Reflections on the New Year

I had just gotten back from a party.  Quite a fun one at that, with warm friends, delicious chips and true cake, even balconies.

But still, something wasn't right.  The New Year had come, but contrary to my hopes, I still lacked certainty, focus, clarity.

Luckily, however, I was prepared.  I know not everything can be bought, but in the supermarket the day before, I had come across an intriguing item.

Clarifying shampoo!

Applied to the head, I reasoned, this was bound to help... and at least unlikely to dull anything.

I lathered, rinsed, even repeated.  But seemingly to no avail.

Then it hit me.  Maybe I had to sleep on it!

Alas, nothing was clarified, though I concede some additional fogginess might have resulted from the non-soapy ingestions the night before.

But of course... how could I forget?!  Clarifying my life and goals wouldn't happen overnight.  From countless sources, I had learned that this sort of thing takes thyme!

[find thyme]

But alas, I couldn't find thyme.  It seemed I had so little thyme in my life, and certainly never enough thyme to share.

So for this year, I resolve to try a clean, new recipe for life.  I've come to grips that clarity doesn't come in a bottle, and thyme must be cultivated, not just found.

My resolution, however, will remain at 1920x1200.

Adam's septoplasty / turbinate reduction surgery diary. Infotainment the doctor ordered!

Three out of four leading doctors told me that I have a really messed up nose (my septum is shaped like a hockey stick rather than the more conveniently functional lower case 'l' style)... and if I ever want to breathe decently, I simply must get a septoplasty + turbinate reduction surgery.

The fourth (admittedly imaginary)  doctor actually insisted the same thing, but also urged me to detail my experience in a blog post.  This is my story.

Monday -- night before:

11:50pm:  I greedily cram in the last bits to eat and drink, 'cause I'm not allowed to swallow anything past midnight.  Rather a stupidly written rule, actually.  Despite the fact that I wasn't notified of my surgery time (1:30pm) until the day before, I was given oral and written instructions well in advance with the clearly arbitrary, or at least very conservative no-eating/drinking-after-midnight rule.  I mean, I could have been assigned a 7:30am or 3:30pm surgery time.  Why not just say "no eating or drinking within 8 hours of your scheduled surgery"?

The kind side of me presumes this is to account for a possible last-minute change in surgery times ("Mr. Lasnik?  We're just calling to let you know we had a cancellation. Would you like to get this crap over with a few hours earlier?")  The cynic in me figures the lawyers & doctors believe we're too stupid to understand "8 hours prior."

2:30am:  No sense going to bed too early, right?  If I go to bed early and get up early, I'll just have more time to be hungry and thirsty.  So a 2:30 bedtime sounds about right...

Tuesday -- day of:

8:20am:  Lovely.  The groundskeepers are turning it all up full blast.  Trimming, mowing, huffing, puffing, the works.  So much for sleeping in.

9:30am:  Against my better judgment I check my work e-mail and get sucked in.

11:45am:  My AdamTaxi'ing friend comes and rescues me, drops me off at the hospital and bids me a warm goodbye and good luck wishes :).

12:15pm:  I walk into the first building I find and announce with genuine enthusiastic anticipation that I'm there to be cut up. Receptionist exudes an almost comical level of both alarm and confusion.  Oops.  This isn't the Surgecenter.

About the "gay" and "fun" people I've met

When ordering over the phone from a dance shoe store, at the end of a long friendly conversation with the owner...

     ME:  Well, hey, thanks!  You've been super-helpful.
     HER:  You're welcome!  And by the way, I'm gay.
     [awkward pause, not that there's anything wrong with that]
     HER: ... Er, my name is Gaye, G-A-Y-E.

Today, after dinner, I spotted a gaggle of interns and figured it was high time I actually broke from my recently-anti-social self and said hi.

     ME:  I didn't catch your name...
     HER:  Oh, I'm fun!
     [brief confused and amused pause]
     HER ... See? [shows name badge:  P-H-U-N]

*  *  *

For the record, Gaye did come across as quite gay (as in happy), and Phun does seem quite fun.  The geek in me ponders causality.

We interrupt this cranky, verbose blog to bring you cake for breakfast

If you're "missing a plug in," and thus are unable to view the video inline, you can watch it here (and kindly let me know in the comments what browser you're using).  Sorry for the trouble, and not sure what's up; I grabbed the embed code straight from YouTube!

