Friday, June 29, 2007
I Know The Draft Was Last Night
And that the season doesn't start for a few more months. But I think Kevin Durant just made the 2008 All Star Team. Yup.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wee
*Preface - I'm still not over how horrible this template of mine is. It's too bad I'm unwilling to do anything about it. At least not until the day I'm sitting in lecture with the prof mumbling about the wonders of computing in the background while I check the blog for comments. That will be the breaking point. I can see it now. With that all out of the way, this post ended up about ten feet (ell oh ell zed, you'll get it later) long of the intended receiver. That made no sense.
An unfortunate freak accident occurred at a Six Flags amusement park in Kentucky, severing the feet patron. "A cord wrapped around the 16-year-old's feet and severed them at her ankles", after the cord snapped on a ride named the Superman Tower of Power, similar to Canada's Wonderland's Drop Zone. And being the responsible park Canada's Wonderland is, it has taken the initiative to halt its free-fall ride pending safety inspections.
*Sidenote* Kenneth Lay? THE Kenneth Lay? The guy responsible for the Enron fiasco? According to the world's most accurate and entertaining encyclopedia, he's dead! Was he just hiding out at amusement parks avoiding incarceration? How is somebody not looking onto this? And is this a viable career option? Or a vocation open only to multi-billionaires? So many questions. So few answer*End Sidenote*
That's right. I've never been on the Drop Zone. Not because I'm chicken. I eat chicken for breakfast. Simply put, I've always been told that the long line is not justified by the payoff of a thrilling few seconds of free falling. But I've been meaning to see for myself. And now, it looks like it won't be happening anytime in the near future.
We've reached the halfway point of this post and we're talking about amusement parks, so go ahead and make like that casino commercial (I can't remember which casino nor can I find the clip) where the people walk around with their arms raised above their heads like they're
*humming the logically confusing MIMS - This Is Why I'm Hot*
I still want to go to Wonderland. Somebody please take me to Wonderland. Please? Anybody? Really! I'm not scared! Everything I do in life involves some level of risk. Driving to work in the morning. Lobbing pitches at uncomfortably close ranges to hitters looking to smack the skin right off the softballs. Ordering materials off e-bay. Befriending soon-to-be-friends. You just never know when another car rushing to get to work may come crashing into yours, or when a softball will take an ugly bounce, or when a package will come laced with anthrax, or when a soon-to-be-friend also happens to be on America's Most Wanted.
It's living life. It's risky. There are just more important things to think about then every little thing that could go wrong. Being in North America affords us a certain level of comfortability already. We have it relatively sweet. But back to the issue at feet, I mean, hand.
*well deserved angry stares at a failed comedic attempt*
Let's just cut to some direct quotes before this whole post blows up in my face.
WAS pretty? WAS popular? Sounds like someone is rushing to a premature judgment of how she'll fair in the future. Kids can be so mean. I know because I am.
A beauty (in the past according to school-mate) AND a beast.
The no blood thing is creepy. What, did red Jello come spewing out of her severed limbs instead? Maybe ketchup. More believable. And less chunky.
I'm hungry. This post has reached its end. The hunt for food officially commences now. I'm thinking chicken...feet. Jokes.
*walks over to a mirror and disapprovingly shakes head at myself*
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
This Was A Quickie
I was almost able to key in the first letter for the preface-that-never-was to this post, but I looked up and saw the atrocious layout, attributed solely to my atrocious Photoshop skills, and decided to go throw up some chunks instead.
I'm still more aawesome than you.
No, seriously, it's on a T-shirt. And I've come to trust anything that's written on a T-shirt.
*Incoming Disjointed Thought*
Have you seen the commercials for NBC's new reality show, "Age of Love"? The ads are billing this "the greatest social experiment ever". You mean to tell me that the foremost respected social scientists in the known universe got together for lunch one day, and collectively came up with a premise equivalent to "Bachelor" (one guy and 20 or so women attempting to win the heart of this one guy), with the only "significant difference" being that the women are purposely different ages? Seriously? That's the greatest social experiment ever.
I may trust T-shirts, but I'm much more skeptical when it comes to television executives. And scientists.
Speaking of scientists, finally we have some that are doing their jobs.
I've always suspected as much.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Just In Case Anybody Was Wondering
*Preface - I originally intended to do this post on July 21, 2007, but I think it's even funnier if I throw it up this early. For those easily angered, don't click the read more. You have been warned. Seriously. Think about it before clicking.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
It's The Other Thumb This Time
Two minutes.
