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Friday, April 29, 2011

VOLIUME XVIII - My First Derivative With the Ladies Is Not a Continuous Function and Other Tales

c. January 9, 2011 Anno Domini

Work is like XBox, and by that I mean...


Burnout equals Crash Mode.

Or maybe I mean I'm over one-hundred (100) hours into Oblivion and the end is not yet in sight.

Or I mean I would most likely be asked to reduce the number of hours I dedicate to it if I were ever to, ahem, become romantically involved.

I am sure there are other similarities.

c. January 17, 2011 Anno Domini


Me: What does my bumper look like?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: What country are you from?
Driver Behind Me What?
Me: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: English! Do you speak it?
Driver Behind Me: Yes!
Me: Then you know what I'm saying.
Driver Behind Me: Yes...
Me: Describe what my bumper looks like!
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: Say "what" again. Say "what" again! I dare you! I double-dare you! Say "what" one more time!
Driver Behind Me: Its gray.
Me: Go on!
Driver Behind Me : It has bumper stickers on it.
Me: Does it look like a tilt-a-whirl at the county fair?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: *shoots Driver Behind Me in the shoulder*  Does it look like a tilt-a-whirl?
Driver Behind Me: No!
Me: Then why'd you try to ride it like a tilt-a-whirl?
Driver Behind Me: I didn't!
Me: Yes, you did! Yes, you did! You tried to ride it. And my bumper don't like to be ridden by anybody except Mrs. Wallace.  You read the Bible?
Driver Behind Me: Yes.
Me: Well, there's this passage I've got memorized, sort of fits the occasion. Ezekiel 25:17? "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers! And you will know my name is the Lord  when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"

c. January 28, 2011 Anno Domini

Pick up lines are lame.  Real ladies' men know how to use a pick-up parabola or, when dealing with a very special lady, a pick-up sine wave.

c. February 3, 2011 Anno Domini

If you share my initials and last name, your e-mail address is jdrobertsx@gmail.com where x is a two-digit number and you are e-mailing yourself a photograph of yourself/your girlfriend/your mom/some random dame bent over in front of a brown leather couch wearing nothing but a pink, black and white thong you might want to proofread the e-mail address to be sure you inserted x between jdroberts and @gmail.com before you click send.

Also, if I send you a reply stating, "I believe I received this e-mail in error," a reply (sans derriere) from you, praising my gift for understatement, would not go unappreciated.

c. February 6, 2011 Anno Domini

Like most children, I had every adult I knew during my youth telling me not to do things such as drinking, smoking, taking candy from strangers and crossing the street without looking both ways first.  At a very young age, before any of my peers, I figured out that adults understood the rebellious nature of adolescents; ergo they really wanted us to do all that stuff and only told us not to because they knew we would disobey.  Resultingly, I never played hooky, blew off my homework or went to the kind of parties where teenagers play spin the bottle instead of Dungeons and Dragons and watch R-rated movies instead of Star Trek: the Next Generation.  I even put my coat on every time I went outsider during the winter, obstensibly to avoid catching my death of cold, and flaunted it as if to say, "I'm on to you old people.  You can't fool me.  The jig is up."  That was my subtle way of sticking it to the man.  My  insouciance eventually became a habit, and to this day I still have never ridden my bike at night without wearing bright clothing, worn socks with holes in them or hit on 17.

c. February 9, 2011 Anno Domini

I took a certain eight-year old to Burger King today.  She went to the soda fountain, filled her cup with regular Coca-Cola, turned to me and said, "Ahhhh, the joys of  being non-diabetic."

c. February 19, 2011 Anno Domini

A while back, I somehow managed to get the tube from my insulin pump tangled up whilst taking off my pants after a long day at work and ripped the infusion site out.  A geyser of blood spurted out, like when Uma Thurman cut the dudes' arms off in Kill Bill and it kept trickling for five minutes afterwards despite the application of pressure directly to the wound.  Admittedly, I had taken my pants off with a certain "I'm done with a serious day at work and am emphatically taking off my serious work pants to change into something leisurely" attitude but the amount of blood that gushed out was still in no way proportional to the (lack of) trauma.  It left an epic blood stain, which I attempted (but epically failed to) remove from the carpet.  I covered it with a rug, explained the whole incident to my mother and apologized the day I moved out of my parents house.  I must have pressed ABACABB before taking off my pants.

