Terrible Analogies

Apparently, drivers in New Zealand are incapable of slowing down when it rains.  The problem, I’m to assume, is so severe that an advertising agency has created billboards that bleed in an attempt draw attention to the issue.

Eye-catching, to say the least.  I have to wonder, though, if it’s too distracting.  Here in California we have the Amber Alert system that activates electronic signs along the highways that are meant to convey critical information when a child is abducted (or something else equally heinous) and the cops need people to keep an eye out for suspect vehicles.  When these signs are on, people lose their minds.  They begin to drift into other lanes and become incapable of traveling at a safe speed.

I can only imagine how people in New Zealand will react when they spot these bleeding billboards for the first time.  At night.  In the rain.  With an eerie song playing on the car radio.

Unusual Sightings, cars driving, Unusual Sightings

It seems…no, I take that back…I *know* that we’re being asked to do much, much more at work with fewer and fewer resources.  For the past several weeks I get home in the afternoon and I’m just spent.  But I guess I really shouldn’t complain.  I’m sure many of you out there are in the same boat.  I do appreciate the fact that I have a sit down job, and don’t have to do much heavy lifting unless a server needs to be built or moved.

My Cubicle. Spot Locke and win a prize!

If I was given the opportunity to drop what I was currently doing, selecting a brand new job of my choice, and could jump ship into any other career path with no questions asked, I guess I’d have to go with:

- Killer whale trainer at Sea World
- Voice over actor for infomercials
- Ice Road trucker
- Breakfast cereal taste tester
- Anagram spellchecker
- Zamboni driver
- An undercover asset
- The guy who makes up names for bands
- Master of time, space, and dimension

But I guess I’ll be stuck administering computer systems, forever tasked with finding the quickest and most cost effective way to get more done with less.

Oh, before I forget, I must implore you to pick up the latest album from Street Sweeper Social Club.  Don’t think, just do.

Tom Morello from Rage Against The Machine and Boots Riley from The Coup have put down some solid,  tight tracks reminiscent of Rage’s revolutionary vibe, but with less screaming. Clap For The Killers is without a doubt the standout track, but Megablast, Fight! Smash! Win! and 100 Little Curses drill through your speakers with driving Morello-signature guitar work (seriously, Morello is a guitar genius).  Eric Gardner holds the entire thing down with fantastic drum work.  No driving bass speakers here, that’s Gardner all the way.

Along with Vampire Weekend’s self-titled Vampire Weekend, Elvis Costello’s latest effort Secret, Profane, and Sugarcane, Kasabian’s The West Rider Pauper Lunatic Asylum (Kasabian is back to old form!), and Placebo’s newest Battle For The Sun, Street Sweeper has been on heavy rotation these past few days.

I’m amazed at how many great albums have been released recently.  If you’ve been away from the music scene for any amount of time, now is a perfect time to come back.

Music, Work Music, Work

I had a nightmare (if you can call it that) last night.

There I was, a miniscule version of myself, walking around in my own mouth.  I was traversing the vast expanse of my molars, sliding gracefully down my canines, and trudging over my slick gums as I slunk in awe under the etherial arches between my teeth.  My bicuspids were islands, set deep into my pink flesh, each with moats of spittle pooling together, surrounding my enamel with a protective ocean barrier.  My lower incisors were massive flat towering sheets of ivory, stretching high into the atmosphere, forming a jagged, shadowy skyline in the heavens.

On my tongue, in place of taste buds, was an uncountable, rolling carpet of Curly heads (the guy from the Three Stooges).  They spotted me, and in unison said, “it’s not what you do, but the way that you do it.”

And then I woke up.  

Ever have one of those dreams?

One of the more disturbing animated .gifs I've seen in a long while...

Personal, Random, Strange Encounter Personal, Random, strange

This is all becoming a bit too much.  Mr. Billy Mays has died.

The consummate pitchman with stubble bequeathed from the very gods themselves passed away Sunday morning.  No longer will I hear his dulcet tones hawking everything from cheese graters, to Oxy-Clean, to Mighty Putty.  

Oddly enough, when I poked around Sunday morning looking for Billy Mays information, I repeatedly found myself a victim of the dreaded 404:

I didn’t have this issue when surfing for Michael Jackson info last week.  Perhaps Billy Mays has a bigger fan base than previously thought?

It’s also notable that Billy Mays died at the same age as Michael Jackson: 50.  Is 50 becoming the new 27?

And to think, I was placing bets that Patrick Swayze was going to be the next to go.  Who could have foreseen that Mays was going to steal Swayze’s thunder?  If it’s true that these things happen in threes, then we need just one more celebrity death to make that hypothesis mathematically divisionally true:

1- David Carradine
2- Ed McMahon
3- Farrah Fawcett
4- Michael Jackson
5- Billy Mays
6- ??? Profit!

As for me, I’m currently on the Abe Vigoda deathwatch…

Celebrities Celebrities

Michael Jackson…dead? 

It’s almost too difficult to believe.  I mean, not being a fan, and not privy to the inner sanctum of the Jackson cult, I find it strangely odd to think that the man whose videos I grew up watching on MTV has come down with a slight case of death.  It just seems a bit…surreal.

And to think, we’ve had a rash of celebrity deaths recently; David Carradine, Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett.  Who’s willing to take bets that Patrick Swayze will be the next to go?

It’s inevitable that the celebrities you grew up watching will one day die.  It’s the passing of an age and the march of time happening right before our eyes.  

And so, I say a sad “so long” to our moonwalking, studded glove wearing, flaming haired, zippered jacket icon of yesteryear.  I almost feel guilty for mocking him in a recent post.  I guess I’ll pick up my statue from the Bad Timing Awards on my way out the door…

When Ryan Seacrest confirms your death...brother, you're dead.

Celebrities Celebrities