I took half a day off work so I could drive myself to midtown in the afternoon for a doctor's appointment. This after waiting an hour, then giving up and going home (like a true quitter), the day before, at a local walk in clinic.
Don't worry, what I have is not contagious, and not scary like salmonella (ella ella, hey hey hey).
But there needs to be a better system for people that know what they have and know what medication they need for what they have.
Because taking half a day off work so I could drive myself to midtown in the afternoon for a doctor's appointment after waiting an hour, then giving up and going home like a true quitter, the day before, at a local walk in clinic, for TWO MINUTES of face time with the doctor and a little piece of paper that entitles me to a vial of pills, seems just a tad inefficient.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Hitting Creative Impasses?
*Preface - And now, for another exhilarating edition of McOysty 101's. Life lessons will be learned; schools, you will be taken to; and potential million dollar products will be formulated.
Creative Juice. Drink up.
*Post-face - THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CREATIVITY PACKAGED IN CARTON FORMAT. CREATIVE JUICES, BECAUSE JUICE SOMETIMES COMES IN CARTON FORMAT. I'M SORRY IF MY WIT IS NOT COMING ACROSS CLEARLY. THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR BEING ENCOURAGING. IMAGE HAS BEEN CHANGED, CLICK FOR ORIGINAL, CONFUSING, VERSION. I HATE THE INTERNETS.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Pass Me The Fried Chicken Thanks
If you look closely, you should be able to spot pimples resembling the star constellation Cassiopeia on my forehead.
*Sidenote*References to things that happened in the movie Serendipity need to be made more frequently and more blatantly. It is one of maybe three movies that if I happen flip by it on the television, no matter where it is in the movie, I absolutely must watch to the end.*End Sidenote*
I've been eating absolutely filthy food lately. And I cannot stop myself from eating food that happens to be in front of me. And most of the time, I'm not even hungry.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
T-I-T-L-E, Title!
*Preface - Still catching up with the half-written posts before I went dark.
Quickly flipping through a random cross-section of television programming, it should only take the average human being about 30 seconds before they realize that 99% of the shows and advertisements on air aren't worth their time.
Of course it is unfair to simply disregard that one percent television you can safely watch without wanting to run full speed into a brick wall. What's that saying. Something about sifting through layers of trash to get to the gold. I digress.
Falling under that 1% of superb programming, a particular spectacle that occurs once a year. A display of emotions, and life passions, coupled with tense, anxiety-riddled moments. Highly educational, and highly entertaining. It features self-imploding meltdowns, as well as life-altering triumphant victories.
As usual, being purposefully vague before the jump is a tactic I'm proud of.
Faaaaaaantastic!
Spelling has permeated into every fiber of our culture. Ignoring the fact that word games, such as Scrabble or crosswords, are just about the best games ever, take for instance, popular music.
You know, the songs where artists are too lazy to think up a real chorus and just spell out their names or random objects instead?
Hi Fergie!
*waves*
Not to pick on hip-hop, but that's the genre a vast majority of the perpetrators fall under (my umbrella, ella, ella) Like this classic hook, taken from, well I'm sure you'll figure it out:
"Its the D the I the D the D the Y
The D the I the D
It's Diddy, (Hold Up) It's Diddy (That's crazy)"
Check again! It's "Diddydid". That's what you spelled! For really!
But I'll let it slide like a playground fixture. You know, before I got into "black" music, that line kept me up at night. I just couldn't figure out how somebody could misspell their own name on a song that became a hit, raking in more dollars than I'll ever see in my lifetime (no Jay-Z).
But let me tell you, hip-hop artists are not the only ones guilty of the crime of lazy lyricism. I mean, even us churched folks have the "B-I-B-L-E" song and the much more annoying "I am a C" song. And while this doesn't fully count, but the Village People had no problem spelling out an institution!
And who is to blame for all this madness?
...wait for it...
...it's coming...
...have you seen the movie "Knocked Up"? It's hilarious...
Mickey Mouse.
Thank you.
Good night and good luck.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Delightful Feeling When Things Come To Fruition
*Preface - Shout's, with the apostrophe replacing "out", to sogh.
Not that you really needed a reason before, but please, tell a friend to Google "Buttug McOysty".
