HA! TOO BAD!
Spent time with some friends at work discussing our latest addiction and its technical underpinnings. As an Op, am naturally fascinated and vacillate between pained sympathy, irritated customeritis and pure I-coulda-done-it-better schadenfreude whenever our home starts to...well..tank. "Hm, anyone have NPCs in Ironforge? No? Sigh."
Chatted with a friend in LA about the Eyes deal; he's a college roommate and now a filmmaker himself. Ended up having to thank him for allowing me to bend his ear griping my frustrations, but then had to retract apologies; he's going to Tokyo for a week with his lovely wife, the lucky bugger. Jealousy.
Technology...love it. Tried out Skype now that there's a Mac OS X and Linux client available. Like the Mac OS version for its 'telephony' focus, but will stick with my iSight and iChat AV for family-and-friends use. Still, I'm tempted to buy some SkypeOut minutes. If only I spent more time in coffeeshops with my Powerbook and had a headset...oh, wait, no, I'm fairly glad I don't. I think. Then I'd just spend time in public playing World of Warcraft and looking like a loser.
Speaking of coffee shops, I tried out this new 'drinking chocolate' monstrosity at (shudder) Starbucks, 'Chantico,' after my usual postmodern deathmatch linguistic throwdown:
"Yeah, let me have a large Chantico please."
"Big. Biggest you have."
-silence-"...well, it comes in these six-ounce cups..."
"Okay, then why did you ask if I wanted that word that I won't deign to repeat if it's not available in the first place?"
"Gimme. And shut up."
Yes, I'm like that until I've had my coffee or other stimulant. If I had a bowel disruptor, it'd be on steaming rectal volcano and some son of a bitch would pay.
So anyhow, Chantico. This is how chocolate was supposed to be drunk, originally. This is how you get chocolate if you wander into a small stube in Wien and ask for it. The only problem is that this is the United States, and the franchise ghetto to boot. So, of course, there's enough sugar in this concoction to stun a pre-teen child who is terminally addicted to Twinkies. I really think this could be tasty if they just yanked like 4/5 of the sugar out of it and maybe added some alcohol. Okay, I'd be willing to add the booze myself. But for God's sake, the sugar, man. Get fucking rid of it. Like, now. I could run Hershey PA for a day at least on one six-ounce cup of this stuff. It's like one of the M&M Guys had diarrhea into my goddamn cup.
Every day I am surrounded by images of a blinking, confused, pathetically grinning George W. Bush and I am stymied in my instinct to reach for heavy, blunt objects.
In other news, I am experiencing a rush of driving pleasure whenever I have the joyous experience of piloting my new ride about the shitty driving environment that is the Boston Metro area - and a positive explosion of something Germanic deep inside my male heavy-large-vehicular-control-speed-genetic-predisposition-glands when I take it out onto highways. Large smiles cross my face. It's unseemly. I'll tell you how bad it is: I don't even need to speed. Just blip the throttle. Zip past a hauler, slide into the passing lane, listen to the car talk to me. Ooooh. Yes. Yesyesyes. 314 horses and six forward gears, an iPod and time to play. Whee. I actually smile when I make my car payments.
I know, it's pathetic. Look at the title of the post.
Oh yeh, my coworker Peter says I should use the word douchebag in this post. So there.
Posted by jbz at February 1, 2005 11:34 PM