Monthly Archives: February 2008

You know…

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It’s a damn shame that Mike Huckabee has that whole religious nutjob thing going for him, because he seems to have a pretty good sense of humor. Examples…

Huckabee overstays welcome on Saturday Night Live
The “Chuck Norris Approved” Mike Huckabee campaign ad

Too bad he’s batshit crazy.

It reminds me of Bob Dole after losing the election in 1996. One of his first post-election interviews was on the David Letterman show. Dave asked him what he’d been up to recently, and Bob replied with “Not enough, apparently.”

I really wish we saw more of this kind of thing in politics. I’m not saying politics should be a big joke (well, ok…it already is). I just wish there was more room for politicians to lighten up and be themselves. Especially after the last 8 years (you know, where every pre-written speech sounds exactly the same as the last one, with the same pauses, inflection, and generally lacking anything even remotely interesting).

Random wibbling

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I have a real problem with people who act like they are an authority on a subject, to the point of being arrogant about it, who really are just clueless.

Oh, and to explain the post I made yesterday – Last weekend I made the mistake of shaving my head with a razor that had been used one too many times. In doing so I gave myself several kinda nasty gashes on my skull. netgoth says it looks like someone went after my head with a potato peeler. As I do not wish to have any (more) scars on the top of my head, I am doing my absolute best to leave them alone. Throughout the course of the day, though, I touch my head a lot. Scratching, rubbing it while thinking, that kinda thing. When I do this I notice the scabs and how much they itch. I want nothing more than to scratch them like there is no tomorrow, and it’s driving me insane.

Thus, the Jack Torrence post you got yesterday.

Heeeeere’s Johnny.

I have a lot of general life kind of updates to make, but not doing so right this minute. Maybe later.

Gah

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I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.
I will not pick the scabs on my skull.

Adventures in lunchtime!

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Outside of the occasional Friday “soup and salad” excursion that

[info]etcet

and I make to Sweet Tomatoes, I generally bring my lunch from home when I’m working in the office.  There are two main reasons for this.  The main one is that it’s much easier to accurately journal my food intake if I know in advance what I’m eating (as opposed to trying to find healthy choices at a restaurant).  Equally as important, it’s significantly cheaper to bring food from home (I realized at one point that I was spending in excess of $40 a week on lunches when I was working for Staples). 

My lunch will generally consist of a main course (sandwich or Lean Cuisine meal), a piece of fruit, some small snacks and a Dole Parfait.  These lovely little indulgences are only 2 POINTS, and full of yum.  The problem is that we never have plastic spoons here at the office.  Forks?  Tons of them.  No spoons, though.  As a result I usually end up eating my parfait with a fork and scooping out the remains with a finger.

My class.  Let me show you it.

So anyway…As I was packing my lunch this morning, I actually remembered to put a spoon in my bag.  I noted that, because my son has lost my lunch box in the confines of his Mother’s house, I was going to have to remember to actually bring it home but figured it wouldn’t be too much of an issue.  I was happy that I remembered and looked forward to a considerably less messy parfait experience.

I just opened up my lunch and realized the fatal flaw in all my planning.

I actually forgot to pack the parfait.

My lunch.  It is made of fail.