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Back in Action
3 min read
The ever handsome Steve Shinney was walking to the bus stop this morning, when he noticed the sign at the Hooters across the street was proclaiming proudly, "We have Wi-Fi!"
'What a strange thing for Hooters to brag about,' he thought to himself. 'If I were them, I'd make a sign that said something like "We have buxom women in tiny clothes!" or they could just shorten it to "Hey, we're Hooters!"'
He tried to distract himself by listening to music, but he still couldn't get his head around this concept. It didn't make sense for Hooters to brag about having Wi-Fi, something he himself possessed in his own apartment and didn't feel the need to make a sign to tell people.
He considered perhaps they were trying to compete with the coffee shop next door, whose sign also proclaimed that "We have Wi-Fi."
'But who's business are they competing for?' He wondered 'Granted coffee shops have a monopoly on people who like to slowly drink a single overpriced coffee while they work on their Great American Novels.'
'But I'm pretty sure no novels – great, American or otherwise – have ever been read in Hooters, let alone been written.'
He considered for a moment taking advantage of this highly-toted Wi-Fi and writing his latest idea for a book ( a touching love story about a jazz musician who falls for sexy young werewolf set in the 13th century) just to be the first person to raise to literary greatness from such a location, but then he realized not only would his wife not approve (with punching) but with that many distractions bouncing around nobody could write anything.
'I can't even write if I see a dog outside my window,' he thought and pushed that fantasy out of his mind forever.
He looked down the street to the next bus stop and contemplated walking a bit further every morning so that he didn't have to wait where he had to read such perplexing signs. There were still nights when he would lay awake remembering last Christmas when the same sign wished him a 'Hooterific Holiday', a phrase that haunted him still.
Finally the bus came to carry him away. As climbed aboard he realized what it all meant.
'This sign, is a sign. It's the sign I've been watching for. It's time to bring back The Geek Beat.'
And so it was.
'What a strange thing for Hooters to brag about,' he thought to himself. 'If I were them, I'd make a sign that said something like "We have buxom women in tiny clothes!" or they could just shorten it to "Hey, we're Hooters!"'
He tried to distract himself by listening to music, but he still couldn't get his head around this concept. It didn't make sense for Hooters to brag about having Wi-Fi, something he himself possessed in his own apartment and didn't feel the need to make a sign to tell people.
He considered perhaps they were trying to compete with the coffee shop next door, whose sign also proclaimed that "We have Wi-Fi."
'But who's business are they competing for?' He wondered 'Granted coffee shops have a monopoly on people who like to slowly drink a single overpriced coffee while they work on their Great American Novels.'
'But I'm pretty sure no novels – great, American or otherwise – have ever been read in Hooters, let alone been written.'
He considered for a moment taking advantage of this highly-toted Wi-Fi and writing his latest idea for a book ( a touching love story about a jazz musician who falls for sexy young werewolf set in the 13th century) just to be the first person to raise to literary greatness from such a location, but then he realized not only would his wife not approve (with punching) but with that many distractions bouncing around nobody could write anything.
'I can't even write if I see a dog outside my window,' he thought and pushed that fantasy out of his mind forever.
He looked down the street to the next bus stop and contemplated walking a bit further every morning so that he didn't have to wait where he had to read such perplexing signs. There were still nights when he would lay awake remembering last Christmas when the same sign wished him a 'Hooterific Holiday', a phrase that haunted him still.
Finally the bus came to carry him away. As climbed aboard he realized what it all meant.
'This sign, is a sign. It's the sign I've been watching for. It's time to bring back The Geek Beat.'
And so it was.
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One Man's Trash is My Dinner
4 min read
I used to think when I graduated college and got a really job that wasn't as a janitor, I'd finally be able to stop eating donuts from the garbage.
I was wrong.
As I look back at my life, I'm a little concerned to discover that most of my difficult moral questions have come from deciding when eating food out of a garbage can in an office somewhere was stealing and when I was morally justified in taking it.
You would probably be really concerned to discover how rarely I've considered whether or not eating such food was sanitary.
I'm not exaggerating though, I really used to spend a lot of time staring into garbage cans wondering if I was allowed – morally – to eat that last couple pieces of cake with so much frosting that no one wanted them.