Today, my infusion site was brutally torn from my body by my harness riding up on me whilst I was careening down a zipline (for the first time in my life) at Warp 7.  A lesser man would have screamed in pain and then tried to play it off like he was just screaming in excitement at zooming around at Warp 7, but I merely winced.  After botching the landing by fallling directly on my buttocks (sort of a theme today, actually), I inspected the damage, which by all reasonable expectations should have been gruesome, and there was not a single drop of blood.  Just like the Super Nintendo version of Mortal Kombat.

c. March 3, 2011 Anno Domini


I was driving home this morning on a road with a speed limit of 45 miles per hour (mph), but only moving at 35 mph because the car in front of me (and presumably the car in front of it, et. al.) was only moving at 35 mph.  Rush hour traffic is like that.  The car behind me was also moving at 35 mph and seemed to be trying to lock a tractor beam onto my rear bumper while the driver gesticulated wildly in an attempt to encourage me to speed up for one second so I could close the distance to the car in front of me and then immediately slow back down to 35 mph.  Eventually he tired of my failure to submit to his demands, sped up, crossed a double yellow line to pass me and had to immediately slam on his brakes as the light ahead of us turned red and traffic came to a standstill.  I laughed and called him the third derivative of position with respect to time.

c. March 8, 2011 Anno Domini



I visited the house of a friend, who has two cats, for a friendly game of Munchkin last night.  He has two cats, and I am highly allergic to both of them.  He was a gracious host and took all the necessary precautions such as covering the couch with a blanket to shield be from the offending allergens and not having the cats actually in the room, but cats being what they are, one of them eventually made its way into our social gathering.  I immediately felt its arrival in my trachea, rather than saw it, and developed severe nasal congestion.  Whether the blasted thing sensed my weakness and made a point of exacerbating the situation or not (I suspect it did), the damage was done.  The first thing I did when I got home was to strip buck naked (sorry about the mental image there) and throw everything I had been wearing except my glasses into the laundry but I still experienced a moderate nasal drip all night and feel an itch in my lungs even now.

The point is, if ever someone hires you to separate me from this mortal coil you will have no need to employ the traditional tricks of the trade.  No need to corner me in a dark alley with a gang of thugs on my way home from the tavern, poison my food at a formal banquet so I fall dramatically face-first into my bowl of soup or engage in any other sort of cloak and daggery (unless the cloak is covered in cat fur).  Just break into my house, let a horde of common housecats rampage around for an hour or two and the odds are I'll be asphyxiated by morning.


c. April 1, 2011 Anno Domini


I named my character on Dragon Age: Origins "Mr. Roberts" so all the other characters in the game would call me Mr. Roberts like people should do in real life.  To my dismay, the maximum name length was too short so I couldn't input a name including any honorifics such as "The Eminent Mr. Roberts" or "Mr. Roberts, OBE"

c. April 5, 2011 Anno Domini


I truly sympathize with people who face a drive home from work exceeding one hour in duration (as opposed to my usual 12 minute commute).  It took me 47 minutes just to get from the parking lot of my workplace to the intersection of Ballantyne Commons Parkway and Lancaster Highway, a distance of 1.1 miles1.  As such, my average speed during that portion of my oddysey was 1.4 miles per hour (mph), which is 35 times the speed of a Giant African Land Snail2.
An officer of the law was directing traffic at the intersection despite there being no accident and no fallen trees or other large debris in the intersection and the traffic light being fully operational.  It was probably for the best through, because people are basically animals who have no regard for things such as the interests of their fellow man or the stability of society during a crisis.  I could definitely envision people going all Lord of the Flies and speeding through the intersection at 35 times the speed of a Giant African Land Snail regardless of what color the light was and leaving us poor blighters waiting to turn onto Lancaster stuck indefinitely until the weakest-willed amongst us broke down and resorted to cannibalism.  Fortunately it never came to that.


The final 2.7 miles of my arduous journey went much more quickly, as I covered the distance without incident in a mere 24 minutes at an average speed of 6.75 mph (or, as I was measuring it, 168.75 Giant African Land Snail Paces Per Hour) but I would probably still be waiting at the entrance to my apartment complex with my turn signal on if some charitable soul hadn't stopped to let me turn in.  I don't know how you people who have to deal with that sort of nonsense regularly handle it.

1http://www.mapquest.com/
2http://www.petsnails.co.uk/faq.html

c. April 6, 2011 Anno Domini

After work today, I went out for breakfast.  The restaurant had a sign with, "Don't forget to smile!," written on it amongst drawing of flowers and peace signs.  The first three times I looked at the sign, I thought it stated, "Don't forget to smite!"  I was about to ask my waitress if the establishment's clientele included a large number of paladins and lawful good clerics  but realized at the last second that the sign said "smile" and not "smite."  Thanks to that timely epiphany, I managed to avoid making a level 20 fool of myself, as opposed to the mere level 17 fool I usually make of myself whenever I speak to strange women.
c. April 28, 2011 Anno Domini

At 1:53 a.m. on April 28 ,2011, in the Harris Teeter parking lot, a lady and gentleman, who were both under the influence of alcohol, approached me and requested I settle a minor theological debate.  Betwixt the two of them, they were carrying a 12-pack of Corona and nothing else.  Before I could offer my opinion on the question they posed, the gentleman told me he liked my tie (the red 8-bit tie from http://www.thinkgeek.com/, for those who care to know), and the lady told me, "Your tie is so awesome."  I thanked them and politely weighed in on their debate, as requested.  The lady declared victory and thanked me for unwittingly supporting her position.  At this point, I shoud have fled because, although she would have chased me, I could have at least outrun her because she was carrying the beer.  Alas, I remained because they seemed polite and the gentleman actually seemed to want to discuss the issue in further depth.