Are you living your life completely?

Overheard at the optometrist today

Cranky Old Guy #1:  What did you do to your glasses?!
Cranky Old Guy #2:  I stepped on them.
Cranky Old Guy #1:  [a thinkify’ing pause] You’re not supposed to do that!

Truly stupid Facebook status updates

One of my favorite newsweeklies, The Week, has a weekly competition where they solicit various entertaining submissions on goofy name ideas or lists.

A few weeks ago, highlighting the crazy case of some Australian kids Facebook-status’ing that they’d fallen into a well or something like that, they asked for some other ideas of truly stupid Facebook updates.

Well, I submitted a handful… but clearly the editor of this contest lacks good taste, ‘cause she didn’t pick any of mine :(.  So, for your edification, I’ve included them below :-D

—-
1) “OMG, I can’t believe my stupid teacher is reading my Facebook feed!”
2) “Honey, I think I might be pregnant. Is it yours?!”
3) “Having sex. BRB in a minute.”
4) “Honey, could you please get the remote for me? I’m in the bedroom.”
5) “OMG, DID I JUST POST THAT? THOUGHT IT WAS SEARCH BOX! HELP!”
6)  “My darling Jennifer, will you marry me?”
7) “How do I post a status update?”
8) “Unsubscribe!”
9) “I am Mobutu Rumppole, a Nigerian Prince…”
10) “Just got spider bite. Fingers swelling pretty bad, hardto type, any ideas on what I sh”

[Overheard] - "How do I get balls?"

Officemate:  So I got everything all set for the event.  Computers, powerstrips, food.  Only thing I forgot was chairs! [smacking forehead]
Me:  Why don’t you use these instead? [pointing to one of the inflatable balls we have in our office for sitting on]
Officemate: [looking intrigued, yet uncertain]  Hmm!  How do I get balls?!
Me:  [incredulous pause, then uncontrolled laughter]

Luckily my officemates have a good sense of humor :-D

A short tribute poem to Dr. Seuss on his birthday

My colleague Sha-Mayn noted that today is Dr. Seuss’ birthday.  I originally penned the short poem below to post as a facebook comment, but I thought I’d share it with you all instead. :-D  With deep apologies but much love to Dr. Seuss…
—

I hadn’t known this fact before
I miss Dr. Seuss now even more
I read and re-read all his books
‘til my parents gave me funny looks!

“Green Eggs and Ham” still rocks today.
I wish for more like that, I say!

In a hat, on a moat, with a cat, on a boat,
In a car, on a plane, with a star, on a plane!

I would not could not write like Seuss.
So now I’ll stop the poetic abuse.

[Video below is of two girls lipsync’ing to Moxy Früvous’ awesome a cappella take on “Green Eggs and Ham”]

Environmentalists selling sex

Think green, think sustainable, think sultry and sexy?!  You may laugh, but the “Hot Chix Dig” crew shows that environmentalism is hot, and I’m not just referring to global warming.

So what’s the deal here?  These women believe that awareness is the key to getting people to make real, substantive improvements in the way they treat our planet.  And—as I’m sure you’ll agree—communicating wisdom about conservation and sustainability is a whole lot more engaging (and memorable) when it’s delivered by scantily clad and attractive women.  Or at least it is for straight men and lesbians :-D (hey, ladies, don’t just complain; I bet hotstudsdig.com is still available!)

Not only can you visit the Hot Chix Dig site and learn about xxxxx, you can also buy their 2009 calendar and show off your fine eco-aware sensibilities to your friends and (if you’re in a particularly easy-going workplace) your colleagues.

If you’re curious, you can learn a bit know more about how the site was born, or you can contact the hot chix dig women yourself with questions or feedback.

*  *  *

So why am I writing about this?

• I personally know and respect the founder of the site (“Avida Verde”).
• I think it’s an intriguing and pretty humorous idea, selling environmentalism with sex and/or vice versa.
• I’m curious to hear your thoughts.  What do you think the site will accomplish?  Are you inspired? Offended? Impressed? Annoyed? Something else entirely?

I’ll be happy to alert Avida Verde to any comments below. :-D

[Humor] 100 yards Longs brand Waxed Mint Dental Tape, almost new

Today we have a guest post!  Hopefully a nice respite from all the political tensions.

