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| want a reservation? take it with a grain of salt!dear potential diner, congratulations on the fruits of your peoned labor. i would like to laud your accomplishments as you painstakingly climb higher and higher up that sad and overworn ladder. it takes a man (or a woman!) to be a corporate slave, but when you make it, you make it! that pat on the back, that raise, that promotion, that golf outing with the boss. those are the rewards of skill, talent, intelligence, and devious cunning. i must admit this: i have none of the aforementioned qualities to excel as a peon, so you must excuse my defiencies when you call to make a reservation through me. 1) i apologize for lacking supernatural auditory skills - as a non-peon, i can only easily hear above 50 decibels, except when there is a gargantuan truck rumbling past you or if you happen to scuttle past any construction sites. in any case, please speak louder so that i may better assist your needs. 2) i apologize for my inability to accurately predict your phone number and credit card number. please excuse me when i ask for your number, and again when i ask to repeat your number because i couldn't hear it properly the first time you muttered it under your breath. 3) i apologize for not having that 8pm table for 2 people available on a busy saturday night in new york city. just to let you know and to save you some time, saying the same thing over and over again will not magically cause one of my previous reservations to disappear. consequently, i apologize for not being the reincarnation of harry houdini. 4) i apologize for being incapable of gathering information from a cellphone receving zero reception. i am working on that tower which i plan to implant into my skull. however, i must also apologize for my lack of height; being short might deter the functionality of said tower. 5) i apologize for being unable to comprehend the rushed words coming out of your flapping lips. it is quite difficult to hear slurred as well as rushed speech, as most grammar school teachers do recommend enunciating your words. a corollary to this apology: i apologize for you cutting me off when i'm telling you to let us know if you are running late. please excuse me for giving up your reservation after 30 minutes. 6) i apologize for being unable to state the truth. if i actually had balls, i would not hesitate to call you a scum-sucking horrible, needs to be smacked with a 2 by 4, corporate whoremonger. 7) i apologize for your inability to realize that on a weekend in new york city, lying about your reservation and saying that i lost it will only make us turn you away. again, my sincerest apologies for my inabilities. sincerely, talentless bottomfeeder | | |
| | <SYSTEM>: Directlink conversation with: Wilde-Ideas Live Support [admin@wilde-ideas.com] initated.
<You>: I placed an order on April 1, 2008, and it still has not arrived yet. It is order #100040. Why have I not received it yet, and when will it arrive?
Searching for an operator, please stand by…
<SYSTEM>: Still in queue. Current position: 0 of 1
<SYSTEM>: Wilde-Ideas Live Support has entered the conversation.
<Wilde-Ideas Live Support>: Hello, how can I help you today?
<Wilde-Ideas Live Support>: Please stand by while I research your transaction...
<You>: ok.
<Wilde-Ideas Live Support>: May we have a telephone number to call you back?
<You>: 212 375 0100. I called last week to check on this order and no one has called back.
<Wilde-Ideas Live Support>: We'll have our Warehouse Manager call you back.
<You>: You're useless.
<Wilde-Ideas Live Support>: Thank youj.
<SYSTEM>: Wilde-Ideas Live Support has ended chat session. |
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| i beat weezer at their own gameme: can you help me with a problem?
rich: o.o
rich: ill try
me: Speed varies inversely with elapsed time. Using the speed check signs along the road that are one mile part, and holding the car at a constant speed of 60 miles per hour according to the speedometer, the passenger finds it takes 60 seconds to travel one mile. During the next mile, the driver holds the speed at a constant 72 miles per hour. How much time, in minutes, should the passenger calculate for the car to travel the second mile?
rich: o.o wow this looks fun.
me: well speed varies inversely, so that's s=k/t, thus s*t=k
me: so that's 60*60=k=3600... but what does this 3600 mean?
me: and then it's 72*t=3600, which gives you t=50 seconds... which is 5/6 of a minute
rich: sounds about rite
me: but what is 3600?
rich: makes sense to
me: it's not distance
me: d=1 mile. what is 3600???
rich: its a unit measure mph x seconds
me: but what does that mean exactly?
me: i know its a constant
rich: 60mph x 60 secs = 3600mphxsec
me: yes, but it has no identity. i'm having an existentialist crisis.
me: oh god. this is why you dont get a critical theory major to teach math | | |
| and THEY didn't win the darwin awards?!saturday, 8:30 am, dunkin donuts
me: hey can i get some change for a ten?
cashier: yea... [opens cash drawer] uh, how do you want it?
me: y'know, a five, five singles... wait actually... in quarters
cashier: uh, i'm sorry miss, we don't got that many quarters [looks at manager]
manager: what's up?
cashier: she wants change for a ten in quarters, but i don't think we have that many quarters
me: well he's employee of the month, isn't he?
manager: if we still had employee of the month.