Before the gentleman was able to articulate his thoughts, the lady began opening the 12-pack and offered me a drink.  I told her I could not accept, as I do not imbibe, but she said she wanted to give me something and since beer was all she had purchased she would just give me money to go into Harris Teeter and buy whatever I wanted.  Whilst she sorted through her purse searching for hard currency, the gentleman naively protested that her offer was rude because I was wearing a suit and therefore obviously didn't need money.  He said his name was Jonathan and offered a shake of his hand.  I, thinking perhaps this reasonable fellow could be of assistance in convincing his daft companion to leave me be, told him my name was also Jonathan and accepted the handshake.

In short order, I became the lady's new favourite Jonathan.  She told me her name was Brittany and said she wanted to hug me.  I forced her to settle for a handshake and told her I have a friend named Brittany but she moved to Ohio and that made me sad.  She continued digging through her purse with the hand that wasn't shaking my hand and promised she would never move to Ohio.  I asked her, "Do you have anything against Ohio?"  She replied, "Yes.  It's Ohio."  "Grrr.  My friend Brittany is from Ohio," I retorted, and she asked what I wanted from Harris Teeter.  I told her I didn't really need anything, partially because I'm not enough of a cad to take advantage of a drunk lady like that but also partially because I have an aversion to been seen exchanging cash with strange women in empty parking lots at 2 a.m. and also because I wasn't quick-witted enough to come up with a winning hand in that "what random combination of three items from the grocery store would really freak out the cashier (or the random drunk lady in the parking lot)" game.

From the rest of the conversation, I can only deduce that the deleterious effects of alcohol on the language-processing centers of the brain caused Brittany (the drunk lady, not my friend in Ohio) to erroneously believe I said I wanted a "rapacious damsel throwing herself at me" from Harris Teeter.  She said she wanted to date me and asked for my business card.  I told her I didn't have one.  She said she wanted me to be a part of her lift and asked for my telephone number.  Jonathan (the drunk gentleman, not me) said, "I'm not dating her.  You should give her your number and go for it."  She voiced agreement, an awkward silence ensued, and the other Jonathan broke it by telling Brittany I wasn't taking her seriously because she was too excited.  Brittany insisted she was serious, and another awkward silence ensured.  Jonathan attempted to bring the conversation full-circle (that punk, he should have known that is my fallback conversational technique) and telling me, "My family raised me Catholic, or at least tried to."  Brittany told him I was Jewish, and I told her I was actually Catholic but that she shouldn't feel too bad because many people have mistakenly assumed I was Jewish.  Finally, Brittany stopped shaking my hand, let go of it, said to me, "You're Catholic?  I'm good.  Never mind," and flounced away.


It is a dog gone good thing I obtained new shoelaces for my black shoes today, because I had been considering adding my red hat and red belt to the red shoes if I had to wear them again today and if I had done that, I probably would have had to chew my own hand off to get away from her.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

VOLUME XVII - My Attempt to Impress the Lovely Ms. Sandiego and Other Tales

c. September 10, 2010 Anno Domini

Captain's Log, (exact stardate unknown)

According to http://www.google.com/instant, Google Instant saves users between two and five seconds per search and would save 11 hours per second if every man, woman and child used it for every web search. Note that Google doesn't claim Google Instant would save 11 man-hours (although this would make sense and is what they want you to think), but 11 actual hours per second. Saving more time per second than actually passes by results in a negative net passage of time, which would lead to a temporal vortex. The temporal vortex caused by a discrepancy on the magnitude of 39,599 seconds per second would destroy the Earth, and seeing as how we are still here the only logical conclusion is that the Googleuminati created Google Instant so they could harness this excess time somehow and have managed to succeed. That leads to the question of what the Googleuminati intend to do with all that time on their hands. I suspect they are using the time they accrue (which amounts to almost one full year for every month the rest of us experience) to conduct advanced research in death ray technology. Before we know it, they will mount the Google Instant Actualizing Nicola Tesla (GIANT) Death Ray on the clandestine lunar base they secretly built in 2007 A.D. with the help of their reptilian overlords from Alpha Draconis, aim it at Terra and start making unreasonable and unseemly demands.
Fortunately, there is one way we can fight the Googleuminati's latest conspiracy: waste all the time they are saving before they can harness it. Open up your web browser, go to the Google home page and procrastinate. Procrastinate. PROCRASTINATE!!!! The two to five seconds you waste could be the two to five seconds that save us from the GIANT Death Ray. It's your moral duty.

c. September 11, 2010 Anno Domini

Awesome Things Mega Man Can Do But You Can't
1. Save the world by using his mega blaster to foil Dr. Wily's fiendish plans for world domination
2. Wear a "welcome to the gun show" shirt without looking like a douche

c. September 14, 2010 Anno Domini

I ate lunch at Subway today, and some mindless song was on the radio. About halfway through my meal, the radio abruptly cut out for seven seconds. I immediately scrunched up my shoulders, clenched my jaw and crinkled my brow. Within two seconds I was thinking, "Where is the infernal electronic simulation of a banshee's keening wail," because everyone knows a radio abruptly cutting out is a harbinger of doom. First, a cacophonous screeeeeeeeeech assaults the senses (yes, all five of them somehow), and then an announcer informs the populace of an impending tornado, flash flood or Communist nuclear strike, or announces that the next song will be (name withheld)'s* latest single. As it turned out, the Emergency Broadcast system wasn't warning anyone to hide the women and children or even conducting a test. Subway's speakers were just on the fritz. Five seconds into the silence, I became intellectually aware of this fact but I still braced myself aurally on the next four or five occurences. Just as I began to ignore the silences, Kool and the Gang came on and I started taking notice again, but only because Kool and the Gang deserves better than to be interrupted several times by faulty audio equipment.

