In the spirit of me attempting to go through a long, and agonizing, hockey season without jumping ship on my favorite teams, the following paragraphs that have been strung together should not be read if you have anywhere important to go in the next hour, because it's as long as I am aawesome. A whole lot.
Convenience, compounded by my laziness, has led me to save passwords on sites I frequently visit. For the less Internets-inclined folks out there, allow me to explain. I am a devoted checker of my email, which is a very pleasant way of saying I obsessively check my email every 20 minutes. On top of that I have a variety of things that need I feel the want to check up on three (or twelve) times a day.
As if I were boiling water and obsessively checking to make sure it hasn't boiled over, when it hasn't even begun to boil at all. And when checking on water boiling, the lifting of the lid is a vital part of the process. Which sets me back. In fact, this whole paragraph may have set my entire post back further than I would would've imagined at its conception. Post, back and further, three words that all describe relative position, used in a row. Sometimes, even I amaze you, the readership.
So you see, instead of being forced to type out ... my password (almost typed it out right here before realizing how hilariously oxymoronic that would render my argument) every time I deem it necessary to check up on something, my accounts and affairs instantaneously load up on my click.
Introduction to Making Computers Work For You, CSC 010. Welcome to class.
Now with my previously announced browser switch to Firefox, a previously unnoticed issue has been noticed and is noteworthy enough to be noted here on this virtual notepad, Stupefying Stupditiy. A problem isn't a problem until it becomes a problem. Unless you're a go-getter, solving problems before they occur, but welcome to the world of technology where everyone is usually just playing catch-up to problems. And in the not-so-famous words of a certain comic, I don't got jokes, I got problems.
What?
Thus far, my convenience has payed vast, unobvious(?) dividends. Unfortunately, as all things that go up must come down, all things good must come to and end. Or seemingly. I may be overreacting, but just to be sure, pay close attention, because...
...after this flow, you gonna owe me a favor.
Firefox saves your password, UNENCRYPTEDLY.
Buttug McOysty (that's me), making up words at an alarming rate equivalent to the rate of our ozone layer shrinking into obscurity. By the by, what happened to that craze where everyone was worried about that? Calling Greenpeace, get on it thanks.
Pardon me, allow me to reiterate, but in regular-speak. If you use Firefox, save your passwords, and let me on that computer, with one push of a button I can display each saved password and the corresponding site in a nice chart format!
You know, for my perusing convenience.
Now, I'm not ready to incite a browser war between different factions of my readership. I'm absolutely positive there are ways that my saved passwords can also be recovered from Internet Explorer. I don't deny that. But I'm sure there isn't a "Show Passwords" button that is securely guarded by a "Are you sure you wish to show your passwords" prompt either.
I'm glad I don't save my online banking passwords. Because that would be taking "show me the money" to a new e-level. Somebody in the Mozilla Firefox organization needs to lose their job due to my insecurity. An unsatisfied customer is only satisfied when heads roll.
When I first started writing on the virtual paper known as the Internets, I wouldn't say I had a clear direction I wanted to take it in. And if you dare to click on some of my archives, or obsessively read all of them in a row, you can clearly see different writing structures/styles and how I have (d)evolved over the years. I feel like I've changed a lot, yet very little at the same time. As if I was discovering myself through my sometimes thoughtful, sometimes angry, always exciting, always aawesome, ramblings.
This is beginning to sound like I'm celebrating a blog birthday or "1000 posts" or "over 10 billion SERVED! visitors", all of which I plan to one day merrily celebrate, today not being that day.
My point being, I designed, er, modified the Stupefying Stupidity template using Internet Explorer, and consequently (but not apparent to me at the time), for Internet Explorer.
With my recent browser jump to Firefox, I startlingly discovered that one of my beloved background images was not being displayed. So because it is the paragon of art blending in smoothly with a color scheme, I'm going to dedicate the rest of this post to it, and hopefully Firefox cooperates and allows me to display it in all its glory following this sentence, when I choose to end it, right...soon...now:
I find it ironic that Firefox has selectively blocked out an image of a shadowy FOX.
During last night's Avalanchian burial of the Toronto Maple Leafs (WOO!... I know I live in Toronto and can rightfully be branded as a traitor), I flipped around the channels during commercials to pass the time. Impatience never was one of my finer qualities.
Being aawesome atones for that.