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| the new turf wars & the chefif you want to listen to a long slightly nonsensical tirade, read the following. for something more loving and sweet, scroll past the horizontal break.
the displacement of original new yorkers is similar to the manifest destiny that occurred in the mid-1800s with the settlers and the american indians. (i'm not going to bother trying to be PC with american indians. what am i going to call them? descendants of migratory asians who were the third, not the first, to arrive in north america and trek onto south america seems slightly too long.)
anyway, it's like that but less bloody. the L train is just teeming with assholes that you KNOW are not born and raised in new york because if you WERE born and raised in this fine city, you would know that st marks place was coke (or crack... could never get them straight) central, hell's kitchen was home to irish and puerto rican turf wars, and williamsburg was home of the orthodox jews. you could also tell new york assholes from white trash assholes.
unfortunately, all that's left on the L train... are assholes from nowhere, america. the new obnoxious transplants have contaminated our fine city and really have lowered the standard of the asshole. it used to be that on the trains you were an asshole if you wanted to shove some stupid tourist down the subway stairs. now you're a white trash asshole if you think you're funny being loud and obnoxious trying to describe how wacky a violinist was as he bugged out to eric clapton in addition to sneaking swigs of cheap whiskey from THE BOTTLE. a flask would have been classier. and yes, extra work for me, the classic asshole, because i will have to shove an extra asshole down the stairs in addition to the dumb tourist. (i do have a soft spot for tourists though, they're kind of endearing...)
now yes, i understand that new york has always been a city of transplants, but they've always been on the poor side of the economic scale, and more or less grateful for whatever. the trust funds and the education that these new new yorkers wave around as their free passes are just odious. honestly, everyday i have to contain myself from shoving another hipster down the stairs because their pants are too tight or their bag is too big. (seriously? not very smart for rush hour)
just freaking leave new york already so my rent will go down. seriously. go. stop destroying my neighborhood. stop destroying our childhoods. and in that sense, i hate to say it, but i wish crime would spike up again so that new york will be considered dangerous, and scared little hipsters will go away. go back to boston.
speaking of boston... tom brady should not be allowed to live in new york. i don't understand why someone hasn't already shot him? new york is losing its character.
of course, all this trash talk means i'm gonna get bit in the ass. so, knock on wood. i guess i really don't want crime to go back up because then i won't be able to hang out late at night at these newly established bars frequented by pre-hipsters. so maybe i'm just as bad as the rest of them.
maybe, i'm just tired of new york city and maybe i'm ready to leave. but i'm afraid if i do, i won't be able to get used to it again. it saddens me to think that money is wiping away my childhood memories.
it's amazing what baking can do. shawn taught me how to make cookies yesterday. he had flour and chocolate chips at home so we bought eggs, butter, and sugar. betty crocker can list the ingredients for you, but she can't tell you the science of it. alton brown can, but i don't have cable.
i watched shawn mix all the dry ingredients together and explain to me how things worked, as if they were just that simple. and maybe they were, but they weren't evident to me. mix dry ingredients together all you want, mix wet ingredients together
all you want, but mix dry and wet together too much could be a
disaster. you learn something new everyday. he sat there, his eyes focused on his right hand that was working the mixture, all the while just explaining wet and dry ingredients to me as if i had asked him how the weather was. it was a nice day yesterday, if you wanted to know.
it was intense, watching him work the dry mixture, eventually mixing the egg in to form the dough. it was refreshing to watch him get his hands dirty, and not get paranoid about cleaning them. it even helped me break away from that habit. it all came so easily to him, as if it was ... one and one and one is three. give me that problem, and i would have somehow gotten four and a half.
the dough was finally ready to be molded. we rolled them into balls and squished them a bit. we didn't have a cookie sheet, so he buttered the baking sheet and floured it. "you can't let the butter in the dough get too hot, or else the cookie will flatten out." makes sense now... i don't really remember the reason, but i'll remember how to give my cookies a slightly rounded shape.
the baking sheet was too big for the oven, but it was no big deal. the cookies turned out okay, and shawn was more attractive than ever. i told him that, and he laughed his silly laugh like he didn't believe me. he never does. the cookies were done, but they were still hot. we let them cool a bit before snacking, but i didn't like them too much. halfway into watching a naruto episode, i walked out for some water and grabbed a cold cookie on my way back for shawn. for some reason, they were better... an odd situation, but i was happy. the cookie was cool and crunchy on the outer edges, and slightly softer and chewier in the middle. it was delicious and i was happy.
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