c. September 17, 2010 Anno Domini

Obi-Wan Kenobi: These are not the droids you are looking for.
Stormtrooper 1: These are not the droids I am looking for, but I still need to inspect their passports and document their serial numbers on a Droid Visa Request Form. They're not carrying any liquids, are they?
Obi-Wan: But they are not the droids you are looking for!
ST1: Of course they are not, but I still need to complete the paperwork. It's protocol.
Stormtrooper 2: Lord Vader is a real stickler about paperwork, see.
ST1: We have to fill out a Droid Visa Request Form for each droid entering the spaceport and submit it in triplicate to the...
Obi-Wan: Blast the form! Can't you just let me through and make up any old serial number later? These are obviously not the droids you are looking for.
ST1: Not on my life, sir!
ST2: We would still need to get the signatures of the droids, which are not the droids we are looking for, on the Droid Visa Request Forms.
Obi-Wan: Can't you just let me through, make up fake serial numbers later and FORGE THEIR SIGNATURES?
ST2: What kind of scum do you think we are? Forging an official Imperial document is a very serious crime.
ST1: I daresay it would be even more heinous than not documenting the serial numbers of the droids we are not looking for.
ST2: I'm afraid I have to arrest you now for suggesting it, but I'll let your friend there keep your droids because they are not the droids we are looking for.
Obi-Wan: *condescendingly over-enunciating* Now just wait a minute. We all know these are not the droids you are looking for and I'm in a terrible rush to get off this wretched planet before anyone realizes that I'm the Jedi master who trained Anakin Skywalker so I can rescue a major figure in the leadership of the Rebel Alliance from the evil clutches of Darth Vader on the Death Star. Why don't I just slip you a few credits and be on my way without wasting any time on your stinking paperwork?
ST2: Attempting to bribe a representative of the Empire? Well, I never!
Luke Skywalker: Look over there! I think I see the droids you are looking for!
ST1 & ST2: *turn their backs on Obi-Wan, et. al. to peer off in the direction indicated by Luke*
Luke: Quick, Ben! Before they figure out my ruse.
Obi-Wan: About freaking time, young Skywalker.
Luke: Good luck finding those droids you are looking for, suckers!

c. September 22, 2010 Anno Domini

I almost died today driving into Waxhaw. While I was stopped at the red light at the railroad tracks on NC-16 South, a truck crossed the tracks in the opposite lane towing a trailer with two massive, rolled up bales of hay and one bale fell out. This was no ordinary bale of hay. It was twelve (12) feet tall and about the size of my car. If it had hit a bump in the road and bounced the wrong way, I would no longer be amongst the living and I would have been furious because I just paid the car off last week. Fortunately, it just bounced along the road a bit without crossing the center line and came to a rest right on the tracks. Some good samaritan cyclist, who could have easily swerved around the mother of all hay bales without a second glance stopped and moved it out of the way before a train came along and obliterated it.

c. September 27, 2010 Anno Domini

Because my job is highly sedentary, I make an effort to use the stairs whenever possible to at least get a little exercise. The building in which I work is only three stories high so even if I use the stairs and the beginning and end of my shift and on my lunch break it's still merely eight stories of stairs in all but every bit counts. The temptation to use the elevator is usually not significant, but lately I find myself giving in because they started playing a lot of Miles Davis and John Coltrane in there. Most of it is from Kind of Blue or Giant Steps, both of whic h I obviously own and could listen to in their entirety any time I wanted at home but I still end up in the elevator, drawn by the siren song of 15-20 second snippets of So What.

c. October 5, 2010 Anno Domini

I had some errands to take care of today before I move, and my mother asked me to pick up some green beans for her whilst I was out, so I picked up some green beans from Harris Teeter. She didn't specifically ask me to pay for them, so I didn't. Actually, I shouldn't blame that on my mother. She raised me better than to be a shoplifter. What really happened was that I went into Harris Teeter absentmindedly medidating on how I am going to keep my fantasy football team, Domingo Gigante, undefeated with LeSean McCoy out and Shonn Greene being Shonn Greene next week. Thusly, I was running the green bean mission on mental autopilot all the way up until I had the beans on the passenger seat of my car (with no receipt) and the key in the ignition. At no point in the interim did any Harris Teeter employee interrupt my reverie and ask why the bloody blazes I was walking out the door brazenly holding a package of green beans and making no effort at stealth or concealment. Once I became consciously aware of my misdeed, morality dictated I make reparations so I snuck the green beans back into the store with as much stealth as a fellow wearing a conspicuously bright red dress shirt and hoping desperately not to be noticed could muster and went through the checkout.
Upon further reflection, it would have been a lot easier to leave the green beans in the car, pay for an identical package at the self-scan checkout and conveniently "forget" to take them with me... but that would have been really awkward if a helpful Harris Teeter employee noticed my forgetfulness and helpfully told me I was leaving my paid-for purchase behind.

