Wednesday, April 27, 2005

That's A Sin Foe Show

I was flipping around on TV tonight, and I came across a PBS show about the new Pope.

(It was Wide Angle: White Smoke).

And this woman was interviewed, in a man-on-the-street fashion, and she mentioned that she wasn’t happy with the choice for the new Pope.

She said:
"I'm not happy about the choice, but I guess I'll have to live with it."

And it occurred to me
That committing suicide because you really hate the new Pope,

That’s quite the Sin, that is.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Not Exactly Nick Names

I'm going to the gym only 5 days a week now. I was really sore all the time, and 2 days off in a row seems to give my body time to heal. I'm still sore, but not as bad.

Plus, I think I figured out which machine was the one making me really, really sore - the stairmassah. I've dropped the SM from the list of machines that I use, for now. I'm testing to see if my theory is right. It seems to be, so far.

In reference to attending the gym, there are all sorts of people that I see there. I never speak to them, partly because I am highly antisocial and partly because most of us are wearing headphones.

When you see people every day, it's a natural tendency to name people based on their appearance or actions...

There's Evil Chef,
Who reminds me of Chef from South Park, only he has a wickedly pointy chin beard and always wears sunglasses, even when it's raining - call Corey Hart, he needs to write me a new song. Evil Chef seems like a really nice guy, for an evil dude. He wears big boots while he works out, and he's completely covered from head to toe, except for his face. Maybe he's covered in rune tattoos that he uses to conjure with the forces of darkness. He's gotta be hot under all those clothes. Maybe that's why he turned to The Dark Side.

Then there's Captain Elliptical,
Who I've never seen use any machine except, you guessed it, the Elliptical machine. He'll wait nearby to use one if they're all in use - there are only six of them, and they're always busy. Except for those weird moments when all 6 are idle. It's like you're in The Twilight Zone or something. You're looking around for the elves, aliens, elven aliens, leprechauns, something.

When Captain Elliptical arrives at the gym, I want to call out "Captain's On The Bridge!" and salute, and get off the elliptical machine so he can use it, cause he kicks ass on that machine. Forwards, backwards, fast, slow, he's the king. Or rather, The Captain. Everyone should 'snap to' when he arrives, but they don't.

There's Gimpy,
Who is a 30ish year old woman who wears sweatpants, sweatshirt, a doo-rag and a big towel. She seems just fine while she's working out, but then she creaks around in the gym as if it's a prison sentence, and she moves like she's in constant pain, which she may well be. Too much stairmassah, perhaps. Though I've never seen her on the SM. Perhaps her kryptonite is another machine.

Then there's Soapy.
She will pick out a machine, and reserve it by placing her water bottle in the cupholder. Then she disappears to the bathroom for a good five minutes. At least. If I came upon her machine unawares, I would toss her water away and use the unit myself. After her bathroom trip, she arrives with soap, and copious amounts of paper towels. She then soaps up every grasp-worthy surface of the machine, and wipes it down. Only when it is completely dry and clean will she make use of it.

There are more wacky gym people, but for some reason my boss wants me to get to work. Maybe another time...

Monday, April 25, 2005

Let Me Out of The Closet!

No, I'm not gay.

Let me just make something clear to the office-workers of the world:

When you are waiting to get on an elevator during normal office hours, there are a few things you should keep in mind...

1) An Elevator is like a tiny closet.
2) There's at least a 50% chance it will have people in it.
3) An Elevator is like a tiny closet.
4) People crowded in a tiny closet really want to get out.

So when the elevator arrives, don't dash in.
Since there are probably people in there, wait for them to get out.
They're crowded in a tiny closet, after all.

And why are you in such a hurry to be crowded in a tiny closet, anyway? I should not have to say a curt "Excuse me" as you dash into the elevator, past me, bumping me with your giant briefcase as I'm trying to exit. I have right-of-way, I have seniority. I was here first, you Latte-Sipping, Square-Toed-Shoed Jerkoff.

Always assume that someone is in the elevator.

If you're waiting, and you're thinking,
"I wonder if there will be someone in the elevator?"
The voice of reason and probability should answer "Yes, Dumbass!"

Speaking of Square Toed Shoes, what the heck is with that? Last time I checked, people had curved feet. Are your feet so wide that you're trying to hide that fact?

Are squared toed shoes supposed to make your feet look smaller? Cause they don't. They just look freaky.

Were you a slave, and tried to escape one time too many and they cut your toes off? Are these 'Tribute To The Days When My People Were Enslaved" Shoes? No? Then wear normal shoes. Thanks.

PS: I'm not down on any peoples who had enslaved ancestors. If you go back into history far enough, we all come from cultures that practiced enslavement, because yes, people suck.

Especially when they're trying to get into elevators.

Good To Be Missed

No, my fingers aren't burned...
Yeah, I'm a lazy bastard.

Actually, I've been busy with The Secret Project, which is doing well and has had over 10,000 readers!! How cool is that? Since TSP is a writing project, it kind of drains me from writing the blog.