The note below was written by Mark Pilloff for distribution on our company’s “for sale” (classifieds) list.  I’ve reproduced it below in its entirety with, of course, Mark’s permission.  Enjoy! :-D

*  *  *

Free: 100 yards Longs brand Waxed Mint Dental Tape, almost new

Recently my dentist suggested to me that dental tape, thanks to its larger cleaning area, was more effective than ordinary dental floss.  So a few weeks ago, when my previous container of floss ran out, I went to Longs to bring my routine of dental hygiene out of the stone age and incorporate the modern marvel of dental tape.  (Mike Nichols said in a recent interview that if he were making “The Graduate” today, he would update the iconic line to, “I just want to say two words to you.  Just two words.  Dental tape.”  True story.)

Have you bought dental floss / tape lately?  So many choices!  Dozens and dozens of them.  That’s what’s so great about this offer: besides being absolutely free, you have just one choice.  One terrible (but free!) choice.  The same terrible choice that I already made when I stared at the shelves at Longs, thought to myself, “What difference does it make?”, and reached for the most cost effective dental tape option available: 100 yards of Longs brand Waxed Mint Dental Tape.

What I am offering to all of you, absolutely free and with no strings attached, is one almost new container of unquestionably the worst dental floss/tape I’ve ever used.  This dental tape is thick like packing twine, the sort you’d use to bundle up a bale of old newspapers before dropping them off on the curb to be recycled.  To get it to slip between your teeth you’ll have to wiggle it back and forth ten times or more and pull hard enough to cut off the circulation in your fingers.  Each time it finally grinds its way into the slot between your teeth, dropping into place with a stinging snap, you’ll yell to anyone around, or maybe just to your reflection in the mirror, “I hate this @#$% floss.  This is the worst floss ever.  I never should have bought it.”  (Actually, since you’ll be getting this floss complete free of charge, you’ll merely yell, “I hate this @#$% floss.  This is the worst floss ever.”)

Did I mention the coarseness and sharp edge on the tape?  The last time I tried using it, I got a paper cut behind my molar!  And then I yelled at my reflection in the mirror and vowed never to use this dental tape again.

But maybe after reading this you’re just a little bit curious to feel the worst flossing experience on Earth?  Or maybe you have widely spaced teeth which could benfit from dental floss thick enough to tie up a rib roast?  Or maybe you simply can’t resist the word “free”?  Personally I just hate to see anything go to waste, so whatever your motivation, I will gladly give you the remaining 98 yards of my dental tape without expecting anything in return.  (Although if you want to drop me a line and tell me how much you hated it, I’d be happy to hear from you.)

To add further insult to considerable injury, I’m way out in 1950 [Ed. note: this is a building on the outer edge of our campus].  Top floor!  No elevator!  (Okay, the elevator works, but you should punish yourself on the stairs anyway—think of it as a masochistic prelude.)

Where the hell is Matt? -- Huge smiles guaranteed!

Today’s entry is short and wonderful.  Behold, in the video below, Matt Harding… “dancing” around the world, one city at a time.  At the 54 second mark, watch the video really come alive when he delights countless locales who join in the dancing… and, i guarantee, charms all of you watching, too :-D.



For more information, see www.wherethehellismatt.com.
Also, you really really must see his other videos (linked under his name).

Edited on June 23 to add: Thank you to Bee for pointing out my URL typo! Now fixed :-D

Adventures in flying, part 13

Once again, I was off to Germany… home of good friends, heavy food, wacky long sentences, and Lufthansa, the airline whose plane I was unceremoniously squished into not like a sardine, but wurst.

I had the foot-munching-tray aisle to my right, and a stupendously larger-than-life and dumber-than-devil-fossils young fella to my left.  To his left sat an acquaintance of his, seemingly of equal gelatinousness and dimwittedness. For the purposes of this entry, we’ll call them Slad and Elad, respectively if not respectfully.

*  *  *

Slad had no sense.  No sense of etiquette, culture, space, or time.  No sense at all, really.  And he was happy to share this nonsense with me, loudly… cheerfully interrupting the safety instructions which were actually melodious and fascinating in comparison.