c. October 20, 2010 Anno Domini

Eight Year Old Girl: Everything in there is blue. No offense but... ... ... I'm a girl.
Me: Yeah?
Eight Year Old Girl: You could put some girly stuff in there
Me: Why would I do that? There aren't any girls living here
Eight Year Old Girl: You could get a wife, you know
Later, in the fitness center, I ran into an older couple I had met there last night. Another guy was lifting weights, and while I was on the treadmill the lady of the couple said to me, in a scandalized tone of voice, "Ese hombre tiene cinco mujeres." I replied, "Y yo no tengo ni una," and for some reason she thought that was FREAKING hilarious.

c. November 3, 2010 Anno Domini

Dear Those Who Roll Their Eyes When I Tell Them, "When I Was Your Age...,"
I checked my mail after work today and found a letter from the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP) beseeching me to renew my membership. Not that I actually have a membership to renew, but I think it speaks volumes that such an eminent authority on elderliness considers me qualified. Of course, when I was your age their organization was still officially known as the AARC, and the C stood for cavepersons.
Sincerely,
J.D. Roberts

c. November 18, 2010 Anno Domini

Lady: Has anyone ever told you you're very attractive?
Gentleman: Electromagnetically or gravitationally?
Lady: Neither. You emanate the strong nuclear force.
Gentleman: How would you know? I'm not in the habit of allowing women to get close enough to me for that to affect them.
Lady: You're right. I was just meson* with you.
* pun intended

c. December 11, 2010 Anno Domini

Mr. Peabody: Sherman, please set the Wayback Machine to 1200 B.C. The subject of today's lesson is the Trojan War.
Sherman: Sure thing, Mr. Peabody!
Mr. Peabody: The Greeks besieged the city of Troy because Paris, a Trojan prince, kidnapped Helen of Troy, the King of Sparta's wife.
Sherman: If Helen was the King of Sparta's wife, why wasn't her name Helen of Sparta?
Mr. Peabody: Quiet, you. We'll be joining the Greeks in the tenth year of the war. Odysseus, the most cunning of the Greeks, is discussing strategy with the King of Sparta.
Mr. Peabody and Sherman: *travel to 1200 B.C.*
Odysseus: One more attack by the Trojans and we're toast. The men are all too sick to fight.
Meneleus: Isn't there anything we can do?
Odysseus: With this flu outbreak? We're done for. If only the Trojans were sick too... but they're safe in the comfort of their own homes while we're stuck outside their walls.
Mr. Peabody: If I may, I believe I have an idea that may be of some use. *whisper whisper whisper*
Odysseus: So we build a wooden horse, get all the men to cough and sneeze all over it and tell the Trojans it's a gift?
Meneleus: And then they get sick too?
Mr. Peabody: Precisely
Odysseus: Once the Trojans are sick too, that will level the playing field. We'll win the war and I'll be back home in Ithaca in no time!
Mr. Peabody: Well, Sherman... it's time to go. Say good bye to Odysseus.
Sherman: Good bye, Odysseus!
Mr. Peabody and Sherman: *return to the present*
Mr. Peabody: So you see Sherman, using the Trojan Horse, the Greeks infected the Trojans with the virus and won the Trojan War.
Sherman: Golly, Mr. Peabody. Your idea really helped the Greeks.
Mr. Peabody: Of course it did, boy. Haven't you ever read the Ill-iad?

c. December 23, 2010 Anno Domini

I purchased a 64 fluid ounce bottle of up&up brand moisturizing hand soap from Target yesterday, and the label on the back states:
Directions: Use up&upTM moisturizing hand soap to wash hands as you would use any liquid hand soap.
Upon reading that, I laughed uproariously. Either someone at Target has a sense of humor nearly as delightful as mine or they are really intent on capturing the growing "People who generally know how to wash their hands but are easily flummoxed by an unfamiliar brand of soap" demographic.

c. January 3, 2011 Anno Domini

Sometimes, I like to sit in the cafe at Borders with a cup of tea and a collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories waiting for someone to approach and ask about what I'm reading so I can say, "Some of his stories are cult classics." So far, no one has taken the bait.

VOLUME XVI - A.S.I.S.I.N.E. and Other Tales

c. July 7, 2010 Anno Domini

I saw a car on Ballantyne Commons Parkway today with a license plate stating "140CHARS"
Someone is either boasting about how many Pokémen he/she unlocked or really gung-ho about twitter.