One of the more frequently skipped channels during my commercial-time perusals of alternative programming is the homely Crossroads Television System. Better known as CTS (which I always thought stood for Christian Television Station). Even better known as the channel that airs Benny Hinn! Say hello to Benny everybody:
I actually decided to pay attention for five minutes during one of his broadcasts, and after he miraculously heals someone he nudges people by the head and they fall like trees. If I ever got a chance to go on that show and pretend to be healed, I would fall like a tree, then feign like my knee snapped on the way down and then sue for assault and false advertising.
But Benny Hinn aside, the CTS... aw heck, I'll let them explain themselves:
"Choosing television programs on CTS TV provides viewers with a range of entertaining and inspirational programs that present values based on biblical principals."
To my delight, and more so my confusion, during my channel-fly-by yesterday, I caught a glimpse of DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince himself on CTS! I had to go back because I was already well on my way to the next channel, and after rubbing my eyes, and confirming with the Internets, I realized this was no mistake. Fresh Prince of Bel Air is one of the many "entertaining, inspirational, biblically principled" shows CTS offers on a daily basis.
The same show that once introduced me to the entertaining idea of poking fun at fat and short people. And inspired me to never go to West Philadelphia where men randomly pick fights at a schoolyard basketball court with scrawny kids (like me).
It just seems like another television network has decided to appeal to different demographics. And while I don't doubt that Fresh Prince was a (dysfunctional) family-oriented show, can somebody show me where the Biblical principles are? Can somebody also show me where Waldo is?
And if this trend of television networks brining in shows to reach different demographics continues, what's next? World Wrestling Entertainment on the Women's network? Survivor - Cook's Island on the Food Network? Unbiased reporting on the Fox Network? Only time will tell.
I wonder if anyone that reads this blog saw the Bears/Cardinals game last night. Because I have to say, watching professional athletes, a whole team of professional athletes no less, self-destruct when the game is on the line, warms my heart on cold, lonely nights a la Chicken Noodle Soup (with a soda on the side).
That is, unless I'm watching my beloved Colorado Avalanche getting smoked game in game out.
And my fantasy hockey teams. And my virtual stock portfolio.
And (so it seems) my life.
Somebody give me a hug.
Making it the 156378'th time the following video will have been posted on a random blog, but I am no random blogger. I'm the aawesome, the only, Buttug McOysty. Honestly, I know most of you don't care for football. But just watch how this interview spirals out of control in a span of 42 seconds. That's all I ask.
And the coach, Dennis Green, is rightfully pissed off after such a monumental collapse, and the best part is, he knows he's gonna get canned. Suffering from a minor case of the cussing, please excuse him, and remember, his team sucks.
It's confusing when one tries to make an informed decision, a decision that could will profoundly impact lives in and around oneself, and different camps of important people have chosen their sides and are deeply entrenched in their respective positions.
And like Lifehouse, I'm somewhere in between.
And because I consider myself one semi-highly educated, and a very highly aawesome, individual, I tend to know a few things. And one of my many skills is my innate ability to sense an opportunity.
Call me defense contractors, or reconstruction companies if you will, but even in the middle of a verbal war, dollar signs are dancing around in my mind.
So from now on, instead of simply commenting on what I should do with my hair, you can put money into the "Here's five bucks, go cut your excessively long hair" pile or "Here's five bucks for that extra bucket of shampoo you'll need to invest in to keep it growing, and keep it flowing" pile.
An ad for NBC's "The Biggest Loser" show just played, you know the show where they say "Fat people aren't good enough so let's set them in front of cameras and taunt them with tons of food while they exercise in hopes of losing weight thus conforming to our definition of beautiful".
And then following that was an ad for Arby's mouthwatering deal of two cheeseburger melts for the price of one.
I laughed my face off, but I have yet to figure out what type of irony this is. I'm leaning towards situational, but cosmic is coming in a close second.
After posting that elevator photo, I stumbled across a photo that utilized perspectives in a frighteningly similar method. As such, it is my humble duty to throw it up.
What's even scarier is that in Toronto, trash pickup occurs every two weeks, and so because I forgot to take out the pile of trash accumulating in volume and odor inside my garage, not only does that mean some of that garbage will have been rotting in my garage for a good month by the time it finally gets picked up two weeks from now (confused yet?), I'll have successfully robbed my parents of all their good memories from the past two weeks in Europe upon their return by replacing it with memories of how I cannot be trusted at home alone.
My brother and I have an odd relationship. Once mortal enemies that would argue to the death about anything, we now seem to have a common understanding that life would be made so much easier if we were on the same team.
Against our parents.