Slad:  HEY!
Me: Hi.
Slad:  THEY’RE TALKING GERMAN!
Me: Yeah.
Slad:  WHY ARE THEY TALKING GERMAN?
Me: It’s Lufthansa, a German airline.
Slad:  [A look even blanker than usual]
Me: ...And we’re going to Germany, so there are Germans on board.


Only the first part had sunk in.  And barely at that.


Slad:  LUFTHANGLE?
Me:  Lufthansa.
Slad:  YEAH!?  BUT THEY’RE STILL TALKING GERMAN!
Me:  [speechless]

About 30 minutes into the flight…

Slad:  HEY?
Me:  Yeah?
Slad:  HEY!  UM, I SHOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING.
Me:  You’re pregnant?
[er, actually…]
Me:  Yes?
Slad:  SOMETIMES I GET TIRED.  AND I GO TO SLEEP AND, LIKE, LEAN TO ONE SIDE. [gesticulates in the most unfortunate of directions.  My direction.]
Slad:  SO IF I DO, YOU CAN PUSH ME.  IT’S OKAY.
Me:  [Nodding, once again quite speechless]
Slad:  AND I CAN’T SLEEP WITH THIS ARM REST [pointing to the last barrier between the two of us].  SO I’LL MOVE IT.
Me:  Uh, um… I…
Slad:  [moving armrest] MRUMPH AAHHHH.

It was about at this time that I chuckled inwardly and looked for the camera.  I had finally figured out what was happening; I was now the unwitting future star of “American’s Funniest Videos… in the Sky!”

Except I wasn’t.  There was no camera.  On the stage that mattered at the moment, there was just me, Slad, and his up-‘til-now mute-and-slackjacked buddy.  The audience, if one considered it to exist, was likely amusedly credulous and undoubtedly happy to be more or less apart from the action.

*  *  *

Another hour later, I discovered that there was loving, needy-yet-giving part of Slad… which was manifested by his tender-but-firm nuzzling of his head on my shoulder, his hands in a further solid embrace upon my upper arm.  Adding to the unreality of the circumstances was Slad’s increasingly-window-rattling snort-snores.

Temporarily frozen in a powerfully combimatic state of disbelief, amusement, and horror, I began to contemplate the most efficient and effective methods of extrication.

Elad was also clearly experiencing a combination of emotions, but unlike me, was decidedly unfrozen.  In a quick flash, Elad grabbed one of the dirty-and-unsoft airline pillows and aimed to violently wack his compatriot-in-stupidity out of his amorous slumber.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Elad was bereft not only of speech and thought, but also aim. THWWWWACK! went the pillow into my face.  I was now, even more than before, very, very awake.  In contrast, Slad simply missed a snort-snore beat, which was replaced by a relatively mild gruntle before the rhythms of his sleep began anew.

It was long past time for a heave-ho.  I pushed Slad to the left, causing him to flop onto Elad.  Elad—stunned at this apparently not-before-experienced leftleaningness of his duncetwin—did the only thing he knew how to do.  He shoved back.

A soon-mostly-awake and thoroughly befuddled Slad was catapulted squishily into my lap.  Dimly ascertaining that he wasn’t where I wanted him to be, he grabbed my thigh with one hand and—with all his weight—gruntily pushed himself mostly upright.

*  *  *

I looked around in desperation.  A couple sympathetic looks, but no empty seats.  I was tempted to tell Slad that there was a big case of beer on the other end of the exit sign, but I deduced that:
1) He’d really fall for it.
2) He undeniably had the heft to easily open or at least gleefully smash through the emergency exit door.
3) I’d have even a more miserable flight at that point.

So what could I do?  I rotated through the possibilities in my head:

“Excuse me, but these guys are bear hugging and pillow fighting me!”

No, no, that made it sound very warm and fuzzy.  And I was not feeling warm and fuzzy.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but my seatmates are so dumb, I fear that they’re sucking brain matter out of me and it hurts.”

An evocative and perhaps all-too-true observation, but also unlikely to result in a satisfactory resolution.

*  *  *

Slad: HEY!
Me:  Hi.
Slad:  WE ALMOST THERE?
Me:  Not soon enough.  Not nearly soon enough.

This is an occasion. Let's toast it! (The cover of Life Magazine!)

They say the meek shall inherit… and I’m hep to the jive!