Circa July 9, 2010 Anno Domini

Acronyms Sure to Induce Neurotic Ire to Nonsensical Extremes

The following acronyms and types of acronyms annoy the deuce out of me:

https (Hyper Text Transfer Protocol Secure): It should be shttp, because "secure hyper text transfer protocol" makes more grammatical sense than "hyper text transfer protocol secure"

URL (Universal Resource Locator): Seeing as how not even the moon, let alone the
entire universe, has internet access the "Universal" part strikes me as pretentious. It would be more appropriate to say PRL (Planetary Resource Locator), GRL (Global Resource Locator) or TRL (Terran Resource Locator). Actually, it should be IRL (Internet Resource Locator) because it only locates resources on the internet. You can't type "oil" or "potable water" into the address bar of your browser and expect it to locate oil or potable water for you IRL (In Real Life).

DVD (Definition Non-Existant): Someone needs to pick something for the bloody V to stand for already, even if it is something patently absurd such as "Digital Vorpal Disc" or "Digital Vuvuzela Disc." Until that day, it may as well be a "Digital Vexation Disc" as far as I'm concerned.

SR.D (Spectral Recording - Digital): Acronyms should not contain punctuation but if they must it should at least be the sort of punctuation that would be proper if you wrote it out in the unabbreviated form. No one in his or her right mind would ever write out, "The spectral recording.digital soundtrack is encoded between the sprocket holes," instead of, "The spectral recording - digital soundtrack is encoded between the sprocket holes." Then again, all my fact-checking suggests the Dolby Corporation actually uses SRD or SR-D so maybe it is only Regal Entertainment Group (REG) that abbreviates it as SR.D because REG is stupid. I wouldn't be surprised.

REG (Regal Entertainment Group): Technically, nothing about this acronym itself offends me but I despise everything it stands for.

AIM (AOL Instant Messenger): This one is archaic and no one uses it these days but it should have been AOLIM because acronyms should not include single letters representing other acronyms. From there it is a slippery slope to entire meta-acronyms and eventually words would cease to exist as everyone communicates using only letters without even knowing what any of the letters actually meant.

Two-letter acronyms: If you have to abbreviate anything that was only two words long to begin with that is just lazy and exceedingly poor form.

One-letter acronyms: Same as above, but moreso.

Acronyms used primarily in text messaging or on twitter: Anything I could possibly say about this should, and will, go without saying.

Acronyms that spell words: Exactly 97.25% of such acronyms are created by people who start with the word they want to end up with and think they are being clever by creating a painfully awkward acrostic to fit it. Exceptions to this rule can be granted when the acronym is question is meant in jest, such as Carmen Sandiego's V.I.L.E. (Villains' International League of Evil) or SPEW (Society for the Protection of Elfish/EricLeeForsyth's Welfare), but attempting such a thing with a straight face or with a tongue planted anywhere other than firmly in cheek is not advised for those wishing to remain in my good graces. For another example of an exception to this rule (for those of you who haven't already figured it out) see the title of this blog entry.

c. July 12, 2010 Anno Domini

I recently decided to begin wearing a suit, or at least a sport coat and tie, to work on a daily basis. This resolution may have had something to do with the fact that I'm 29 years old, and it is about time I stopped going to work with untucked polo shirts or dress shirts with the top button undone and no belt like a 15 year old punk kid on his way home from a confirmation/homecoming/NHS banquet thinking "I can't wait to tear this darned grown-up clothes off as soon as I get home" all the way back in the car. This necessitated a trip to the mall to purchase a few dress shirts. Shopping for dress shirts is sort of an alien concept to me because I normally practice the time-honored masculine tradition of relying on my mother to give me lots of dress shirts every year for my birthday and Christmas, so I didn't know my shirt size. Needless to say, I failed to take note of this gap in my knowledge until I was standing in the store, looking back and forth between two different shirts and trying to guess which accommodate my neck and which would asphyxiate me. Luckily, I had gone to the mall straight from work and was wearing a perfectly-fitting dress shirt gifted to me by my mother, who should no doubt be canonized one day as the patron saint of mothers whose sons are hopeless when it comes to shopping for their own clothing. My brilliant plan for dealing with this unfortunate situation was to loosen my tie, undo the top button of my shirt and repeatedly crane my neck in one direction while twisting the collar in the other direction and attempting to read the numbers on the tag. If my goal had been to make myself look like in idiot in front of lots of people in a department store my plan would have been a rousing success but as things stood it was... not a success. Someone should have been there with a camera to take a picture of my awkward contortions, superimpose the words "EPIC FAIL" on it and post it on Facebook, but no. Moments like that happen frequently enough that I should at least look into the possibility of getting a photographer to follow me around just to capture them.  Teetering as I was, on the cusp of a crisis, I very nearly took the drastic step of asking a woman passing by, "Pardon me, m'lady, but could you please help me to determine my measurements?," but I then noticed a partially concealed mirrored column. Using the mirror, I was able to read the tag and learn my shirt size with a minimum of additional contortion. The lower half of the mirrored column was concealed behind shelves and merchandise and such, so it is probably a good thing that I did already know my trouser size.

