10.19.2004
- "Maybe Someday"
And all sorts of other Slieve lyrics. Well enough
of you have bitched an friggin' moaned about me not updating this thoughts
page, so I thought I would do so here. And, as usual, I don't really have a
whole shit-all to talk about. Other than the fact that whenever I sit down and
try to force something out, it invariably turns out shittier than I hoped. So
enjoy, you blood-thirsty savages. I suppose I could ramble on and on about how
I just got out of a long-term relationship. That ought to be good reading, eh?
Sure, why the hell not. It's not as if any of you actually know who I am in
real life. Well, okay, pretty much all of you do, but still. Would you please
allot me that one simple lie? Just once? Goddamn! You readers are so finicky.
I'm sorry, that should've read, "You reader are so finicky!"
Well, long story short (too late) we decided to go
our own separate ways. And by "we" I mean "me." Well not really. Although I
was ultimately the one pulling the pin, it was a long time coming. And it was
all issues we had talked about prior. Time and time again, at great length.
But in my world, where the sky is orange and the Thompson's Gazelles bring me
coffee and Nutter Butters™ all day long, I was under the impression, or belief
if you will, that these issues, if not resolved, would eventually lead to more
drastic measures, or so we had talked about. And such came to pass. All for
the better, by all means. For both myself and her. And I will say, one of the
roughest things was coming to grips with reality when your world comes
crashing down. Gazelles and all. And it really isn't until the smoke clears
and the dust settles that you (or ideally "you both") realize it was all for
the better. And I think we are both at that point now. The short of it is, I
am not the person that can make her happy long-term, and she is not the person
that can make me happy long-term.
Now I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty.
Sorry folks. That's just not the type of guy I am. But I will offer some
pieces of advice. Of all the things I learned from the relationship itself, as
apposed to the demise per se, it's the value of communication. It is insane to
me how couples can go for years and years and never really communicate truly
and openly. Never really get to know the person they are dating or married.
It's actually sad. No really. It is. Believe me on that one. Okay, fine don't,
but it is. Anywho...The jist of it is, without communication, how in the sweet
name of Christ would anyone expect to have a fulfilling and nurturing
relationship? Playing the whole, "Well I shouldn't have to tell her." and "He
should know what I'm thinking!" is completely ludicrous. A note to all you
lady-folk out there: YOU DO HAVE TO TELL US! Us men are fairly retarded when
it comes to knowing what you are thinking. We rarely know what the hell we're
thinking. And that's US! The brain is in our heads, and WE don't even know
what the hell it's contemplating. How many times have you (back to the guys
now) been asked after doing something stupid, "What were you thinking?" and
responded with the ubiquitous "I don't know."? A shit load, right? Me too. So
ladies, let's agree on something here: You tell us what you are thinking, and
we'll tell you what WE are thinking. Deal? Good. I don't expect my female
companion to know what I am thinking. I wouldn't march up to her and watch
this conversation unfold:
"Honey, what the hell am I thinking?"
"Um....I don't know....what?"
"Nope! You have to tell me! I shouldn't have to
tell you!"
"How much you love me?"
(watch the recovery) "Um....yes...and what else?"
"How you wish the football game were on TV?"
"NO!!! Bwaaaahahahahah!! I was thinking how much I
love Nutter Butters™ too! I can't believe I had to tell you that! I'm so
pissed off! That's it! Into the basement with you! MARCH!"
And likewise ladies, please don't expect us to
know that throwing our dirty laundry on your mother's fine china set, handed
down for centuries and centuries, annoys you. We can't fathom such things!
It's dirty, the china looks dirty, to us, that's a perfect match! Besides,
when the hell were you going to use that gravy boat anyway? And likewise,
gentlemen, if she has done something that has annoyed you or hurt you, open
your friggin' mouth. Don't sit there, bottle it up, and let it stew until you
just explode one day. And when you do say something, how's about phrasing it
nicely, and not sarcastically? Would that really kill you? Hmm? Would it? I
didn't think so! You prick.
And since we now have the communication thing down
pat, let's move on to yet another value. Trust. Now, I believe I have been
rather fortunate to have almost always been in relationships where trust was
plentiful. In both directions. But I know some of you sneaky lying bastards
out there think your significant other has no idea what you did in Las Vegas.
But they do. They know you all too well. As a side note that may summate my
feelings on this topic entirely, let me add this: I loathe (strongest word I
could think of other than 'f*cking hate') guys that say "What goes on the
road, stays on the road." I have seen a few married men, when they get off the
plane in the receiving city, remove their wedding band, and run towards
baggage claim like the toy store just marked everything down to one penny. And
that to me is about how much they value their spouse. Just the wanton
disregard for another human being that they supposedly love, is just such a
slap in the face. And, quite honestly, makes me disgusted to be associated
with the male persuasion. But I get over it. Because there are good, genuine,
noble people out there. Somewhere. I think. Or so I'm told. By those sarcastic
liars!
Anywho..I know I started in one direction, and
completely went into a different one, but sod off you whiney bitches! Take
what you can get. So in short summation, for those of you in happy and
fulfilling relationships, count your blessings. You may very well have found
true happiness. I envy that you don't come home to an empty house, and have
someone there to share the little things with. Someone that thinks the world
of you, and would give you the world in return. For those of you that are not
in a relationship, hang in there. I honestly believe if it is meant to be, it
will be. Time is all it takes. And for those of you in miserable
relationships, please know that you, and you alone, are in sole control of
your happiness. Life is too short to waste it being unhappy. And similarly,
life is too long to suffer it being unhappy. And that is about all I have to
say on that topic. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to count some gazelle's and
paint my sky orange.~Sheal
_____________________
2.2.2004
- "demotivation"
As is usually the case, it’s 12:36am on a Sunday night, and I have nothing to write about. But I’m sure I’ll stumble onto something. Like, here’s something. <stubs toe> The worst part of my career choice. Yeah, lets talk about that. Okay smart ass.