So, yes, Terry, I did have to go ahead and blog this ;-) (it’s one of the damn coolest birthday cards I’ve gotten… thanks!)

[e-card below, via Plaxo’s neato ecard offerings]

(alas, this link no longer works, sorry!)

[Blippet] The Case of the Changed Chairs

I work in a small office with three other Googlers.  That’s pretty typical around here; I don’t know of a single person that has their own office, though we’re always free to roam to a quieter place with our laptops and ubiquitous wireless access.

It’s also a delightfully multicultural office:
- One Croatian fellow.
- One Chinese guy.
- A Bulgarian guy.
- And me, the boring American.

We often will break up the day with little chats about cultural issues… food, linguistic confusion, traditions, etc.  Today, though, our heads-down work was interrupted when P came in, sat down, and looked a bit concerned.

P:  Something is wrong with my chair.
[silence]
P:  Did someone change it?  Something’s off.
Y: [taking notice]  Hmm… my chair’s kind of funny today, too.  Maybe someone took both our chairs?
P:  It’s too low.  This is strange. [pauses, looks out the door of the office, as if to catch the chair thief / chair transmogrifier]
Y:  Mine’s kinda high.  Doesn’t feel right.
Me: [finally paying attention] Um, guys.  Maybe you just got each other’s chair?
[P looks at Y.  Y looks at P.  They swap chairs.]
[contented brief silence]
Y: Ah, mine’s the black one.  That’s right!
P: Yeah, that’s better!
[shaking head]

Luck, girls, flies, truffles, tall people, and 100 BILLION dollars

I’ve been duly inspired by my friend Graham.  And given that I’m too lazy / cautious / tired to do a deep and meaningful and original blog entry this evening, I’ve decided to instead just share a few thoughts about the search phrases people have used to get to my humble BLADAM 2.0 site over the last 3 days.  Each phrase is linked to the entry on my blog that the searcher clicked through to (providing a fulfilling-but-sometimes-scary-bladam-blast-from-the-past!)

First, the odd but undoubtedly heartfelt declaration:

     i have bad luck

I’m sorry, fella.  I’m not quite sure what sort of solace or answers you were seeking in this grand set of clogged tubes, but luckily another BLADAM visitor feels your pain and offers this advice:


     dont feel sad about bad luck

Well, there you have it!  Now we just need Bobby McFerrin to pop by and it’ll all be hunky dory.

Oh, and speaking of heartfelt, I had a few zillion folks visiting here searching for advice about girls (specifically, how to win them over and settle down happy ever after, or at least see them naked).  Faithful readers… let me just be straight with you up front here:  you’re asking the wrong guy, and you’re definitely browsing the wrong blog.  Do I look like Oprah to you?  [hint: the answer to that should be NO.]

So, without further ado, here are the lovestruck searchers:

     how do i talk to the girl i like after telling her i like her

Very carefully.  And potentially from a great distance if she or her boyfriend are armed, dangerous, and/or jealous.


     how do i impress a girl who likes me and i like her

Dude, get a grip.  You like her.  She likes you.  What’s with this impressing crap?  Get off the computer and go have some fun!

     how to impress a girl when we dont know her

Uh… there’s more than one of you?  I dunno about this group impressing concept.  “Okay, Jake, now it’s your turn!  Here, I’ll throw you the ukulele and unicycle!”  Personally, I’d lean towards the one-guy-per-girl sort of thing (unless you’re in the Bay Area and then, hey, as long as no one gets hurt…).  What’s that?  Oh… my lawyers have insisted that I add this disclaimer:  if you do try to woo her with a unicycle, use a helmet, please.  And a slotted spoon for catching the potato. (I have weird lawyers).

*  *  *

And now we veer into slightly less romantic territory.

     flies in my apartment

That’s nothing.  I have bats in my belfry AND I’m going bananas!  Anyway, just go to the store to get some flypaper and then call your landlord.  No… don’t call him that!  You can catch more flies with honey…

And speaking of sweet (oooo… love these transitions!  Adam, were you once a newspaper editor?  Why, yes I was!)...


     calories in moonstruck truffles

Okay, let me be politically incorrect for a moment.
- Similar to the how-much-does-that-necklace-in-the-window-cost rule:  If you have to ask, you can’t afford to eat it.
- No, there aren’t low fat / low cal truffles.
- Even if there were, they’d be an affront to dog and man.
- And lastly, yes, you have a big butt, I cannot lie.