Sorry to be mysterious.

Thursday, April 14, 2005


I burned my tongue pretty badly on a kiwi fruit.

I know that's hard to do, but it helps to be me.

Friday, April 08, 2005


At the gym, on the StairMaster
(Should be called StairMassah, cause damned if it don't bring the pain.

I'm all, "Fine, my name is Toby. Whatever, just stop hurting me."

Anyway, on the StairMassah, when you get on -
(Careful na - Don't hurt your back, you practically need a rope to climb up this bitch. If the bottom step is in hide-and-seek mode, which it always is, you have to HUPPF your foot up to the second step. And the bottom step aint that close to the ground, either.

When The StairMassah Co Inc LLC designed their masochism machine, the least they could do was program it with some forethought. It's a pretty simple if/then string of code:

/: If _ User = Finished and Stair is <> Level,
then create level step after 30 seconds inactive. :/

But noooo. HUPPF!

So you eventually reach the summit, discarding your bottles of oxygen willy nilly, and there is a handy console waiting for you (like in the afterlife) and it wants all this info, height weight mother's maiden name, the duration you'd like to suffer, etc.

Hurt me there baby ooh

But there's one neat thing about the StairMassah and that's this:
If you tell it you wanna suffer for 10 minutes, at the end of 10 minutes, the machine freezes in place...

And bold, all-caps letters spell out GOAL ACHIEVED in big red letters.

It would be neat if there was something like that in life. Like for every goal, you got a message when it was achieved.

"I want to be a good father" or "I want to be a good husband" or "I want to write something that will be remembered 100 years after I'm dead" or "I want to take care of my parents, and show them I love and respect them"

And you'd get home from visiting your folks one day, or complete a kick ass story, or give your woman the best footrub ever - and this big, giant string of red text would appear, and it would say


This Just In - Pope Still Dead

Damn, can the news stop harping about this already? We know, we know, The Pope is Dead.

Now for some News please.


PS: Karol - You were my kinda Pope, 'meng. Nothing but love for ya.

(Yes, that's the Pope's real name. Which I knew years ago, TYVM)

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Waiting to Inhale

It's that after-lunch sleepy time. I'm waiting for my blood sugar to perk up, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

Ugh, it really looks as though I am worthless after 1pm.

Hey we bought our tickets to Portland, we'll be going at the end of April. It will be super fun crazy happy time visit.

Well, that's what it would be called in Japan.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Girl, You So Crazy!!

During my gym visits, I notice that my fellow showering men don't carry very much in the way of showering accessories.

A couple of them will have a tiny bottle of liquid soap (I assume they do not like the liquid soap provided in the dispensers. It's ok, I don't love it, but I don't feel like carrying my own bottle of liquid soap).

I have not visited the women's shower (ooh la la) but I imagine that they carry all manner of stuff with them.

...Assorted lotions, balms, ointments,
foot scrubbers, shower hats, long-
handled back scrubbing brushes,
antibacterial gel, comfy shower mats,
portable showering benches,
Plush Robes Imported from India,
shampoo, conditioner, body wash,
feminine body wash, foot massager,
Intuition(TM) shavers, wet/dry vacs,
a floor towel, an inflatable dressing room...

Men -
Maybe tiny bottle of body wash.

I resisted the male peer pressure of Spartan Showering Minimalism and began taking a luffa scrubber into the shower with me. It is a manly white color. I wanted black, but the store I stopped into didn't have any. My choices were white, pink, or light blue.

I have not noticed anyone else carrying a luffa into the shower, and who knows, I might start a trend. No one has beat me up or ostracized me. Yet.

I like luffa scrubbers because they are a very quick and efficient way of washing oneself. You soap the luffa once, and get your scrub on, head to toe in a mere 60 seconds. Want another pass? Another 60 seconds and you are clean clean super clean, and your skin is a bit abraded and red. Good to go!

I propose that men very likely enjoy the use of the many assorted showering accessories that their wives keep in the bathroom. I know that I do. (I'm not shaving my legs or anything, but exfoliant creams are nice!)

'Female' products are often very functional, well-designed, and useful. We men like to tease women about all their lotions, but they are good products.

And I do enjoy my woman's soft, smooth, supple, succulant sweet-smelling skin. Mmmmn, nummy.

I propose that the shower accessory supply designers develop the:
Mike's Bandolier of Manly Showering Supplies.

Like Chewbacca, Rambo, The Terminator, and other manly types wear.

Except THIS bandolier would contain tubes of shower soap, shampoo, conditioner, an empty tube to stuff your luffa into. Each of these tubes could look like a bullet, or a grenade, tear gas, a vial of acid or poison.

You know, something that kills or hurts people. We men like that.

Perhaps it could ooze fake blood.

The bandolier itself could be have a back-scrubby rough portion on its underside for increased usefulness.

Then I could wear this bandolier of soapy maleness with hetero-pride, and still exfoliate my back.

Actually, I might be too uncertain to wear it.
I'd have to wait for someone else to wear it first.

That's how guys are.