Here’s what’s really bothering me. I work a normal day (8ish hours right now. It honestly fluctuates.) But why do I have no desire to do anything after work? Why is it a total struggle to clean something. Or do anything? Why does making dinner suck? Why do I have no desire to work out? Or work on music/video projects? It is very very hard to do that stuff during the week. On the weekends, usually no problem. And I really wasn’t sure until this weekend. Had no problem going to bed gawd-awful late (4:15am) and then got up at 9:45am. During the work week, I can go to bed at 11:30pm and have difficulty waking up even at 8:00am. What the hell? Is the taking away my desire to do anything non-work related? You would think I would WANT to do these other things. It would help me get my mind off of stuff like work. Right? I don’t know. I just feel so goddamn lazy after it. In fact, it’s very similar to flying across the country. You really only sat there all day in a tin cylinder. But for whatever reason, you are exhausted and generally whooped. And if you don’t believe that, go loiter around your local airport. That should be funny to watch. Anyway…..
So what the hell is it? I really don’t know. I kinda’ wish to hell I did. The only thing that motivates me at all (and this is REALLY screwed up) is the thought of NOT being motivated. “Hey lazy bastard, get up and don’t waste the weekend! Get up and stop wasting the evening away!” Really, I think at the root of the motivation is guilt. I think I value the time I have AWAY from work so much, that I will force myself to do something productive. Especially on the weekends. I can sometimes justify lack of motivation during the week. But the weekends are sacred. Although, even if I didn’t force myself, I’d like to think that I wouldn’t just sit around in my Scooby-Doos picking ear wax all night.
The toughest thing in the day-to-day is staying motivated to do something. I like what I do for a living. It’s not like it’s boring or anything. It just has a tendency to destroy my will. And that’s depressing. I don’t know. I realize I’m kinda’ rambling. So pipe down. Well anyway Zoners. Thanks for your ear. I can’t help but wonder if you guys and gals feel the same
way.~Sheal
_____________________
01.28.2004
- "White Knuckle"
I
don’t really have too terribly much to talk about in the Thoughts department
today. Although, some slightly humorous things have happened as of late. I was
doing laundry last night (I know, that’s a first) when I heard a bizarre
noise out in the main living quarters of the house. So, naturally, I finished
adding the dark clothing to the icy-cold waters swirling menacingly below.
Upon further inspection, the aforementioned indiscernible noise was emanating
from the household kitty. That little shit. Attached to him, via strong static
electrical charges, was a 6” square piece of lighting gel paper. To the
unfamiliar, it is essentially a translucent plastic sheet that attaches to
lighting equipment to shade the light in that specific color. Well, this rug
with whiskers was apparently gallivanting about the living room like the
overly gay kitty he is, and managed to build up enough electrical energy to
attach this noisy plastic to his side. So what did I do? Naturally, I pet the
cat rapidly WITH the gel paper, thereby increasing it’s sticking abilities.
What else is new? Not much. Obviously. Work is as busy as it has been for some
time now. And since I wrote that last sentence, we started discussing whether
or not hair replenishes itself after 6 weeks. I personally think that is
bullshit. And of course, some of you out there need not worry about it. The
research department is currently looking into it.
In other news, why is it so much fun to make up new words? Words like
Poopalley (describing a narrow hallway of bathrooms that invariably cook under
the midday sun), Jirish (Japanese-Irish), or even Jerkel (a jerky erkle.)
Can you tell these are random thoughts? Oh…here’s something that pisses me
off. People that don’t know what they want or how to articulate it. I just
got out of a meeting that took about 2 hours to eventually explain to me how
to do something that I was planning on doing all along. But, again, because
the person couldn’t articulate what he/she wanted exactly, he/she ended up
spending 120 minutes going over the most mundane bullshit. The sort of
bullshit that would bore a bull. Even the bull would be like, “Well this is
more boring that shitting. Where’s my leather jacket?” It’s frustrating.
Think of what you are trying to say, and then say it well. Don’t just talk
for the sake of talking. Don’t just fill the space with idle crappy chatter
in the hopes of eventually tripping over the entire point of the conversation
in the first place. If he/she would have simply said, “I don’t like
example A because of reasons 1, 2, and 3; so I would like to see example B
instead.”, we would’ve been outta’ there in 30-seconds flat. That’s
it! But instead, dumbass had to him-and-haw over what exactly he/she wanted to
complain about. Annoys the crap outta’ me. And then everything eventually
ended up full circle. That’s when I started chewing on the white board.
And now I’m all pissed off again. I was doing fine, talking about dreadlocks
and the friggin’ cat and all that worthless shit. But now I’m annoyed. And
since I’m annoyed, I’ll add this little gem. What the hell is the deal
with this damn weather of ours? According to weathermen (yes plural), the last
few days were supposed to be BEAUTIFUL!!! Nothing but sunshine and a little
chill in the air. So what happens? The exact opposite. It pours and pours all
day yesterday, then freezes, then rains some more, then freezes, then snows.