Not really against AGAINST them, but you know, we face the common adversity (parental nagging) that binds us together. So together in fact, that we have a lot of friends in common (he may be stealing all of mine, but I'm probably just being insanely/insecurely paranoid).
Apparently my house has been volunteered for thanksgiving activities for those friends. I just want to say for the record, nobody is invited and everyone needs to stay away from me and my house because I do not want to have to clean up a darn thing. STAY FAR AWAY.
After a night at a local watering hole spent with some boys of mine, I have come to the conclusion that beer does not make a hockey game more enjoyable. Actually, that should really be separated into two conclusions, from which I spliced as if the conclusions were DNA.
I miss school.
1. Beer does not make anything more enjoyable for me.
and
2. Nothing can make watching the Toronto Maple Leafs attempt to keep up with the other team less painful.
Both, gross over-generalizations, and both probably will not make any sense to me by tomorrow morning when I re-read this post (I, ButtugMcOysty re-read absolutely everything I write because that's what floats my hot-air-balloon), but as of right now, I would battle to the death defending either of the stances put forth.
I had to crane my neck the whole night just to be able to see most of the television because of a bad architectural decision by the restaurant. Although, watching a game in a semi-crowded public place with plenty of people groaning or exclaiming "OH!! OH!!!!" at every near-goal is amusing and makes for a good evening. (Atmosphere is everything. Save our ozone layer!)
That, and chicken wings. A big platter of chicken wings.
The cherry on top of all this? When living by oneself, if oneself decides go out on a certain evening, upon returning to oneself's home, the mess to cleanup is considerably less.
The following is a depiction of a wicked prank idea (click picture for more details):
The empty void that was once occupied by my mom shoving fruit in front of me every half hour, or by my dad asking me about my future every half hour but on the 15's and 45's so as to give the impression of a never-ending barrage of parental influence in my life, has now been replaced by a deafening silence.
I have attempted to fill the void with fantasy sports drafts, and I am a draft-aholic. However, this is eerily ominous of my future parenting skills, in that while I enjoy putting a team together, the thrill ends there, and for the rest of the year, I only care about the two or three teams that rise above the rest. Favoritism and negligence are two qualities that should never go hand in hand.
Feel free to dial half-way to child services in anticipation. I won't hold it against you.
I managed to remember to take out the recycling this morning, and upon my return home tonight, the boxes that were placed on the edge of my lawn closest to the street had been strangely moved to right outside my garage.
Almost as if I had a guardian angel...
...that did my chores for me.
Maybe tomorrow I'll come home and the lawn will be mowed, or the toilets will be scrubbed, or there will be candy on my pillow.
Either way, there are still dishes to be washed, laundry loads to be done, and television to be watched. Apologies to Matt Damon, I've run out of time.
On a whim, my parents have flown off into the sunset, on a jet plane no less, to vacation in Europe. Yes, it's rather romantic, two people, after so many years of marriage, running off like any happy married couple should. Hitting up a few different locations in a span of two weeks. Expensive dining, fancy shopping excursions, trading the cares of the world for room service with an accent, that's everything a vacation should be. The only minor issue they have to deal with, they left their POOR CHILD behind to fend for himself.
That's me.
Just in case your memory needed a jolt, or if you're a new reader, which is highly unlikely because my hit counter readings are inversely proportional to the readings I get off my actual scale, and when one is bored with nothing to do, one eats, so let me share, and for my sakes, please act like you care.
Somebody hold me.
Last time I was left alone by myself, I ended up eating Pogo Sticks for meals. And I outwitted, outplayed, and outlasted starvation.
This time, I'm determined to eat right, and so tonight, I helped myself to a healthy serving of beans and beef and assorted mixed vegetables. And yes I'm very aware of the old adage:
Beans, beans, they're good for your heart.
We all know the rest, no need to get smart. If I survive the night, I'll be back here tomorrow. As Edward Murrow would say, "Good night, and good luck".
I suspect my switch-up in shampoo brands is paying dividends. Some of the comments I've received thus far into my one and a half week adventure:
"Your hair looks great!"
"Your hair is shinier, what shampoo are you using?"
"Your hair is aawesome, just like you!"
"Your hair has never looked browner! This new shampoo accentuates that!" (??)
"I think you should cut your hair, boys shouldn't have long hair," (uh...) "but right now it looks okay!"
So maybe the last two were inferred compliments, and maybe I was talking to myself in comment number three, but you can't argue with the other two glowing reviews, and as such, I must blatantly product place Pantene Pro V.
