Lemon-Scented Bivouac  

Fatherly and, eventually, teacherly blather. Also: graphic design, baseball, synthetic fabrics, jug band music and, lord help us, the occasional politics.

Saturday, February 22, 2003  


  posted by Andy @ 11:29 AM §

The story circulating about this particular clip is that this guy in an office (let's call him Mr. G) had an annoying habit of cursing and moaning while he played Counterstrike (which is a first-person battle game, reportedly very stressful). So Mr. G's coworkers recorded his gibbering and set it to music. The result was The Terrible Mr. G.

  posted by Andy @ 10:15 AM §

Friday, February 21, 2003  

On the way to buy a replacement for the monitor that is an inscrutable bright green 20% of the time, I passed Jiffy Lube. I hate these god-damned places but I've learned to practice saying: "I'm fine without that; I just want the basic job." It takes saying it 20 times ("We recommend a higher-mileage Syntec additive for older cars yarp yarp yarp") but I get through it.

They got me this time, though. They showed me the minuscule ding on the extreme driver's-side edge of the windshield and told me they could stop that from spreading and just bill my insurance -- it would only cost me $2.99. (I am here, out of sheer embarassment, censoring out the portion of the story in which I agreed to this.)

The only other guy in the miserable little waiting room looked as non-automotive as me, which is saying something. After a while he said: "Did they find a ding on your windshield?" He had had the same thought I had: ball-peen hammer. We commiserated about our lack of discipline with cars; he left. A woman walked in. I asked her: "Did they find a ding on your windshield?" Her eyes widened: "How did you know?"

  posted by Andy @ 4:43 PM §

Wednesday, February 19, 2003  

Val is shaved, mildly sore and confused -- but healthy. Once the stitches are out we no longer have to worry that he'll respond to an itchy incision by gnawing it to shreds. (He can't tolerate the cone; trust me; we thought the poor goober was going to collapse in hysteria.) Then this whole dog mess will be over and behind us.

And speaking of mess, a restaurant owner in North Carolina is now calling his french fries "freedom fries," because apparently now we're all supposed to be very, very mad at the French. Because they don't agree with us, which is apparently unacceptable with an ally, they're now no longer an ally. I would have thought this was a lunatic anomoly if I hadn't recently gotten a joking-but-serious reprimand for serving beef bourgignon -- "because the French aren't exactly our friends right now."

  posted by Andy @ 4:12 PM §

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