That to me equals ice, water, ice, black-ice then snow. On yer’ marks, get
set……….GO!!! “And they’re off….leading around the corner in a
’74 Coupe DeVille is a white-trash hillbilly that didn’t know how to drive
to begin with, and Ohhhhhh coming up close on the inside at over one mile per
hour is grandma Jenkins, also in a ’74 Coupe DeVille!” And naturally,
since I have both traction control (misspelled and called something kick ass
for branding purposes, like SuperTracII™) and antilock brakes (NoLockyXL9000®),
I too drive like a complete asshole! I can’t help it. I literally found
myself saying, OUTLOUD to myself, “I wonder if I could do a donut with the
SuperTracII™ on?” So I tried. And I couldn’t. At best, I would have very
slowly, and totally in control, crashed into the side of a minivan trying to
do the same thing I was. Friggin’ technology. At least, back in the day, at
least it was a true adventure driving in the snow. I remember MANY times as a
kid my parents having NO luck at all driving in the winter. It would be a
arduous white-knuckle,
you-goddam-kids-better-shut-the-hell-up-before-I-come-back-there-and-beat-the-ever-loving-Christ-outta’-you
4-hour trek to the aunt and uncle’s house. Usually for a happy holiday, like
Christmas. Several hills we couldn’t drive up in the 1979 Delta 88, so
we’d have to go around. The freeways were closed, so we’d have to drive
through the <gulp> city. It was AWESOME!! I’d never seen so many scary
people riding bikes through two feet of snow in the ghetto on Christmas
morning! Hell, I was even BORN in the middle of a snow storm! Maybe that’s
why I love it so much. And maybe that’s why Sniggle hates it so much. I bet
for a few years after that, in his mind he figured every time it snowed, he
got another brother. Poor bastard. But he made up for it. And one day, when he
least expects it, WHAM! Snow balls! Anywho….I’m done babbling aimlessly. I
never start with anything good to say, and then always end up talking about
interesting shit. Sorry for the slow start kids! And if I don’t say it
enough, thanx for spending some time in the Zone today!~Sheal
_____________________
07.18.2003
- "What's Up Doc?"
As is usually the catalyst for me writing, Zoners are complaining. So, here ya’ go. More thoughts. Now, what to talk about? Professionalism? Sports? Food? Entertainment news? How about a new obnoxious neighbor? Yeah, that’ll do. Let’s talk about that.
Meet Doc. Doc is what we call him because he not only used to be a doctor, he is also in dire need of said doctor. Picture, if you will, an 80-something old man. His mobility degraded, requiring the use of what looks like a Porta-Potty™ chair bench thing with wheels and brakes and a seat. Now imagine this individual LOVES to talk. No really, he does. And not just your ordinary small talk, “I’ll be on my way now” sort of chatter. Oh heavens no. He likes to small talk….and talk and talk and talk and talk! The only words/noises you can get in edge-wise, are “uh-huh” and “really?” That’s about it. Now, let’s paint a literary picture.
I’m in a hurry. My girl is on her way to the store before it closes, I just sprayed chemical stripper on the deck, and I go to the front yard to see her off. (Because, ya’ know, the store is about 3 days away.) Then, old man river, I mean, “Doc” hobbles/wheels himself over to the edge of our drive faster than a three-peckered owl. “Hey, how ya’ doin cause I was thinking that if you ever needed any saw blades because I saw you sawing with that jigsaw that you might need some blades so if you do stop on by and I got a whole bunch of them in there from big ones to small ones to ya’ know if you want to do a fast cut or do a fancy cut or uh….what are those things called…” “Uh-huh..well we gotta’ get goin—“Weeds! That’s what they are! I took it upone myself to wheel on up yer driveway and spray them weeds you had growing up there by your grass and flowerbeds and well HA HA HA I’m sure those little fucker’s will be wilting pretty soon if you need to borrow my mower just stop on by and the old lady hasn’t said a word to me in a few years and well you know she used to be a cop…”
You get the idea. And everything I wrote above, I shit you not, he was actually saying! YES! All of it! So what this all boils down to, is both me and my gal RUNNING into the house to avoid a conversation with Doc.
I was sawing some lattice (apparently because I’m gay) last weekend. So he wheels, so Goddamn fast down OUR driveway, and parks it right in the garage. “So whatcha’ sawing there?” And then started the races. My only savior? The saw. Nice and friggin’ LOUD! So he would start to babble aimlessly, and I’d fire that sucker up on full throttle. “So I noticed some of those—“ WHIRRRRRRRRR! “What I was saying was I no—“ WHIRRRRRRRRRRRR! “If you need—“ WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! “I was—“ WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! It was beautiful! Finally sweet revenge was mine!
So, in summation, if you find yourself cornered by a talkative neighbor, make sure to keep your power tools handy. And that’s about all I have to say about that. Yay. Now, time to go talk to Doc. Sweet Christ!~Sheal
_____________________
05.24.2003
- 9:23am
- "Creatures of Habit, BP and Smiting"
I
always seem to bitch and moan on these thoughts pages. When I attempt to write
something serious, Zoners tend to write in to let me know I suck. And when I
try to write something funny, Zoners tend to write in and let me know I suck. Not noticing a trend, I decided to satisfy your never-ending hunger
for humor. Then I realized I wasn't funny. So you're stuck with this crap.
I
shop at BP. Groceries, food, bathroom tissue, coffee, smokes; you name it,
I'll find it or it's substitute at BP. Why do I do this? Because it's 1-mile
closer than a grocery store. Now I realize the prices are roughly 10% to 740%
higher at BP, but it IS closer. And you really can't put a price on
that.
And
this brings me to the real story: I was walking in to BP yesterday, and the
same gentleman was behind the counter. After taking a minute to step away from
his Gameboy Advance, he had sitting on the counter (even before I stepped
through the Star Wars-esq giant glass doors that could crush an ocelot) what
he assumed I was going to purchase. Let me say that again. The kid working,
knew that I apparently ALWAYS get the same things from him, in
the same 2-day intervals, and had my selections waiting for me. Do I
rule or what? I have somehow managed to CONTROL my people, without even being
around. This awesome power surely must be tested elsewhere.
So
I went to McDonald's. And for those of you that are trying to watch your
figure, might I suggest McDonald's? Virtually everything on their menu is
low-fat and deep-fried in beef. So I wanted to order something. The semi-male
voice on the other end welcomed me to McDonald's and suggested I order a value
meal. "Precisely" I thought out loud. My powers are getting
stronger! I was hoping a freak-ish male wouldn't wait on me and touch my food.