c. July 17, 2010 Anno Domini

Earlier today, Facebook suggested I befriend three dozen individuals, all of whom are ladies. The explanation offered for why I should befriend every single one of them was, "(name withheld) is a mutual friend." (Name withheld)'s status as an upper-echelon ladies' man came to me as no surprise. I have known as much for several years. What I could not fathom was why Facebook suddenly considered it necessary to try to introduce me to three dozen ladies based on only our mutual acquaintance with (name withheld). Either the algorithm Facebook uses to make random friend suggestions is actually not very random, all my friends other than (name withheld) don't have any other friends or Facebook is in league with certain elements of society I refer to as "Those Who Think I Should Get Out More and Meet a Woman or Two." If the latter is the case, I'm sure all three dozen ladies received suggestions from Facebook to befriend me with explanations such as "(name withheld) is a mutual friend and your biological clock is ticking," "(name withheld) is a mutual friend and I know this guy's profile picture looks bad but I swear it was just taken from an unflattering angle," and "(name withheld is a mutual friend and okay all this guy's pictures are awful but he has a really nice personality." Of course, I summarily x'ed every last one of them out without bothering to check out their profiles. That's how I deal with most people I meet in real life too. Even dark-haired ladies who introduce themselves by saying, "Hey baby, (name withheld) is a mutual friend and I have a passion for calculus, traditional orthography and long, moonlit walks on the beach.'

c. July 22, 2010 Anno Domini

from: (name withheld)
to: jdroberts@gmail.com
date: Mon, Jul 12, 2010 at 5:48 PM
subject: Aaron

Hi!My name is (name withheld) and I might have someone that may be interested in moving in with Aaron. Please give me a call so we can set up a mutually agreeable time for them,and us, to meet.Thank you,(name withheld)ACE Agency for Community Empowerment(555) 555-5555

I could have replied to this by saying I know two gentlemen named Aaron and neither of them are interested in anyone moving in with them, but I did not.

from: (name withheld)
to: jdroberts@gmail.com
date: Thu, Jul 15, 2010 at 7:59 PM
subject: Love you

Hi, Honey---I had a flood in my house---better than a fire but no fun---and was forced to go through everything I own. I came across a box filled with letters from you and Jake. I spent an hour sitting there crying and remembering when you were younger. I just wanted to tell you that I love you and always will even when I'm a gaga old lady and you're a middle aged man.Hope you're having a good summer----Much love, (name withheld)

I replied to tell (name withheld) that I could not be the J.D. Roberts she was looking for because I'm already a middle-aged man. She didn't e-mail me back.

from: noreply@qualitysmith.com
to: jdroberts@gmail.com
date: Tue, Jul 20, 2010 at 4:01 PM
subject: Your QualitySmith Request in Covina

Dear Jonathon,
Thank you for your estimate request. We appreciate the opportunity to help you find a top-quality contractor for your project.
YOU SUBMITTEDJonathon RobertsCovina, California 91722(555) 555-5555jdroberts@gmail.com
QualitySmith is here to offer you the convenience of evaluating three trusted contractors, without the inconvenience of having to contact, schedule and pre-screen each one individually.
If you have not downloaded your FREE copy of our 9 Tips to Hiring a Contractor, you can do so here.
Thanks for choosing QualitySmith.
Best Regards,The QualitySmith Customer Service Team

from: ServiceMagic Service Request customerservice@mp.servicemagic.com
reply-to: ServiceMagic Service Request conscustomerservice@servicemagic.com
to: jdroberts@gmail.com
date: Tue, Jul 20, 2010 at 4:01 PM
subject: Thanks for Submitting a Install a Central Air Conditioning System Request!

Dear Jonathon,
QualityShare has contacted ServiceMagic in order to connect you with up to 3 additional Central A/C Contractors. Please see your matching 10 point screened pros below. Learn about ServiceMagic's 10-Point Contractor Screening.
To access your account, login to www.servicemagic.com using the username and password below.Username: jdroberts@gmail.comPassword: (password withheld)
Next Step: Connect to Your Pros Your matched pros are below. We recommend calling them immediately to request an estimate.
Southwest HVAC, Inc. (562) 896-9442Sears Heating and Cooling - Los Angeles South (866) 747-7381
Remember, all ServiceMagic Professionals are Screened & Approved.
By using ServiceMagic's services, you agree to the ServiceMagic Terms & Conditions
Sign up for Premium Membership and enjoy benefits like accessto a DIY Hotline and Increased Limited Service Guarantee!
Regards,
Customer Service TeamServiceMagic, Inc.Toll-free 1-800-266-8722

I somehow resisted the temptation to reset the intended recipient's password to "iamamoronwhospamsotherpeoplesemailbynotknowingmyownemailaddress" Also, I imagine he sent ServiceMagic, Inc. a billion complaints about how they never got back to him about that A/C installation thing.

