02, 2006
Is it the weekend yet?
Today was my RDO (Rostered Day Off) but did I get the day off?
No, I still had to work.
Fortunately my other boss got up before I did to attend to our daughter, who managed to wake our son up, and I actually got to sleep in for half an hour or so...past 7am that is. But even 7am is technically a two hour sleep in, so it's all good.
JE had his final dentist appointment (until his regularly scheduled check-up in September) so we all went to that, then we dropped him at school and swung by my mate's place to borrow his SUV for the day. He'd already told me it would need gas. "There's a gas station just down the road," he says, as he takes a small gas can down from his garage shelf and shakes it. "Yeah, I think this should be enough to get you there." He then empties the gas can into the SUV's tank. I get in, start it up, and the needle is marginally above empty...if I use my imagination.
My mate's SUV has a real gearbox, but fortunately I know what to do with the third pedal so it's not an issue. If anything, driving a manual (stick) in the U.S. is easier than in Australia because here I'm shifting with my right hand, and I'm right-handed. In Australia you shift with your left hand unless you have a column shift...I think. It's been so long I can't remember if an Aussie car's column-shifter is on the right or left.
I made it to the gas station and put in a little over four gallons of gas, and paid $15 for the privelage, which constituted a quarter of a tank, i.e., $60 to fill this baby from Empty, I continue my journey to Ikea in West Covina. Driving on the freeway for the first time in years in a manual (I had a Puegot with a manual gearbox many years ago) was not an issue. Merging from the 605S onto the 10E was also not a huge issue, if you ever drive through that interchange in L.A. you'll know why I specifically mention it here. Got to Ikea without a problem and Liz and the baby arrived shortly afterwards.
After a bit of a run around, returning some things, keeping others which couldn't be returned because Ikea no longer sell them, eating lunch, etc, we got the under & over bedset the in-laws wanted and it was time to head back home. Just before I left I helped a lady get a HUGE Ikea box into her Ford Focus station wagon. Nobody else was around, no attendants, no other customers, and the poor lady was looking so distressed that I felt compelled to help her out. (This is what being a Christian is all about, helping each other in times of need. Not accosting customers as they leave their local 7-11 and telling them Jesus loves them and that we're living in the end of days and unless we repent we'll be left behind and lady, shut the fuck up. That's what my lovely wife told her).
Liz followed me home from the Ikea, then it was off to the local Sam's Club to pick up two Twin matresses (Why the f**k is a single matress called a Twin? It's a single matress. A Twin is actually a double bed matress, but no, a Double is really a Full. At least we can agree that a Queen is a Homosexual and a King is a...CAL-KING??? What the f**k is a Cal-King? Well it's not as wide as a regular King, but it's got the length, baby! You know what I'm talking about, size matters, right? Er...how did we get onto this conversation?
Back to the topic at hand. I dropped one of the Twin/Single matresses at our house (for use later in the year when the family comes to visit) and headed for the in-laws, arriving just seconds before the FIL got there with JE, having picked him up from school. I got a good workout (by carrying a Twin/Single matress up two flights of stairs, as well as two heavy boxes) and sweating like a pig started assembling the under & over beds, finishing just after the FIL got back from his doctor's appointment.
We returned Spyfor's SUV and hung out for a little while, and so arrived late for dinner with the in-laws where they were shouting us at our favorite local chinese restaurant (where they know us by name, I'm the gwai lo 鬼佬) . Dinner was great but after a long, hot, tiring day, all I really wanted to do was get home and have a shower. I haven't done that yet because we had to put our daughter down to bed and the little angel wouldn't go to sleep straight away, and our bathroom is right next to her bedroom, so we're on the computers instead...but at least I got to update my Blog ;)
Later all. Shower time, finally.
No, I still had to work.
Fortunately my other boss got up before I did to attend to our daughter, who managed to wake our son up, and I actually got to sleep in for half an hour or so...past 7am that is. But even 7am is technically a two hour sleep in, so it's all good.
JE had his final dentist appointment (until his regularly scheduled check-up in September) so we all went to that, then we dropped him at school and swung by my mate's place to borrow his SUV for the day. He'd already told me it would need gas. "There's a gas station just down the road," he says, as he takes a small gas can down from his garage shelf and shakes it. "Yeah, I think this should be enough to get you there." He then empties the gas can into the SUV's tank. I get in, start it up, and the needle is marginally above empty...if I use my imagination.
My mate's SUV has a real gearbox, but fortunately I know what to do with the third pedal so it's not an issue. If anything, driving a manual (stick) in the U.S. is easier than in Australia because here I'm shifting with my right hand, and I'm right-handed. In Australia you shift with your left hand unless you have a column shift...I think. It's been so long I can't remember if an Aussie car's column-shifter is on the right or left.
I made it to the gas station and put in a little over four gallons of gas, and paid $15 for the privelage, which constituted a quarter of a tank, i.e., $60 to fill this baby from Empty, I continue my journey to Ikea in West Covina. Driving on the freeway for the first time in years in a manual (I had a Puegot with a manual gearbox many years ago) was not an issue. Merging from the 605S onto the 10E was also not a huge issue, if you ever drive through that interchange in L.A. you'll know why I specifically mention it here. Got to Ikea without a problem and Liz and the baby arrived shortly afterwards.
After a bit of a run around, returning some things, keeping others which couldn't be returned because Ikea no longer sell them, eating lunch, etc, we got the under & over bedset the in-laws wanted and it was time to head back home. Just before I left I helped a lady get a HUGE Ikea box into her Ford Focus station wagon. Nobody else was around, no attendants, no other customers, and the poor lady was looking so distressed that I felt compelled to help her out. (This is what being a Christian is all about, helping each other in times of need. Not accosting customers as they leave their local 7-11 and telling them Jesus loves them and that we're living in the end of days and unless we repent we'll be left behind and lady, shut the fuck up. That's what my lovely wife told her).
Liz followed me home from the Ikea, then it was off to the local Sam's Club to pick up two Twin matresses (Why the f**k is a single matress called a Twin? It's a single matress. A Twin is actually a double bed matress, but no, a Double is really a Full. At least we can agree that a Queen is a Homosexual and a King is a...CAL-KING??? What the f**k is a Cal-King? Well it's not as wide as a regular King, but it's got the length, baby! You know what I'm talking about, size matters, right? Er...how did we get onto this conversation?
Back to the topic at hand. I dropped one of the Twin/Single matresses at our house (for use later in the year when the family comes to visit) and headed for the in-laws, arriving just seconds before the FIL got there with JE, having picked him up from school. I got a good workout (by carrying a Twin/Single matress up two flights of stairs, as well as two heavy boxes) and sweating like a pig started assembling the under & over beds, finishing just after the FIL got back from his doctor's appointment.
We returned Spyfor's SUV and hung out for a little while, and so arrived late for dinner with the in-laws where they were shouting us at our favorite local chinese restaurant (where they know us by name, I'm the gwai lo 鬼佬) . Dinner was great but after a long, hot, tiring day, all I really wanted to do was get home and have a shower. I haven't done that yet because we had to put our daughter down to bed and the little angel wouldn't go to sleep straight away, and our bathroom is right next to her bedroom, so we're on the computers instead...but at least I got to update my Blog ;)
Later all. Shower time, finally.
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