Then the sweet sultry sounds of a female crackled over the
"drive-thru" (why they spell 'through' that way, I don't know)
radio. "Sheal, please pull around for some nice hot warm sexy good lovin'
with cheese." "Excellent" I said aloud again. My powers were
getting stronger every minute! And by the way, apparently the male and female
voices belonged to the same person.
After
speeding away without my food, I realized I was almost out of gas. That's
right, BP again. I could feel the powers of mind control oozing thru my veins.
I walk in and the kid says to me, without even looking up, "Back for
more?" What exactly the hell did that mean? My powers smacked him in the
eye for mouthing off to ShealKahn, Lord of the Mind. After ten minutes of the
kid's groveling,
ShealKahn tired of this layman and retired to his chariot.
ShealKahn
realized his need to control other mortals in third person. Thus, ShealKahn
took his gathering to whence the eagle flies. (south to the mall.) Upon
arrival at the fair city of HomeDepot, ShealKahn dismounted his steed (Geo
Tracker with Gay-ass flying squirrel on tire cover) and went forth to inside.
Looking for a particular attachment device (screws) to append his dwelling's
day-barrier. (I broke the blinds in our apartment. And unless I feel like
losing my $1600 deposit, I need to fix them right quick) "Mortal, you
seem like a worthy subject. Wheretoforthhence shall I acquire a suitable
attachment device and talk with her father about the dowry?" "Um...what
dude?" ShealKahn repeated himself, much to the dismay of this court's
servant. "Sir, are you okay?" ShealKahn became angry at this
mortal child's use of the term 'sir' and began smiting him. "ShealKahn
will begin to smite you!" "Um...who?" "ShealKahn,
Lord of the Mind! He shall commence smiting this instant!" Even more
angered, ShealKahn smited all mortals within ear-shot, using as little
profanity as possible. Women and children wept, for their smiting had only
just begun. ShealKahn cast spells of anger, disbelief, and sense of not
finding what they are looking for upon ALL mortals within the city walls!
"SHEALKAHN
SMITES ALL NON-BELIEVERS!" he chanted over and over.
As
security was throwing me out of HomeDepot, I learned a valuable lesson. Don't
drop your keys in the hardware department while trying to cast a +3 smiting
spell. Because believe it or not, not only is a Geo Tracker ridiculously
impossible to hot wire, even more impossible is getting past the security at
HomeDepot. So while sitting in the Tracker as the police tow it for being
parked in a fire lane, I learned my final valuable lesson of the day: I shop
at BP for a good reason. This sort of shit would have NEVER gone down at BP.
Gas stations don't have a fire lane. They don't need one! At that point, I
resolved to never shop anywhere else ever again. BP, you saved my life. Thank
you BP. And thank you, Partition Magic!~Sheal
____________________
04.23.2003
- 10:25am
- "I Thought I Ordered Stupidity!"
As
if I don't bitch and moan enough about this, I felt it was time to continue
the trend. Today's special, irresponsible, ignorant, lazy, unfunny people. I
know, it's a mouth-full. But try to stick with me here. We'll go adjective by
adjective, so keep score at home.
Irresponsible:
I hate these people. As if there is someone out there that doesn't! I know,
I'm not unique in this matter. What irks me though, are irresponsible people
whose irresponsibility affects me and my job. People that promise one thing,
then cancel it; people that claim they can do one thing, then don't deliver;
people that when charged with a task, manage to drop the ball at every
possible turn, so as to avoid making any sort of decisions they (by
definition) are required to make. These people not only piss me off, but make
my life a pain in the ass. Screw you, you irresponsible people.
Ignorant:
There really ought to be no excuse for this. Either go back to Logic School
(I'm sure there is one, online somewhere,) or stop existing. Either way, we
all will be better off. You kids know the types of people this adjective
applies to. These are the people that have 397 items in the express lane at
the supermarket. These are the people that back out of their driveways in
excess of 70mph into oncoming traffic. These are the people that are either
ACTING like they are stupid (for ease of their life and/or job) or are
legitimately stupid. In either case, they need to be bussed off to a retreat
somewhere, and beaten with a dictionary.
Lazy:
Who's up for a lazy bastard? Oooo, I'll take two. Lazy, again, pisses me off.
This can easily tie in to the other adjectives, as an underlying cause for
feigning irresponsibility or ignorance. In all seriousness, why would subject
"A" want to actually perform their jobs (in life and in the
corporate arena [I hate that term]) when they can continue to get away with
being lazy asshats? Because. Lazy is easy. It's simple. In fact, that's what
makes it "lazy." The fact that they really need not do a goddamn
thing. In thirty years, those individuals will wake up and realize they
could've done something worthwhile with their lives. To all of those, I say
"Ha! You suck! Everyone else is better than you!"
And
finally...
Unfunny:
These people REALLY get under my skin. These are the people that pretend they
have social skeelz, but really don't. So again, in an effort to cover up their
shortcomings, they make pathetic jibe-like attempts to be funny. Which they
are irrevocably not. They try to be cute and funny in emails, and use big
words, and misspell things because it's trendy and cool. They also attempt to
use emoticons, but fail miserably. "Hey Sheal, wats goin down, g? :-P
Just chilin' and waxin' poetic and whatnot! :{*(^( $ %) Lemme' no whin yew
thinhk ewe r gonna' b ihn towhn sew whe ken hook-up an chill, g thang!
:_))^*$%(*%#()$Y(*)TH)#($HT" Is it really so horrible or hard to just
be yourselves, people? I'm not going to hate you if you spell check an email,
every now and again. You needn't try to compete and attempt to get me to like you
by pathetically trying to be funny and having bad poor-like sentence structure
type-things! Just STOP it already! STOP IT!! These individuals,
also, should be flown to a small hut somewhere, dipped in syrup, and beaten
with a Jehovah's Witness.
If
you enjoyed this little bit of bitterness, you are alone. I didn't even enjoy
it. Additionally, if you have any suggestions for shit I should write about,
feel free to drop me a line here.