For those who CAN afford anything they ask about…


     what 100 billion dollars can buy

Whoa… er, hi, Bill!  A pleasure to have you visiting my blog!  I’m delighted to answer your question (what, Clippy was unavailable?)
100 billion dollars can cover…
- A very large portion of my student loans.
- A brain transplant for a good many members of the U.S. Congress, particularly Ted Stevens.
- And… oh, wait, I guess that’ll pretty much use up the 100b.  Still, they’re both such worthy causes!

And finally… for those who don’t have 100 billion to spend on fancy gym equipment, there’s the following:


     work outs for tall people

Certainly, that’s an easy one.  Lift short people.

*  *  *

Thank you, come again!

Blippet: [Video] Avenue Q + Fiddler on the Roof -- oy vey, so gay!

Love Avenue Q?  Appreciate Jewish humor?
Watch what happens when the cast of Avenue Q mashes up with the cast of Fiddler on the Roof!

P.S.—I’d like to hat-tip a fellow blogger, but I can’t remember exactly where I first saw this (I just re-found it via a YouTube search).  Much apologies.  Next time, I’ll be more careful about blogtribution.

I'm staking a claim to Web 4.0!

Okay, I admit it.  I missed the boat and jealously hollered that naming anything Web 2.0 is a bunch of crap.  So more recently I thought, hey, that’s no problem, I’ll just glom onto Web 3.0, the semantic Web.  I mean, look, I have lots of nice Jewish programmer friends, so who am I to be anti-semantic?!

But dammit, then I discovered that Nicholas Carr has already laid claim to Web 3.0!  The bastard!

Never fear, dear BLADAM readers… I have the solution!  I am hereby claiming as my own Web 4.0… with t-shirts and stickers, special edges, an expensive conference, and a network of blogs.

Yes, yes, I hear your skepticism already:  So, Adam-you-total-killjoy-smartass, pray tell us… what exactly is Web 4.0?  Well, I thought you’d never ask!  Allow me to explain this scintillating new Web with crystal clarity.

Web 4.0 involves two-way individually-aggregated communal infocommerce predicated upon the six human senses!  Sure, smell-o-vision may have crashed and burned, fine, maybe that tactile mouse thing never took off… but all of it combined?  And tied to the Web?  Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be big.

SMELL the Web.  FEEL the Web.  TASTE the Web (actually, this part includes just LICK until 4.1, but that’s a mere troublesome tribble).  Imagine a wackypedia entry with which you can SMELL Detroit!  Imagine your favorite mapping service applied tactilely to 

Pamela Anderson’s cleavage

 academically enlightening geodesic dome models… collaboratively, in real time!

But I’m not stopping there.  I’m also trademarking the following:
- Television 4.0 (2.0 clicked with the remote)
- Medicine 4.0 (Viagra lifted it up to 2.0)
- Philosophy 4.0 (Exiting the cave was 2.0)
- Air travel 4.0 (Southwest is 2.0!)
- The Law 4.0 (The McDonald’s Coffee heated things up to 2.0)

and

...wait a minute? What’s that you say?  We never really did refer to any of these things as 2.0?  No one has ever blathered on about whether Jet Blue qualifies as part of Air travel 2.0?  Or whether a doctor is adhering to Medicine 2.0 principles? (maybe if he has—snort—well-rounded edges and listens to his patients?).  Hmm… how about “My new Sony is so Television 2.0!”  No?  It just sounds silly and goofily arbitrary?

No matter!  If my 4.0 schwag is really hip and if I can get enough bloggers to BlogOn!(tm), we can make this a true movement with all 0.0000037% of the world’s citizens who are also nomenclature-obsessed-geeks.  Our numbers may be small, but we’re powerful… just look at our Alexa graph, babeeee!  You dare compete with that? ;-)

Once again, attending a camp for swingers

Tomorrow night I’m heading off on a plane to once again attend a camp for swingers.  As you can imagine, posting on my blog and sorting through my t-shirt drawers will be far from my mind. ;-)

Take THAT, Lisa Barrone :-P

Anyway… if you’re interested in all the details (including lots of photos!), visit Swing Out New Hampshire’s Web site.

