Terrible Analogies

I think I’ve found the next sport I’ll specialize in. It seems easy enough to learn, and incorporates teamwork and a healthy spirit of competition.  In short, good, clean fun

But I’m sure my dreams of cheap glory will be squashed once Karin sees what I’m up to. I’d be more than happy to get back to more cerebral endeavors, but ya see, I have an unhealthy fear of my printer.  It’s been…acting up lately.

And as inanimate objects become smarter, it seems as if our household pets are getting dumber.  Take, for example, Maru, who has what can only be described as a strange fetish for boxes.  Watch this through to the end to see what I mean:

I only wish my cat was that cool.

Ah well, I guess I’ll log into my ignored Facebook account and super poke some people.  That always makes me feel better.

Have a good weekend, everyone!  I’m off to epoxy seal the garage floor.  Manual labor…there’s no other way to spend those precious fleeting hours off from week… *sigh*

It’s as if the fine people at We The Robots created this in homage to my pathetic life:

The comparison is so accurate that it borders on the eerie…

It’s no wonder I have no time to pursue more noble endeavors such as the arts, sciences, and maths:

Ah well, I guess we deal with whatever life throws at us in the best way we know how.  At least whatever cycles I can spare I tend to spend them on either running, lifting, or aimlessly surfing the tubernets in an effort to avoid real responsibilities.  As long as nobody complains, I’m happy.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my beer.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day! 

Don’t drink too much…remember, work awaits you in the morning.

Whelp, it’s Friday, and I’m all tapped out.  I got nuthin’ for ya.  I’m a shell of my normal self.  Bereft of thought, mentally void, and awash in a warm calming sea of indifference.  All I can think of as I stare slack-jawed and motionless in the center of a dark room staring into the soft glow of my laptop is that it’s finally Friday, and for me that means there’s just one more work day before I can enjoy my one day off this week.  Needy computers…

I’m just glad I don’t have this announcer’s job.  I don’t think I could be witty enough to come up with enough pop culture references to fill an entire season of hockey:

But if I ever did find myself either burnt out from my job, or just simply unemployed, I guess I could channel all of my energy into finally finishing my book, studying for a doctorate, or molding myself into a Tetris god (see how wicked-fast…and invisible…it gets at the end):

Of course, if the unthinkable does happen and I become a drain on society, unable to hold down meaningful employment between hits of Mountain Dew and Twinkies, I could always download a torrent of Final Cut Studio, drop a delicate balance of uppers and downers, and create something as wonderfully twisted as this:

Or I could just take a cue from my cat and chill under the covers all day, which seems more and more like the proper path to take:

Heh…I think she has the right idea…

Here’s hoping that you had a nice, relaxing Valentine’s Day.  

It appears that the weatherman couldn’t have been more wrong about the forecast.  The weather was actually quite comfortable in southern California.  In between celebrating the wife’s birthday and Valentine’s Day I managed to squeeze in two trail runs in as many days.   When the rain does finally arrive I plan to spend my days in the gym, so it’s all good.

Not to get all non-sequitur on you, but for no apparent reason reason I’m been thinking about The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air recently, and something’s been bothering me about the show’s premise for the past three days.  If the Fresh Prince and his mother lived in the projects, and the Fresh Prince had an extraordinarily rich aunt who lived in a wealthy and prominent neighborhood of Los Angeles, why would his aunt let her sister live in such a squalid, dangerous location?  

It seemed that his mother and her sister were on good enough terms to let the Fresh Prince live with the aunt apparently with no conditions attached.  If they were on such good terms, why couldn’t his aunt kick a few bucks his way, helping he and his mother escape from a strangling life of targeted, criminal, gang-related violence?

I mean, here’s the aunt who’s dripping with jewelry, three self-centered kids, a powerfully-connected husband who happens to be a well-respected high-ranking judge, a smarmy butler, gardener, and an unknown number of servants lurking in the background performing a variety of tedious tasks all in an effort to keep her comfortable in the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed.  Floating in a pretentious sea of haute culture and callous celebrity, his aunt couldn’t lift the three fingers it takes to write a check that could change the life of an extremely intelligent, grounded, good-natured child that deserves the opportunity to excel beyond his wildest dreams, breaking the cycle of turbulence and strife that his family has no doubt experienced for generations?

This is, after all, family.  No?