Until then, keep it really real, g-funky all-stars! :-P ~Sheal
____________________
03.06.2003
- 1:06am
- "My New Z3!"
There
are two ladies and a cameraman riding down a street in a refrigerator box on TV right now. I have no clue why, nor do I care. It's because of this apathy I bring to light the following ideas. The below story, because apparently it's a sexist story, is based on the reader (you) being male. Sorry ladies.
You are driving back from a party late one night in your sweet new sports car. It's raining heavily and rather windy. You stop at a stop sign and look to your right. There, in a bus stop, are three people. One is an old lady that is about to die. Second is your best friend that once saved your life. And the third is the woman of your dreams. Just by looking at her, you know you will be together forever. Your car only fits two people. Who
do you take?
At first glance, I would say take the old lady to a hospital. But then you are slighting your friend and the woman of your dreams. If you only take one, you are screwing two other people.
So what is the reason for this conundrum? I would have to say the old "catch-22" deal. Oddly enough, Catch-22 is a 1961 novel. In it, author Joseph Heller, describes the paradoxical insanities of World War II. What's good, is bad. What's intelligent, is foolish. Since then, "catch-22" has been added to the dictionary- and modern vernacular. The definition (among many definitions) is,
"a situation presenting two equally undesirable alternatives." In our example, there are actually four (yes four) equally undesirable outcomes.
So what do you do? Let me answer that with another question.
Do you exist? I wish to prove to you that you
DO exist. To do this it obviously suffices to prove the stronger statement: that there exists an existing person (i.e. you!). (By an existing person I of course mean one that exists.) Surely if there exists an existing person, then there must exist a person, right? So all I have to do is prove that an existing person exists. Well, there are exactly two possibilities:
1. An existing person exists.
2. An existing person does not exist.
Possibility 2 is clearly contradictory: How could an existing person not exist? Just as it is true that a green person is necessarily green, an existing person must necessarily be existing.
Now what does that show us? If you are quick, and you are, you realize that the above assumes quite a few things. Using circular logic, I proved that persons exist. This, of course, ignores all the philosophical
reasoning such as thought, emotion, fate, etc.. It merely states that if you exist, how could an existing person NOT exist? So is it just a play on words? Yes and no. More than anything else, it supposes quite a few things in an effort to direct your thought process. I tell you that you either exist, or you don't. Well that makes sense. We all agree on that. So then how could an existing person not exist?
You clearly must. There's no such thing as an existing object (you) not existing. One completely negates the other. Are you confused? Good. We'll get back to this, I promise. And this brings us full circle.
What do you do with your three travelers?
The answer is two-fold. To get to the best solution, you must first de-suppose a few things. So what is the answer? What is the best possible outcome?
Hand the car keys to your best friend, tell him to drive the old lady to the hospital, and wait for the bus with the woman of your dreams.
You didn't think of that, did you? The story was told in a manner to force your thought process into being selfish. It's your car. YOURS! You need to drive it. Additionally, you wouldn't want to put any of those people in the
trunk (sorry Painter.) So you infer that you can only take one person with you. Which is true- if YOU stay in the car. You need to de-suppose that. The story isn't really a catch-22 after all. You merely thought it was. You assumed the solution was a lose-lose situation. You figured all you could do was determine who was MORE important to you.
Or more important to help. Then you would have to screw two other people. The real solution satisfies all issues. You essentially know that your friend has saved your life, so he would be good with helping the old lady in her life-and-death
situation. He is also who you entrust your new car to. After all, he saved your life! Finally, if this is truly the woman of your dreams, it doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, as long as you are with her. You already know you will be spending the rest of your life with her.
So waiting for a bus together is perfect.
All of this logic and questioning was essentially to get me back around to my initial topic I was going to bitch about.
The refrigerator box. This puzzle and its solution, forces the solver to think outside the boundaries of the situation. Be creative, think about ALL the possibilities. Anything is possible. What else do we call this? Yes, thinking "outside of the box." I hear people throw this term around regularly. "Try to think outside the box!" And it just makes me laugh. Truth be told, if the person telling you to think "outside the box" were to actually do that (in it's truest form) he/she would no longer be saying that phrase. They would "think outside the box" themselves, and create a better way to communicate their
thoughts– instead of supplying the cookie-cutter phrase. They would've found
a way, that hasn't been thought of before, to express themselves
appropriately. It's safe to say that very few people could give a concrete example of something THEY did, where they effectively "thought outside the box." And this progression permeates everything we see as human beings. From TV ("outside the box" "original programming" like reality-based TV [which started in the 1950's with game shows], peers, media, entertainment, music, etc.)
So my closing remarks? Don't think outside the box. BE outside the box. In fact, it isn't even a box. Call it something different. Say that you "think outside the melon ball." Or that you are "outside the chicken coop." ANYTHING to be original! And the next time someone says the "box" line to you, submit the above problem, and see if they can answer it in less than 30 seconds accurately. They won't be able to.
They will most likely save the old lady because that is what they think YOU
think is the "right" answer. But none of this will matter, because things are sunny on your side of the melon ball.~Sheal
____________________
03.04.2003
- 12:22am
- "Mine Mine Mine!"
So
here's a little piece of information I found interesting. In 1980, the average
CEO was paid 42 times what his/her average worker made. In 1990, it was 85
times. And in 2000, it was 531 times as much. Additionally, the average
workers pay, over the 21 years between 1980 and 2001 grew by 74%; while the CEO
average increased 1,884%. Doing a little math here. Let's say you are the average
employee (who are we kidding, you are! You are average at best! Stop fooling
yourself, slacker.) Let's say that as this 'average' employee, you make
$38,000 a year. That means, on average, your CEO makes about $20,178,000 a
year. Now that may not be right in your organization. It could be more, it
could be less. But this is the AVERAGE!! That's
pretty goddamn staggering! So let's continue.