c. July 26, 2010

I went to the Best Buy at Blakeney today and my cashier was a former subordinate of mine from Regal Entertainment Group. I didn't recognize her at first, but she asked if I recognized her and I guessed correctly that she was from Regal. Since I have never been a very memorable character, I told her I found it very surprising that anyone I last worked with circa 2004 Anno Domini would remember me at all. She explained that she only remembered me because I was the guy with the Powerpuff Girls backpack.
I used to carry various and sundry items, including my work uniform to the theater in a Powerpuff Girls backpack when I was unlicensed and used to walk or ride my bike to work every day. I had to regrettably decommision it because one day I brought a bottle of pineapple habañero hot sauce to work to put on my lunch, set the backpack down too hard and shattered the bottle. Pineapple habañero hot sauce got all over the inside of the backpack (and my work uniform) and gave the interior a fresh, pineappley, habañeroesque scent. Upon returning home from work, I opened the backpack up and left it outside to aerate but a torrential downpour occurred and I gave up on it.
The wretchedly impudent girl didn't even address me as Mr. Roberts, as I prefer for all former Regal employees I encounter in life after Regal to do. Luckily for her, I had other errands to get to and I didn't have a Regal Employee Counseling Form in my pocket else I would have written her up. 

c. July 29, 2010 Anno Domini

The FedEx drop box outside the building in which I work bears a label stating, "PULL DOWN HERE TO DELIVER PACKAGE." The instructions on its far more demure UPS counterpart merely state, "Come up and see me sometime."

c. August 10, 2010 Anno Domini

I Want to Work Enough Overtime to Accumulate Enough Wealth to Buy Facebook. When I own Facebook I will change the relationship status in people's profiles from multiple choice, e.g. single, engaged, married, to an open-ended field with no character limit. Then instead of merely clicking the radio button for "single" people will be able to change their relationship status to something far more informative, i.e. "Single and not amenable to people trying to change that. Anyone who objects to that can bugger off, and anyone who actually expresses such an objection to me can bugger off twice." That would be significantly less ambiguous than "It's complicated."

c. August 17, 2010 Anno Domini

Lando Calrissian: Thanks for agreeing to be my wingman tonight, Ack. I didn't have time for much of a social life while I was running the colony in Bespin.
Admiral Ackbar: No problem, Lando.
Lando: I'm feeling lucky... that fourth moon is looking awfully romantic tonight.
Ackbar: That's no moon. That's a space station.
Lando: Whatever, Ack. That H'nemthe lady over there has been gazing seductively at me all night. You distract her Jawa friend while I put on the moves.
Ackbar: That one's trouble, bro. H'nemthe females eviscerate their partners with their razor-sharp, knife-shaped tongues during the act of mating.
Lando: Shut up, Ack. You're just jealous because that squidface mask you're rockin' isn't working with the ladies. Oh wait, that's no mask. That's your face! BURRRRRRRN!
Ackbar: *rolls squidface eyes at Lando*
Lando: Either you're with me or your not, but I'm going in.
Ackbar: *dives and tackles Lando while yelling in slow motion* IT'S A TRAAAAAAAAAAP!

1I did not make this up for the sake of convenience. For further information about the wiles of H'nemthe females read the short story "Nightlily" from the book Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina or look them up on the Wookiepedia at http://www.starwars.wikia.com/

c. August 24, 2010 Anno Domini

Normally I dress a bit more formally for work than company policy requires, i.e. a suit or sport coat and tie, but tonight I eschewed the jacket and I felt stark naked. It made no sense. I was fully clothed lounging in shorts and a t-shirt or even going to work in jeans on Saturdays an Sundays when things are more relaxed. It wasn't even as if I were violating any established corporate cultural norms... I normally don't notice anyone else wearing a jacket and if anyone else was even wearing a tie tonight it escaped my notice. At one point, I actually had to look down and visually confirm that I was wearing pants. That should not have been necessary because I knew beyond any doubt that my keys and wallet were in my pockets and I am not a marsupial, Q. E. D. I was wearing pants. It must take a cooler head than mine to follow such logical chains of reasoning while the coverage of one's loins is less than certain. Or maybe I'm just a freak.

c. August 30, 2010 Anno Domini

Firmus Piett: Lord Vader, do you think we should make any modifications to the standard equipment before we invade the Rebel base?
Darth Vader: Do not bother me with such trivialities. Imperial officers should be able to competently handle such trifling logistical matters as this without my personal attention.
Firmus Piett: Yes, Lord Vader. I was only deferring to your vast wealth of knowledge and beseeching you to advise your humble servant with the wisdom of a Sith lord.
Death Star Trooper: *snicker*
Darth Vader: Line the standard stormtrooper suits with bantha fur to retain warmth and trouble me no more, officer.
Firmus Piett: What ever do we need the suits to retain warmth for? Pray tell, your eminence.
Darth Vader: Hoth is a very cold planet.
Firmus Piett: It doesn't, perchance, rain a lot there, does it?
Death Star Trooper: *snicker*
Darth Vader: Hoth receives an average of 23 inches of precipitation per day but, due to the temperature, this precipitation falls in the form of intricately-branched, hexagonal crystals.
Firmus Priett: Intimately-bleached what? I'm only an incompetent Imperial officer, Lord Vader. I don't understand your big Sithy words.
Darth Vader: Snow, you fool! Snoooooooooooooooooooooooow!
Death Star Trooper: *snickersnickersnicker* Good one, Firmus... maybe even better than that time you made him explain what the tractor beam was used for.
Firmus Priett: Thank you, my good man. Maybe next time I'll insist to him that the golden droid's name is C3P1.