Trying to commission a dude who's looking to do commissions to do Mrs. NFB and me as certain robotic comic characters. (Our vehicles -> us.) Seemed a good idea at the time, but the guy who claimed he was looking for commissions, and named a price per character, a very reasonable price, is now refusing to acknowledge any correspondence. Funny how this brings back memories of every attempt I've ever made to work with any artistic types on anything.
Had an enlightening meeting with team IT yesterday in which we discovered that Zippy's
project excuse list hasn't changed in about six weeks now. And the excuses become lamer every week. At least the boss said we should bring in episodes of the Office to watch during our meetings so that we can feel like we're actually accomplishing something.
Probably take new pictures tonight of the aquarium. The plants that appeared to re-root right away are now dying back, while the ones that look to the naked eye like they aren't re-rooting at all look to be green and healthy. Also, grow lights got put in two nights ago. Can't tell if it helps or hurts, but they seem much less bright than the old "full spectrum" lights. Meh.
Musically speaking, apparently I only had one song in me after years away from it. Figures. Now that the equipment and the ability is there, the constant running soundtrack in my mind dies away to blah and nothing.
I've been called to task for saying that light weights with a lot of reps lean you up with tone while heavy weights with fewer reps beefcakes you up. Why? Because a wiki article says that's all bullshit yo. Even though countless actual articles on lifting routines say it's true. Now, I'll admit, changing from thirty pounds lifted ten times to twenty five pounds lifted fifteen times is not going to make a difference at all. However. . .
Fuck me, why do I care? Oh, that's right, I don't. Hand me the Doritos and candy. Next.
Made a tremendously good egg salad last night. I still didn't care for much of it. It's one of those obsessions Mrs. NFB has that I don't share much. I like it about twice a year. She wants it about twice a week. I still make it, because she loves it so. But I don't get much personal enjoyment from it. BTW, the secret is dry mustard. Just so you know. It's good, but it still just egg salad.
The database appears to be randomly dying on the internal Funhouse website. Well, not so random, but since I have yet to beat that particular user to death, it appears random to others.
Mrs. Dad thinks Dad is an idiot. Not that she's had any proof to the contrary.
Heard tell that Mr. Mom met Mrs. Dad long before she was Mrs. Dad. He was selling insurance to her mom and she was bragging about some new guy she was dating. Funny how she didn't mention what she liked about being around him. All she mentioned was that he owned part of a company, he owned nice cars, he had lots of money, he bought lots of shiny objects, he bought this, he bought that. . . .
All of those things fit Dad. Patterns begin to fit together in the fog of non-reason. Temptation for confrontation at this point is below zero, because it's just as fun to sit back and watch. Meh.
Mrs. NFB is 'cidered about gardening right now. Can't begrudge her that. Except she expects me to be the expert because I used to farm and have been around gardens before. Which really means, she's 'cidered about me gardening for her.
Me, I'm not so 'cidered. I've grown my own food before. And while it's a nice experience to file away in my own memory banks and I'm grateful for it, it isn't as awesome and wonderful as folks who've never done it want to believe it is. Especially when you've got dozens of personal projects swimming through your brain pan that you don't have time for already.
Not that any of this changes the fact that we'll have a garden. Because that's the way this works yo.
FANBOI MOMENT, PLEASE AVERT YOUR EYES: Jonah Hill to be in TF2 as the "funny, but edgy roomate" = fuck you Michael Bay. I put up with humans killing Decepticons. I put up with EMO "please let me sacrifice myself" Prime. I put up with loser-boy saving the day and doing what Prime himself didn't have the guts to do. I've been supportive of your nonsense to this point, but this I won't tolerate. You turn TF2 into Superbad - the big budget version and I'll turn my foot into your launch pad. I want to see robots beat the crap out of each other, not Jonah Hill sucking my will to live.
Mrs. NFB's reality shows are beginning to end for another season. This leaves her less than happy. She's scrambling to figure out what she'll watch on TV once they're over, because we can't turn it off. I suggested we have a couple reading nights a week with maybe some music as background noise and the panic-face went into effect to the point I thought I was gonna have to throw water at her to get her to come back to reality (not TV). This does not bode well for the summer.
I need to clean out the shop and start some of my out-of-the-house projects back up. I had some painting projects I started last fall that could use some more work once the temperature swings back to nominal. Speaking of which . . .
More fucking snow this weekend? FUCK YOU WEATHER MAN! I HATE YOU TOO! As far as I know there hasn't been snow in Suck Balls in May since the sixties. What really drives me nuts is this weird temperature fluctuation. Eighties one day, below freezing and snow the next. Crazy shit.
INSERT GLOBAL WARMING RANT HERE.
BB starts in on Obama the other day to me. "He's got ties to terrorist groups. I don't trust him. He's just shady all the way around."
"OK," says I, "you just described every politician in forever except for that terrorist thing. And where are you getting that from?"
"JUST LOOK AT HIS NAME!"
I blink. "You can't be serious."
|< Fiction | animaniacs >|