The
CEO of Boeing, which has 167,000 employees, made $4,000,000 – excluding
incentives – in 2001. The Commandant of the US Marine Corp, which has 174,000
employees, made $169,860 in 2001. More employees, less money. Some might even
say a significantly more important job, and he made 23.5 times LESS than the CEO of
Boeing (who MAKES their planes) made in the same year. But why does this matter? Because. It just does.
The US government makes billions of dollars each year from taxes. Oddly
enough, Boeing ALSO makes billions of dollars. But guess which of these two
organizations spent the highest percentage of their income on non-compensation
related costs? That's right. The US government. And that's the way it should
be, right? Actually yes. So
what's my beef? Why do I have such a big stick up my ass about this? The
government is for the people, BY the people, right? Right. But my bitching
isn't about the government at all.
Now we come back to
a local job. We'll take a non-related company as an example (primarily because I'm
a chicken-shit.) Verizon Wireless had a
pitiful year, in terms of earnings, for it's share holders, and employees. So
what do they pay the top two executives, even though their sales were marginal
at best? Over $35,000,000. Stocks tumbled, employees were laid off, people
lost their homes and careers. But the top two were paid. Grossly paid. In fact, a former
exec retired just before 2002. His compensation package? $2.47 million dollars
a year and free use of the corporate jet...for the rest of his life. THE REST
OF HIS F*CKING LIFE!!! Fair,
isn't it? Certainly fair to the employees 20 years down the road, don't you
think?
And
perhaps it is. Perhaps you have to pay the best, to attract the best. Perhaps
it is money well-spent. Or perhaps people are losing sight of the little
people. The hundreds and thousands of "grunt" workers that keep the
doors open. That keep the phones ringing. That keep the dollars coming in. Do they have unions? Not usually. Do they have organization? Not
usually. Do they have representation? Not usually– unless you count the CEO
that makes about 531 times what they make. Why don't they have these things?
Fear. Their review is coming up, and they don't want to be labeled a non-team-player, or be accused of not being a 'fit' for the direction
of the company. They can't AFFORD to loose their job. They have kids, a house
payment, a car payment, credit card payments. You get the picture!
Over
all, there is no right answer. I wish there was. The basics of economics and human relations
overwhelmingly override the situation. Some say fate. Some say destiny. Either
way you look at it, the ones making the obscene amounts of cash, are the ones
steering their fate. They are the ones that know how the game works. They know
how to be at the right place, at the right time, with the right line of
bullshit coming out their mouth. And if I sound bitter, it's because I
am. Everything is a gamble. "Bet big to win big." And I'll tell
you what, no one that LOST big is still saying that shit anymore! It's the
little peckers that WIN big, that screw it all up for the rest of us.
I will now get off my soap box, and fall asleep. For when I wake up,
I will go to work. I will scrimp and save, to attempt to purchase a modest house, that
virtually any CEO, wouldn't even wipe his ass with. Hugs and kisses!~Sheal
____________________
03.03.2003
- "More Work, Less People"
Here's
a pet peeve of mine. Stupid people. And not just your run-of-the-mill idiots.
The morons that essentially run your life from 8-5 Monday through Friday. To
cover my own ass, I will not use any names. And speaking of covering my own
ass, there just happens to be a certain manager I've been told about, that believes his/her
sole purpose, professionally, is to cover his/her own ass. He/She'll say
things like, "Just to CYA." As if a f*cking acronym is going to make
it better. This would be the same manager that would avoid making decisions
just to "Cover my own ass." This sort of non-managing pisses me off
beyond all possible belief. And then this individual will insist upon
interrupting BUSINESS MEETINGS to talk about personal things. Like which cable
company he/she should use at home, and what a good cabinet maker would be. You
gotta' be f*ckin' kidding me! Interrupting a business meeting, that he/she
called, and shows up late, then talks about his/her personal shit? <bites
down on keyboard to prevent outburst.>
Continuing
on with this crap, is the workload issue. The economy doesn't exactly do very
well last year, is not doing well this year, so the workload at work must be doubled.
Why? 'Cause they're idiots! Don't attempt to analyze WHY our numbers aren't
great, or
WHY we aren't getting those larger deals. Just go at it half-assed with no
hard facts to back-up what you are doing different or why. It couldn't
possibly matter what the economy is, could it? So what can we do?
What will help us increase the business? Attacking a shit-load more markets. Almost
20 to be exact. Do we have a plan? No. Do we have a strategy? No. Do we have
any market research? No. Do we have any competitive analysis in these fields?
No. Sounds good to me! When do I start?
So now, my responsibilities go from 4
or 5 markets, to 20. 20!!! With no plan. The seat of their pants is good
enough for me. When I suggested that we REALLY need a plan to do this the
right way, I was essentially told "no." Why? Because that would mean
more work. We wouldn't want any sort of document that explained what we were
doing, how, when, where and why we were doing it, would we? We couldn't
possibly need that for some sort of direction, WOULD WE?! Of course not.
"It won't make a difference." I was told.
So
now, when I BARELY had time to do the workload BEFORE, we have now quadrupled
it. That sounds about right. But I get a raise, right? Ha! F*ck me! Why would
I? No one at the company did, right? F*ck no. We aren't doing all that well,
remember? Okay. So then the money went to hiring people, right? Actually, that
is correct. But did they hire people that would help in these areas? No. Of
course not. I won't get into the areas we hired people in, but lets just say
that a pile of shit would have been more useful to me. A giant pile of shit!
With no fork. But the hiring, and the poor revenue explains no comp increase, right? No.
