Monday, August 11, 2008
Some of these sports are kinda arbitrary. Take diving for example. Travel back with me 80 years when two drunk Englishmen were deciding on who can do the jump off a cliff while doing the maddest tricks.
"I say old chap, what do you say we make a rule that says whoever makes the largest splash is declared winner of this duel?"
"Splendid, my good man. I just ate my tea and crumpets so I daresay my belly will not be up to the task. What if we decide on who makes the *smallest* splash?"
If that conversation had transpired differently, we may have seen a sport wherein divers are recognized by their trademark roundness and train for the amount of pain a textbook bellyflop causes upon impact...
But I gotta tell ya, the 120 letter limit does put a cramp on what I can write about and how.
Though I have learned to express deep philosophical conveyances through the Twitter medium.
hidework: u smell somethin funny?
emily@hidwork: y kinda. maybe Frank + TBell
frank@hidwork: sorry. my bad. sweet smell of success
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I'm thinking that this may be one of those things that define our decade, but will seem funny a few decades from now. Remember when you had that BIG hair, that huge brick of a cell phone, listened to Duran Duran, and rushed home to see the VHS tape of Miami Vice? Yeah, those 80's...! Flash forward to 2028: Remember when we thought Blade Runner was fiction and not prophesy, physically commuted to work, and thought that informing the public of your bowel movement schedule is fun? Those 2008 years -- what a hoot!
Huh? You don't remember me with big hair? Of course not, I'm talkin' about *you*. I, of course, had a mullet.
Friday, April 25, 2008
I finally have a Twitter account.
I thought long and hard about my first histroric foray into this brave 24/7 connected word. A bit of JFK? Maybe something classical? Inspirational? What to write?
Here's where my ponderings lead me:
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
At any rate, I often use a stick-on pain reliever called Salonpas. Take a hot shower, stick a few of those on your back, get a good night's rest, and you're good to go. Especially effective, the instructions say, if taken with a shot of Wild Turkey. With a bit of a chaser afterwards.
I usually buy these things at the local pharmacy -- Longs Drugs or Walgreens. Last night, a colleague let me in on a little secret. Apparently, the Asian supermarkets carry the Original version, which is much more potent than that found in the American stores. What a scoop! I immediately checked out the Japanese website for the Salonpas product. My translational ability is a bit rusty, but it seems to mention something about insect removal from car windshields. THAT is what gives it the muscle-relaxing effect no doubt. And if I'm not mistaken, it says something about taking the used product and discarding it in the recycle bin OR to use to steep a refreshing cup of tea.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
It was driving me crazy. So today, I determined that it will be different. As the old commercial goes, "I'm not a wise man, but I play one on TV."
It'll play out like this:
"...and in conclusion, we are on track and will hit our April 19th window," my colleague would say triumphantly. "Any questions?"
"Any questions indeed!" I'd reply, nodding till my neck cramped up.
"Oh, no no, never mind. You did great. Hey, don't every change. Oh yeah, and if anyone
asks, just remember that the Road to Riches passes through Chicago."
"..Chicago?? What's that have to do with.."
"Say no more," I'd interrupt, finger to my lips. "You'll see why this and the number 57 has other significance besides the number of ingredients in Heinz ketchup.""
All I need to do is to keep that up for a few weeks and I will likely develop a cult following that will grow and undoubtedly escalate till I'm forced into a terse standoff with ATF and the FBI in my armoured compound in the Appalachian foothills...
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Ah Juan Valdez. Symbol of quality and the finest that Columbian beans has to offer. Imagine my delight when stumbling upon the packs of vaccum-packed coffee grinds newly installed in the office breakroom. Eureka! No more brownish sludge! No more all-purpose ink-remover/windshield fluid/caffenated beverage combo!
I was giddy with anticipation -- "Siganature Blend," the packet proudly proclaimed.
My joy was short lived. The Signature, apparently, was that of Juan's donkey, not of Mr. Valdez himself. One thing this new blend did, however, is to cure my dry-eye. I found myself tearing up as I suppressed a retch reflex when I downed the sludgy, acidic drink...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
I'm in the tail portion of Gen X, and I seemed to have missed the part about folks fretting about what we want and care about. Now, I'm being unfair of course! Of course people cared back then, too!
Ah the memories of my first job out of college...early 90s, beginning of the 1st bubble:
"Hideo, you can either have the chair with the missing third coaster, the one with mystery stains, or the stack of copy paper."
or the ever-catchy, "It's awfully cold outside. That stack of copier paper is looking real good in comparison, no?"
"You can come in as EARLY as you want, and stay as LATE as you want!"
Workplace fitness plan:
"Go run down the street and bring back coffee. Doughnuts will get you more points. GO!"
"WE are your family now"
"Yes, there is. Any more questions, noob?"
Sigh...trips down memory lane always bring back fond thoughts.