You'll be saving them from the utter confusion waiting to happen when they see me rocking the above t-shirt.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The FCC Won't Let Me Be, Or Let Me Be Me, So Let Me See
*I'm prefacing the preface - I just reread this post I wrote about a month ago, and I was mildly disappointed by myself. But I'm going to throw it up anyways, so y'all can share in my disappointment.
*Preface - It would've been nice if I could claim that this post was carefully crafted during the somewhat prolonged verbal absence of me on this blog. But it wasn't. It all came pouring out one night while watching the Suns get Spurned (PUN). But this is long. In fact, there are unconfirmed reports from space that this is about as long as the Great Wall of China. I say unconfirmed because we can't even safely send astronauts up there anymore. FOAM!? Seriously!? Shouldn't we be synthesizing some hybrid metal/plastic material instead of using FOAM? Am I the only one that sees this? I bet crazy scientists are probably too busy concocting healthy carbonated drinks to worry about the "final frontier". Oh. For real?
You know that feeling you get when you're minding your own business, happily typing away on your ergonomically correct keyboard? You catch the reflection of a flicker of movement on the right-hand corner of your monitor. Then an unmistakable slow, steady and subdued breathing frighteningly close that sends chilling shivers down your spine?
You do!?
Me too!
It's been quite the adjustment period after one year of an entire cubicle to myself, having somebody else move into my space (no creepy Internet networking site). Not to say that he's a bad guy (quite the contrary), but I equate this experience to that of an arranged marriage (no Brokeback).
1. There is absolutely no talking to his aawesomeness before his aawesomeness has had his coffee.
This is self-explanatory.
2. There is limited talking to Buttug McAawesome in between his coffee and lunch time.
Life-threatening situations that require the use of verbal communication is now permitted, but if situation is deemed non-life-threatening, all spoken words will be treated like gas that has been passed by myself in a situation where one is unsure if anyone has noticed, IGNORED.
3. Speaking of gas...
There is to be absolutely none dealt in the cubicle. Consequently, there is to be none smelt in the cubicle.
4. Your friends, are not my friends.
Tell your friends to meet someplace other than in our cubicle. I've met them, and am under no obligation to like them. If you feel the need to see aforementioned friends, please arrange visitation elsewhere. I have enough friends (four), I don't need any more.
That came off too harsh. I mean to say, a revolving door of friend's dropping by on an alternating 15 minute schedule send my productivity levels to a new deep (no John Mayer). Coordinate a schedule that leaves me a good portion of any given hour for work.
This has been a public service announcement.
Thank you.
(Oh, we're not done yet?)
5.
There's nothing worse than being rudely greeted in the morning by bright xenon lights while still groggy and slightly teary eyed from a not-enough-night-of-sleep. And I'm sure something could be said about conserving energy and being environmentally friendly. But I won't say it until Greenpeace pays me to.
6. Take a different lunch break than me please.
Everyone could use a little time to themselves. It's not enough that I come in a little earlier and leave a little earlier.
7. Don't play solitaire.
As a full fledged nerd (which you have to be to be working at the company), you should have progressed from am amateur game like solitaire to at least Freecell, if not Spider Solitaire, or the game I affectionately call (but personally have no experience with) hacking-other-people's-computers!
I also enjoy a good round of sleeping soldiers. One of the best board (bored?) games ever invented.
8. Don't mind me.
I not only like to shuffle my feet every few minutes, fidget often, twirl pens that always end up rattling on the desk because I can't really twirl pens, I also feel the need to get up and stretch, and then remain standing for about 10 minutes, continuing to poke away at the keyboard, before settling back down into the wheelie-chair.
I also tend to listen to music while working, inevitably leading me to quietly, but noticeably, sing along. If it's not music, it's a podcast, where I will most likely burst out laughing for no apparent reason.
Again, rules number 1 and 2 take precedence. But assuming those are not in effect because of the time of day, I still may not choose to justify my actions.
Suck it up. I was in the cubicle first. I've metaphorically peed a rectangle (no comic) around it to mark my territory. My habitat, my habits.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Back Up In This Hizzy
*Preface - Conversation between Buttug McOysty and this blog.
Buttug McOysty - I'm a movement by myself.
Blog - (blogs can't talk)
Buttug McOysty - But I'm a force when we're together.
After a clean three week break preceded by a Caps Lock riddled storm-out post, you may be asking yourself, "Self, what brings Buttug McOysty back to this blog?" Which is pretty ridiculous to ask of yourself considering you probably have no idea as to why I would be back. Furthermore, why would you think that you would think that you would know why I would be back?
You don't know me.