Others have received comp increases. But not me. So I must be doing something
wrong. There must be several areas where I can improve, right? According to my
employee review, no. I am an exemplary employee (translation- I hide my anger
and pissy attitude very well in the workplace. Which only means I know how to
play the game). There are no areas where I really need to improve? According
to the manager, "correct." Whether or not I believe that crap, is irrelevant. Well then, why
won't I receive a raise? "Because no one makes what they're worth at ABC
Company." I about hit the goddamn floor when I heard that. You gotta' be
f*ckin' KIDDING! Did he/she actually say that OUT LOUD!? It would be one thing if I were an hourly employee, but I'm
not. So all the extra work I do, is essentially FREE work for the company.
What a bargain! For them. But we'll get back on track.
So
now with a ridiculous workload, I now have roughly 3 major and 3 minor
projects EACH day that need to be completed. In 9 hours. I already give them
my lunch. I already HAVE to give up weeknights and weekends on occasion. But
what REALLY pisses me off, are the "last-minute" emergency projects.
Someone is going out of town tomorrow morning, and they need 400 of
such-n-such before that. It is roughly 14 hours before they depart. This is
the first I hear of it. When did the individual that delegated the project
find out about it? A month ago. A f*cking MONTH AGO! Why didn't I find out
about it until now? Because he/she forgot, and just kept forgetting. For a
month. A MONTH!!! So what do I do? I stay up until 4:15am getting it done and
driving it out to the traveler's home. Why didn't I just make the other
person do it? Because they can't. It's my job. I'm the only one that knows how
to do it the right way, and quickly. If that isn't dedication, I don't know
what is. And what really chaps my ass, is that this shit happens ALL THE TIME!
And there really isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it. Except bitch and
moan. And that does no good. Because then I'm not a "team player."
At
any rate, that is what's pissing me off now.
On
another note, some of you wanted me to write about the most negative woman in
the world. Well, I feel that perhaps I should not. After all, she is a flaming
bitch on wheels, and I despise her and her shitty attitude, and would like to
see a giant piece of livestock fall on her at 74mph. But perhaps,
sometime later, I will chat about it. Until then, keep your cholesterol up,
and your chin down.
~Sheal
____________________
02.20.2003
- "IHPSQOPSCSG Form Version One"
I
was reminded earlier today of an email I had written to a certain Jackson
Kupcak. A fellow coworker was listening to the computer-created MP3 transcript
of the email. I wrote this email out of frustration with a certain software
product not functioning properly. The software actually works great now. Click here for the
mp3, and read below
for the text.
"OnBase has noticed something that may perhaps interest you greatly in your endeavor to more efficiently do your job. OnBase, and it's powerful artificial intelligence has noticed that someone very near and dear to you has requested a purchase order. As far as OnBase knows, that sounds like a job suited just for you, Mr. William Bartholomew Painter III. If the requestor was indeed not near nor dear to you, then OnBase apologizes for saying so earlier within this current transmission. OnBase didn't mean to jump to any conclusions. OnBase feels that this may have started things out on the wrong foot. OnBase feels like a complete asshole right now. OnBase is VERY sorry. Just a reminder again that someone perhaps near and/or dear to you has requested a purchase order. The weight of the purchase order world now rests completely upon your shoulders. There are people that requested purchase orders that are still waiting to hear back from either you or the ever popular and immense OnBase abyss. Should you have any questions or concerns, you need to fill out the OnBase I Have Perhaps Some Questions Or Perhaps Some Concerns So Good Form Version One located easily within the OnBase system. Just a couple blocks down on your left-hand side after the Burger King, you will see the form. Waiting at a bus stop. Smoking Pal Malls, hoping that someone will pick it up, fill it out, and leave it by the curb. This is where the OnBase processor will stop by like it owns the place, whip the door to it's 1972 Mercury Cougar open, and offer the OnBase IHPSQOPSCSG Form Version One some candy and tell it how pretty it is and that it must be hot and should take it's top off, then OnBase will ask the Form if it wants any "fries with that shake?" At that point, you will be notified via lanterns in the clock tower whether or not you have successfully received a form, and if so, whether it will be mailed via pony or bird. One lantern if by sea(gull); two if by a two-legged goat with wheels for back legs. Just a reminder for you, someone that is clearly neither near nor dear to you has requested or even purchased a purchase order. It is strongly suggested you pack as quickly as possible and get out of the house. The call is coming from inside. GET OUT! Once you do that, please notify the local police station that you are a registered sex offender and that you will be heavily armed with a rubber mallet and a pile of sardines and you are not afraid to use them. This just in: OnBase has noticed that you don't smile much anymore, and that someone you clearly hate insipidly has requested a purchase order. And you and OnBase don't talk like you used to. You just go out on the weekends and have a good time with your friends, while OnBase gets stuck at home doing your dirty laundry, while you're out having a good time. OnBase doesn't think this is very fair. OnBase is sick and tired of you acting like it OWES you something. Well Mr. High and Mighty, if you think OnBase is just your little whipping boy, man do you have another thing coming. OnBase wasn't put on this planet to clean up after your sorry ass. Please look in your queue where you will find that OnBase has thrown all of your belongings. Including your fishing rods, your golf clubs, and your secret collection of Care Bears™ and Garbage Pail Kids® collectable cards- including Stinky Pete™! Right about now you should realize that someone has requested thirty-seven more purchase orders, and your inbox is now full. Even though you don't use AOL, American Off-Line will be disconnecting your electrical services at your residence. If you do not recognize the purchase order requests that have been filled out within four minutes, the East-Ohio Gas Corporation in coalition with Columbia Gas of Ohio will be filling your house with toxic fumes. At that point, the IHPSQOPSCSG Form Version One will drop a lit match next to your collection of Better Homes & Gardens Magazines. OnBase thinks that you are getting what you deserve. You snotty little Mr. Know-It-All! Please review the purchase order. This is honestly your last warning. Don't make OnBase get all up in your grill and what not. OnBase doesn't want to bring the smack down on your ass, but OnBase will if it has to.