Monday, March 10, 2008
When you want to bail from a meeting wherein your role would be to say "hi" at the start, and silently logoff near the end, what's the best way to do so?
1. Mystery. Just decline the Outlook invite and move on with your life. It's a nice day out, get some sports in. Take a breath of fresh outside air and promptly return to your dimly lit dungeon for some xtreme xls action.
2. Passive-Aggressive. Attend, but hammer away at email. Rehearse the "Sorry, I must have had you on mute" response and keep it on quick-draw.
3. Decline, with details. "I'm oozing greenish pus from festering sores. So I can't attend, sorry."
4. Miss the meeting. Blame it on Daylight Savings Time (you can milk this one all week). Or your trip to East Kazfanistanbul, wherein the time zone diff is exactly 15 hours 22 min ahead of Pacific.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
At any rate, it turns out that the whole darn thing was a pack of lies. The company fessed up, and now owes us suckers some compensation. Another piece of innocence lost forever. Next thing you know, someone will tell me that using a shiny silver Mac won't grant me instant street cred and irresistible cool.
Monday, March 03, 2008
"hi, I'd like to make a reservation with Mr. Jamis"
"sorry, miss, you have the wrong number. My name is Hideo. This is my cell phone."
"is Mr. Jamis available?"
"well, no. I'm Hideo and you have the wrong number."
"when will he be back?"
"I don't know. You have the wron...."
"Ok, how about Tuesday?"
"you know what?....Mr. Jamis got himself in a freak golf cart accident. I've been asked to clear his calendar for the rest of the month. Have a nice day."
Friday, February 22, 2008
...the Universal Kick!
This forbidden technique refers to a state of kicking nirvana wherein the roundhouse, front, and side kick are indistinguishable from one another. And it can only attack at shin level for some reason. And involves the ingestion of an Advil smoothie or three to compensate for the uber-sore hamstrings and obliques. And can only be performed by those above 30.
Watch out, evildoers! Combined with the Quivering Palm of Doom, nothing short of an 8 year old can stop me.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Those were muscles I definitely don't use often. Last time I used those fibers were when I had a cup of Grande mocha in one hand, my laptop in another, and I jammed my foot into the security door before it closed shut.
No longer 25, but guess I'll hold on to 35 for as long as I can!
Friday, February 08, 2008
I took the plunge. I'm gonna join my kids in training. I've been putting it off forever, using excuses like, "Well Daddy would LOVE to train with you, but they won't let him. Not since they outlawed his siganture Quivering Palm of Doom (tm) !!"
But excuses no more. I start Monday at 7:15pm. In the meantime, the other parents sent me a training video to study over the weekend:
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
There, I make it a point to just sit there in tepid, silent misery, sweat dripping into my eyes. Why? Because it's hot. It's a sauna, of course I'm gonna sweat. Pay attention. Oh yeah, the silent part. I do so because I grew up heeding the warning not to talk to strangers. As I've grown older, I've added to that truism and qualified that statement to apply especially to strangers when all they're wearing is a towel around their waists. But I digress.
There were four of us silent, suffering folk in the room that day. For the first 5 minutes, no one said a word. Then suddenly, one of the gentlemen in the room got a manic, pupil-dilated look about him and started to rant. Postage stamps are a conspiracy! There are cameras on me every second of the day; I can FEEL it! This sub-prime mess is a direct result of meddling by the Bio-Fuel industry! He paused only as long as it took his flared nostrils time to inhale a gulp of stale hot sauna air. Then he dove right into his tirade again.
Hey I'm the first to admit that the old fillings in my molars pick up coded military transmissions as well as an occasional country/western station, but this guy was outta control. The three of us, presumably normal, made quick eye contact with each other, and simultaneously checked our wrists. I wasn't wearing a watch, but it didn't matter. Hoo! Already 6min and 42 seconds...late for my conference call. The other two guys mumbled some variation of that and we stumbled over each other to get out of the room. I glanced over my shoulder to see if crazy man was following (which in horror films, guarantee that you get an axe in your cranium). He wasn't. But he looked at us, spat, and said, "Yeaaaaah THAT's what I thought!"
Unnerved as I was, I couldn't help but wonder. Are there really microchips in postage stamps that the pork belly-hair spray industrial complex uses to track my DNA?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Now on the other hand, if that were a label on the Burrito Supreme at the local Taco Bell, I'd understand instantly, and agree that yes, that is a good warning...
Monday, January 07, 2008
But wait. I had nothing to do with the crud that was left there this morning. Some kind soul left behind a half bag of flour, bag of half-eaten Family Size pork rinds, and a bottle of corn syrup. While I have seen cases of the Denizens of the First Floor down bags of sugar in the late afternoons, I'm not quite sure what to make of the rest...?
In the meantime, if you want some pork rinds, swing by my office!