See y’all in a week or two :-D

[Added to reduce chances of some folks having a heart attack:  It’s a swing DANCE camp, people.  Lindy Hop.  Jazz music.  Sheesh… such dirty minds ;-)]

Don't Download This Song! (listen to another gem by Weird Al Yankovic)

Unless you’re a fan of the RIAA or a bitter, clueless artist… I urge you to run, er, click, not walk to go hear Weird Al’s new ditty: “Don’t Download This Song.” [warning: music autoplays].

I’m looking forward to the music video promised for this evening, but in the meantime, you can hear the song in its entirety (and, of course, download it!).

T-shirt stats

So, what do you do when you’re home alone on a Saturday night, you don’t feel like going out, and you also aren’t in the mood to be very productive?

No, not THAT ;-).

Why, you optimize your t-shirt drawers, of course.  Exactly!  And so far, I’ve determined that I have:

• 13 Google t-shirts (fewer than half gotten since I became a Googler, interestingly enough)
• 13 dance-related shirts
• 13 other somewhat-decent shirts that I may actually wear (okay, this is weird… I had no idea my t-shirt collection was so bad-luckedly symmetrical!)
• 5 [whew!] remaining t-shirts that I don’t want to be caught wearing, so I’ll donate these to Goodwill (:cough: unoriginal and oft-oversized swag)

A sampling of some of the stranger ones:

• “Got Blood?” with a full-sized mosquito featured.  This was a birthday gift.  I think it’s a rather neat shirt, and I love my parents, but sometimes I wonder about them :D.
• “Sleep with me” with a domain name that unintentionally (in English) sounds somewhat similar to a sexually transmitted disease (but yes, S, I still like and wear this… I just have to deal with a few puzzled looks!)
• “Dance Your Pants Off!” featuring SpongeBob SquarePants (I admit it, I bought this off the clearance rack at Target.  And a rather concerned bakery proprietor once seemingly-seriously urged me… “I ask that you keep your pants on in here, please!”)
• “Single Red Alien Seeking Portly Humans”—a rather humorous 24Hour Fitness (gym chain) shirt.  The corresponding billboards added, “They’ll eat the fat ones first.”

...plus a mock fraternity shirt, a BIIIIIIG cartoon frog, a fake Mastercard commercial (”...priceless”), and more.  Sadly, this doesn’t take into account the 20+ t-shirts I had that were stolen from me about 6 years ago.  So many college-memories-in-fabrics, lost :-(

Hmm… now that I think of it, the first four could be strangely (albeit sickly) tied together.  Odd.

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So now the questions for YOU!
1) What do YOU do when you’re feeling down / unproductive / anti-social?
2) What kind of t-shirts do you have, and what are some of the stranger ones?
3) Is this as bad as a cat-eating-a-cheese-sandwich post?

*  *  *

And now… a little something for those of you still bravely (or boredly) reading:
A friendly Googler fellow gave me some cool (“Up and to the right!”) Google Analytics t-shirts (size: large).  I’m offering one of them to a humble (and limerickly talented) BLADAM reader, and yes, I’ll pay to ship it anywhere in the world for you :-D. 

Just two key stipulations*: 
1) You have to write an entertaining geek limerick below (doesn’t need to be Google-related!)
2) You must do so when signed into your BLADAM account.

Please *do not* post your address publicly.
I’ll mail the winner in a week or so and get the info then. 
(By the way… I *was* going to throw in Google Analytics and Writely invites, but the meanies that run those services went ahead and opened ‘em up to the unwashed masses before I could use those perks as additional prizes.  Curses… foiled again!)

Good luck, and have fun!

*  *  *

* Obligatory disclaimer and contest rules:
I work for Google, but I have nothing to do with Analytics or Writely, nor is this high-stakes contest in any way endorsed by Google, other Googlers, any specific Google fans, or any of my sane or insane friends.  Contest not open to Googlers or their immediate families.  Void where prohibited.  Do not give t-shirt to infants or children under three, as suffocation may result.  Bearer does not inherit the ability to fly or garner unusually high values of PageRank.  Do not taunt happy funshirt.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Shirt is not meant to discriminate against liberals or those who are left-handed.  Not waterproof, fireproof, or catproof.  Do not ingest.  Remember, in an emergency, your nearest shirt may be behind you.  The answer is 42.