Love,
<website>.com"
~Sheal
____________________
02.15.2003
- "I Don't Care, You Decide."
This
is the story of why I hate a small city. It's 7 o'clock on a saturday night.
In February. And there really isn't all that much to do in this town. Here are
the basic choices: 1.Dancing 2.coffee bar 3.local bars 4.bar hop 5. jazz bar
6.wine bar. And that's about it. I've you're at the top of your game, you'll
realize they all have to do with bars. Other than those, you could go to one
of the local comedy clubs, but you've done that a lot recently, and they have
sub-par performers, like Caroline Rhea (of terrible obnoxious Caroline Rhea
Show fame.) You could sit on your ass. But that gets boring after a while.
Video games, TV, movies, board games, and eating are good for about 30 minutes
of the night. But again, how many bored (not board) games can you play with
two or at most three people? Pretty much uno and monopoly. Both of which get
old very quick.
So
in an effort to relieve myself of this boredom chain, I've decided to come up
with the shit I would like to do. Why can't I? Jail, pain, money, guts,
and wisdom all play key factors. Additionally, each of these items has what
is, in effect, the current substitution option.
Rich
Entrepreneur
Hop
out to the runway and grab your pilot. "Take us to South Beach,
pronto!" Assuming your pilot isn't deaf, this would be fun. Also assuming
he isn't blind.
Poor
White Trash
Take
your '95 Altima to BP. Realize that filling it up costs you no less than (and
this is absolutely TRUE) $25! Weep to yourself. Get in and tell your friend,
"Take us to South Beach pronto!" When he drops you off on the frozen
shores of <insert local lake name here>, walk home and have a Hot
Pocket.
Eccentric
Free-Spirit
Get
in your Ferrari, and visit all the coolest local shops. Pick out those awesome
gadgets and gizmos you've had your eye on for a while. Then stop over to the
club next door, and party with all the hot chicks and musicians.
Money-Conscience
Twenty-Something Geek
Those
stores mentioned above have been replaced by Good Will and the Salvation Army
stores. Not because you're cheap, because your city doesn't actually have
anything other than Target and Best Buy. When you stop over to the club next
door, you pay $25 cover to get in, $8.50 for a mixed drink, and realize the
"talent" on the stage is severely lacking so-called
"talent."
Eccentric
Free-Spirit
Grab
a fresh pair of shoes, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. Head downstairs to the
casino. Spend hours getting pampered with free drinks, food, and misc. loot!
Play to your hearts content, then go catch a show around the corner. When it's
all done, head upstairs and crack open a bottle of Louis Jadot on your private
balcony overlooking the street-scenes unfolding below.
Mullet-Loving
G-N-R-Listening Hill Jack
Grab
a fresh pair of shoes, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. Head two feet outside.
Freeze your ASS off because it is 2 degrees. Head back inside. Break out that
deck of cards. Pay for chips, beer, liquor, and everything else. Say things
like, "This table has no action." Get pissed and storm out,
expecting the pit boss or floor manager to come over and make everything
alright. Stay in your bed, because, well honestly, no one likes a negative
bastard. You managed to piss off the only people that would play with you.
You're such a tool.
Slowly
fall asleep and dream. That is about it. There isn't anything to do that you
haven't done a jillio\n times, and you aren't about to venture into the
"wrong" part of town to go to the ONLY jazz club in your city. So
just call it a night. Or go vandalize something. Either way, you're better of
with a heavy jacket.
~Sheal
____________________
02.12.2003
- "Mail Call"
Time
for me to bitch and moan. Heaven forbid, our mail boxes actually be attached
to the apartment. As another page from "How to Annoy the Hell Out of 'Yer
Tenants for Dummies," our apartment building is located roughly 12 hectares
from the slightly smaller mail-box-structure-thingy. This mini-mall of mailbox
structures, houses a dozen tiny mail compartments- each of which designed to
be just large enough to shred your knuckles while attempting to access your
incoming. If you haven't read any other pages on this site, you need to be
told that our average temperature in the last month has been about 1. Fahrenheit.
ONE! Cold. VERY cold.
So
at the end of a long day of dealing with all the stupid people in the world,
my one bit of joy (excluding girlfriend) is mail call! This is FUN! Now that I
am more-or-less debt-free, I actually enjoy mail. Love notes, birthday cards,
general how-do-you-do's, you know, that sort of thing. But as of late, pirates
have hijacked my mail box. "Pirates?" you ask? Yes. Pirates damnit!
These pirates are evil. They are only one step above the undead on the
International Chart of Evil. The mail box pirates enjoy putting mail in the
box, as far from the little sharp-ass aluminum door as possible. They burry it
in the back. And what mail do these pirates leave? Junk mail. "Oh, great!
Another lame column about junk mail." Back off, hoser! This isn't just
your ordinary run-of-the-mill junk mail. Oh no no! This is unbelievably
repetitive and USELESS junk mail. On average, every day, there are 32 pieces
of mail. 11 assorted coupons for dry cleaners and carpet cleaners. This is
clearly stating that as an apartment dweller, we neither know how to do
laundry, or clean up a spill. 9 of these items are "Have You Seen
Us?" post cards. To be brief, NO! I have not, I will not, and if I did, I
wouldn't tell anyone. I haven't seen you or the person next to you EVER! Not
even on the internet. Never! NO! And the final 12 items are credit card
pre-approval applications for my girlfriend. This is, again, merely to remind
me that MY credit sucks, and hers doesn't! It's not my fault I bought a
61" TV! The guy at Best Buy made me!
So
as I walk inside, clutching a dozen credit apps with bloodied knuckles, I say
to mail box pirates everywhere, "STOP! No one reads your crap! I don't
know what company you are from, and I don't care! Spend your direct-mail
campaign money on improving your PRODUCTS! Spend it on improving your SERVICES!
Spend it on ENGLISH lessons for your employees!! I hate you all!"
love,
~sheal