I even looked to the Bible for guidance, but it didn't help. For a book supposed to have all the answers, it was strangely vague on the moral standing of dumpster divers.
I'm not one hundred percent sure on that though, I didn't check in the front part. I never read those chapters because I'm always afraid I'll find something I really like will send me to Hell.
If it turns out that
These quandaries were pretty common for me too. Until my wife forbade me, I earned most of my income from various positions as a janitor. I enjoyed it. It was honest work, but simple and the only one that rewarded me for not being squeamish at the site of vomit.
The best part about being a janitor was those special occasion when I would find a treat, stashed away somewhere just for me.
I used to wonder if the people who worked in the office new what I was up to. I think some of them thought it was interesting, and would set up mazed of garbage for me to dig through like a lab rat through a maze, only instead of cheese, I got a slice of cold pizza.
Other employees, however, considered be a pest and would tied their food up in the tree, to keep me out.
Some times I have to team up with a bear to get at it.
Don't think I would just root around in the break room garbage like some kind of raccoon with a mop (the best stuff was always in the conference rooms), I did have standards: I'd only eat stuff that was separated from the "real" garbage by a box or bag.
Or if I was really hungry, a memo.
When I stopped janitating (the verb form of janitor for those of you still learning English) and got a real job in the other side of an office (the side that doesn't clean the toilet) I thought that the good times were over and I'd have to start paying for all my meals.
In truth however, things have gotten better, because now, as a full-time employee, I have access to the garbage long before the janitor even get there. It's like a dream come true.
I no longer wish I could be invited to meetings where they have donuts – one of which there was today – I just wait until the meeting finishes, the table is cleared and the lights are turned off. Then it's mine time to shine.
Or steal.
I really don't care anymore, it's a free donut.
I was wrong.
As I look back at my life, I'm a little concerned to discover that most of my difficult moral questions have come from deciding when eating food out of a garbage can in an office somewhere was stealing and when I was morally justified in taking it.
You would probably be really concerned to discover how rarely I've considered whether or not eating such food was sanitary.
I'm not exaggerating though, I really used to spend a lot of time staring into garbage cans wondering if I was allowed – morally – to eat that last couple pieces of cake with so much frosting that no one wanted them.
I even looked to the Bible for guidance, but it didn't help. For a book supposed to have all the answers, it was strangely vague on the moral standing of dumpster divers.
I'm not one hundred percent sure on that though, I didn't check in the front part. I never read those chapters because I'm always afraid I'll find something I really like will send me to Hell.
If it turns out that
These quandaries were pretty common for me too. Until my wife forbade me, I earned most of my income from various positions as a janitor. I enjoyed it. It was honest work, but simple and the only one that rewarded me for not being squeamish at the site of vomit.
The best part about being a janitor was those special occasion when I would find a treat, stashed away somewhere just for me.
I used to wonder if the people who worked in the office new what I was up to. I think some of them thought it was interesting, and would set up mazed of garbage for me to dig through like a lab rat through a maze, only instead of cheese, I got a slice of cold pizza.
Other employees, however, considered be a pest and would tied their food up in the tree, to keep me out.
Some times I have to team up with a bear to get at it.
Don't think I would just root around in the break room garbage like some kind of raccoon with a mop (the best stuff was always in the conference rooms), I did have standards: I'd only eat stuff that was separated from the "real" garbage by a box or bag.
Or if I was really hungry, a memo.
When I stopped janitating (the verb form of janitor for those of you still learning English) and got a real job in the other side of an office (the side that doesn't clean the toilet) I thought that the good times were over and I'd have to start paying for all my meals.
In truth however, things have gotten better, because now, as a full-time employee, I have access to the garbage long before the janitor even get there. It's like a dream come true.
I no longer wish I could be invited to meetings where they have donuts – one of which there was today – I just wait until the meeting finishes, the table is cleared and the lights are turned off. Then it's mine time to shine.
Or steal.
I really don't care anymore, it's a free donut.
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Did you hear the distant rumbling on Saturday? It was faint, but it was distinct. It was the world changing.
Well my world at least.
As of two days ago, I'm officially a college graduate. No more going to class with out showering, no more counting pudding as a balanced meal, no more pretending that I know what I'm talking about for 20 or more pages.
No more.
