Sunday, November 30, 2014

Expletive Not Deleted

I try to resist the urge, when washing my hands in a pubic restroom, to let the water automatically shut off when I'm soaping my hands because who knows how long it will take for the water to come back on again? First, I wave my hands around the general vicinity of the faucet while stealing glances at my neighbors to see how in the fuck they got the water to turn on. As graciously as possible, I move from sink to sink until one comes on, seemingly, by magic.

Next, the process is repeated to get the automatic air-injected soap foam dispenser to activate which, for some unknown reason which can only be attributable to the fact that there is no known soap shortage, dispenses, generally, without complication. Except, once in a while, the hole from which the soap foam flows is clogged in some manner which causes the foam to curl upon itself into a soap-coil that dangles from the end of the dispenser rather than plopping into my recently wetted palms. At this point, I am forced to swipe the foam from the foam dispenser, fully negating the purpose of the hands-free design objective.

If I have allowed the water flow to cease, the original process is repeated to get it to turn the fuck back on. Only, this time, it won't stay on long enough for me to rinse my hands. There's rinsing, rubbing, and waving about until my hands are soap free and the front of my pants have a splatter pattern for which I must now construct a plausible explanation.

I should not complain (and yet I invariably do). It could be worse. Every once in a while I must use the facilities where the faucet and soap dispenser are located on the same side of the sink which means the soap and water dispense both simultaneously and freely. That is the point at which I just rub my hands on my jeans and hope for the best.

(Don't even get me started on the towel dispensers.)

Friday, November 14, 2014

Lighter Than Air

This massive hangar was originally part of the Naval Lighter-Than-Air Station Santa Ana. 

This is one of two that rise up behind, and easily dwarf, the Costco in Tustin, CA. Built mostly from Oregon Douglas fir, they are two of the largest free-standing wooden structures in the world. In WWII, they housed blimps - six at a time. They still house (or until a recent roof collapse) an experimental cargo blimp commissioned by the Pentagon and NASA. One of the hangars is used for the storage and repair of commercial blimps. 

Not something we expected to run into on our way to get way too much of whatever it was that we didn't need at Costco, it was a very interesting discovery.

Sources and additional reading:

Good pics:

Snow Blows

Winter storm: Portland flakes, Gorge snow | KOIN6
"The possibility of accumulating snow for Portland is over."
We got out of town anyway.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Vancouver Office Will Relocate to Southern California Until This (Literally) Blows Over

You might need to click on the image to see what's going on here but the rough translation is, "Get out of town!"

Redskins, Illini, Horse's Ass - sorry, that would be offensive to horses.

I have an ideal name for a sports team that won't offend anyone: Really Fierce Critters. The cheer goes like this:

Really Fierce Critters
With Really Sharp Teeth
Really Fierce Critters . . . 

Might be better than Banana Slugs because, you know, that could be offensive to banana slugs.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Veterans in Corduroy?

That should be a thing. How about camouflage corduroy? I don't suppose that would work, though - you could hear them coming.

It's 11/11. So here's to all our veterans. And, here's to corduroy.

Zip, two, three, four, zip, two, three, four . . . .


This is the time of year I unsubscribe to all the random email I get. I don't know how I even get on all these lists - well, I do, but it's mind boggling. For most of the year, I find it's just as easy to delete them from my inbox every day - a half a dozen to a dozen per day. Per email address. But, by November or December, I just get annoyed and take the time to hit the Unsubscribe link that's found at the bottom of the email message.

Which never works, btw. What I mean is the link will take me somewhere - probably, just confirming that mine is a working email address - but I get all the same emails the following year.

My all time favorite irony, though, is right after I click on Unsubscribe, they send me an email letting me know that I've unsubscribed.

There is no end.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

No Business, All Pleasure

I spent this last weekend traveling to the Mecca of work avoidance. I brought no pencil, no paper. Nay, no laptop. For days, I've not communicated with the outside world - with the exception of other deciples (a word I use loosely lest I suggest effort) and contributors. Writing this post, in fact, is at odds with my pilgrimage. 

Photographs were restricted at Yet Another Media Empire, offices of 76003.1414. Inside headquarters, we connected with the Midwest Bureau via satellite for the first ever YAME Non-Working World Conference. 

There was never any question as to whether any actual work would get done. And, as it turns out, no one got paid either - an issue I mean to take up with the Grump. However, Iast I checked the staff listing, there was no one assigned to take complaints. 

I traveled with my protege, an aspiring initiate who brought an extensive and well documented resume of time avoidance which, in and of itself, nearly disqualified him from membership. We don't issue certificates here for that sort of thing here, the Grump explained. And even if we did, he continued, there's no one here that would actually do it.

The reason for such a pilgrimage is to understand the lore and history of work avoidance which, as I learned, is wholely separate and apart from procrastination. To such end many tales were told - not all of which I entirely believe although many, many, many artifacts were produced and, in fact, foisted upon us (in the most loving of ways) as evidence. 

Soon I must leave this oasis and reintegrate with those who value work but not before our very own ticker tape parade to which the entire community has been invited to participate. To practice, we stopped traffic yesterday afternoon in all four directions in a busy downtown intersection and crossed from corner to opposite corner (cross-wise), playing kazoos and waving. We could have used more practice but we used our allotment of work pushing the Walk Button. 

The trip was well worth the - for lack of a better word - effort. It was a whirlwind of nothingness, lots of sitting around, and copious amounts of food. My protege and I are honored to have been allowed into the hallowed inner void. There is no doubt we will make the trek again soon.