People are often asking me if I walked. I did. It was an interesting experience.
They one email I did get about stuff (way back in February, thanks guys) said we were supposed to gather on the quad at 8:30. I may be perpetually late for class, but for work and meetings and stuff I deem important, I'm usually pretty punctual. I rocked up about twenty after. There were maybe 50 people there, only 3 at the spot for the College of Science.
On another note, it was really cold, windy and snowed a little. Those robes are not insulated at all and have no pockets. Basically everyone just stood around and wished their hands weren't so cold.
It was about this time I realized I had to pee. Not a big deal. I figured I've had to pee during most of the important events in my life so far, why should my college graduation be in different?
'It shouldn't' is the firm answer my bladder gave me.
As more and more people started to show up, I noticed that I didn't know any of them. I was concerned why I was the only computer science major on the field. Was there a special graduation for us online? Was there some major project that was due in a few hours that I had completely forgotten? Was there a LAN party in the CS labs that I didn't get invited to?
Eventually I just relaxed and realized that most computer science majors were in that particular field so that they wouldn't have to walk through nature, especially when it's cold, windy or early.
We then walked across campus to the Spectrum for the commencement ceremony.
I don't know why I was so nervous walking that sidewalk I'd traveled many times before, I think it had something to do with the fact that I'd never worn a pointy hat and dress in front of that many people before.
This year BYU had Vice President Dick Cheney for their commencement speaker. We had a reverend from Salt Lake. Not as famous but a lot less controversial. He did a good job, talking a lot about the opportunities and responsibilities we will have in the future to share our time, talents and treasure with the community.
He later specified that the latter meant sometimes donating to the university when they called and asked for money.
I think they told him to say that.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to make this observation but as I was sitting there, I couldn't help but notice that the higher ups on the stand kinda looked like wizards in their colorful robes and funny hats and all.
I also thought they looked like high ranking KKK members, but I figured, "you look like you can turn me into a frog," would go over better than "You look like you hate black people."
All in all, I'm glad I did it.
The commencement thing, the jury's still out on college. We'll see how this whole grown up life deal turns out.
Well my world at least.
As of two days ago, I'm officially a college graduate. No more going to class with out showering, no more counting pudding as a balanced meal, no more pretending that I know what I'm talking about for 20 or more pages.
No more.
People are often asking me if I walked. I did. It was an interesting experience.
They one email I did get about stuff (way back in February, thanks guys) said we were supposed to gather on the quad at 8:30. I may be perpetually late for class, but for work and meetings and stuff I deem important, I'm usually pretty punctual. I rocked up about twenty after. There were maybe 50 people there, only 3 at the spot for the College of Science.
On another note, it was really cold, windy and snowed a little. Those robes are not insulated at all and have no pockets. Basically everyone just stood around and wished their hands weren't so cold.
It was about this time I realized I had to pee. Not a big deal. I figured I've had to pee during most of the important events in my life so far, why should my college graduation be in different?
'It shouldn't' is the firm answer my bladder gave me.
As more and more people started to show up, I noticed that I didn't know any of them. I was concerned why I was the only computer science major on the field. Was there a special graduation for us online? Was there some major project that was due in a few hours that I had completely forgotten? Was there a LAN party in the CS labs that I didn't get invited to?
Eventually I just relaxed and realized that most computer science majors were in that particular field so that they wouldn't have to walk through nature, especially when it's cold, windy or early.
We then walked across campus to the Spectrum for the commencement ceremony.
I don't know why I was so nervous walking that sidewalk I'd traveled many times before, I think it had something to do with the fact that I'd never worn a pointy hat and dress in front of that many people before.
This year BYU had Vice President Dick Cheney for their commencement speaker. We had a reverend from Salt Lake. Not as famous but a lot less controversial. He did a good job, talking a lot about the opportunities and responsibilities we will have in the future to share our time, talents and treasure with the community.
He later specified that the latter meant sometimes donating to the university when they called and asked for money.
I think they told him to say that.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to make this observation but as I was sitting there, I couldn't help but notice that the higher ups on the stand kinda looked like wizards in their colorful robes and funny hats and all.
I also thought they looked like high ranking KKK members, but I figured, "you look like you can turn me into a frog," would go over better than "You look like you hate black people."
All in all, I'm glad I did it.
The commencement thing, the jury's still out on college. We'll see how this whole grown up life deal turns out.
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Deodarant Showers FTW
1 min read
I have a secret.
Lean in close and I'll tell you.
I didn't shower this morning. Can you tell?
Actually I'm really mad at myself. My new year's resolution this year was to shower everyday before I go to work/class and I made it until today. 3 months and change is pretty good but I was so close.
I used to skip my morning shower all the time. I figured the 20 minutes was better spent sleeping than making myself not smell like cesspool. Some days I loved it. I was like a spy. I had a secret and I couldn't let anyone get close to me or they'd find out. Most days though without a shower to truly wake me up, I'd just stagger around like some walking corpse: The undead – or, more accurately, the unwashed.
Anyway, today's the one day a week I can get away with it so it's ok. I'll get some brains, I mean soap, working for me later.
Geek on.
Lean in close and I'll tell you.
I didn't shower this morning. Can you tell?
Actually I'm really mad at myself. My new year's resolution this year was to shower everyday before I go to work/class and I made it until today. 3 months and change is pretty good but I was so close.
I used to skip my morning shower all the time. I figured the 20 minutes was better spent sleeping than making myself not smell like cesspool. Some days I loved it. I was like a spy. I had a secret and I couldn't let anyone get close to me or they'd find out. Most days though without a shower to truly wake me up, I'd just stagger around like some walking corpse: The undead – or, more accurately, the unwashed.
Anyway, today's the one day a week I can get away with it so it's ok. I'll get some brains, I mean soap, working for me later.
Geek on.
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Holidaze: the Cliche
2 min read
It's almost Valentine's Day.
I love holidays. Not just the big ones, even the small holidays are a chance to celebrate the happy side of life. Plus if there's any chance to dress up special and shirk all responsibility, I'm there.
I even rock out on Arbor Day.
But Valentine's Day is different for me. I never know how to act. I've been through two-dozen of these holidays and I haven't had a clear idea how to celebrate since I was in grade school and my mom helped the teacher give us all a very structured, very sugary and very platonic party.
I liked these parties. I knew the steps.
Step one: Give everyone in the class a heartfelt Valentine with the Incredible Hulk saying something witty like "Valentine Smash!" each containing a little piece of candy.
Step two: Open all the cartoon themed Valentines that the kids who normally wouldn't talk to me were forced to give me. I could tell they didn't really think I was a Superman Valentine because my name was spelt wrong, but I didn't care because each one contained a little piece of candy.
Step three: Eat all the candy that didn't suck,
Step four: Throw the candy that did suck (stupid Necco hearts) at the poor kids who gave them to me.
Step five: Eat all the cookies, cake and brownies all of which are covered in bright red frosting – which we all know has the most sugar of the colors – that I could get me hands on.
Step six: Go home and vomit.
It was great because it was about what is really important: Candy.
Now it gets all complicated because it's all tied up with something stupid none of us can understand, let alone eat: Love.
I love holidays. Not just the big ones, even the small holidays are a chance to celebrate the happy side of life. Plus if there's any chance to dress up special and shirk all responsibility, I'm there.
I even rock out on Arbor Day.
But Valentine's Day is different for me. I never know how to act. I've been through two-dozen of these holidays and I haven't had a clear idea how to celebrate since I was in grade school and my mom helped the teacher give us all a very structured, very sugary and very platonic party.
I liked these parties. I knew the steps.
Step one: Give everyone in the class a heartfelt Valentine with the Incredible Hulk saying something witty like "Valentine Smash!" each containing a little piece of candy.
Step two: Open all the cartoon themed Valentines that the kids who normally wouldn't talk to me were forced to give me. I could tell they didn't really think I was a Superman Valentine because my name was spelt wrong, but I didn't care because each one contained a little piece of candy.
Step three: Eat all the candy that didn't suck,
Step four: Throw the candy that did suck (stupid Necco hearts) at the poor kids who gave them to me.
Step five: Eat all the cookies, cake and brownies all of which are covered in bright red frosting – which we all know has the most sugar of the colors – that I could get me hands on.
Step six: Go home and vomit.
It was great because it was about what is really important: Candy.
Now it gets all complicated because it's all tied up with something stupid none of us can understand, let alone eat: Love.
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