Friday, July 14, 2006
I wrecked my car
...Or at least I thought I did. As some of you may know, I drove up to Chicago on Wednesday to generate some business. You know, the old hustle. Anyhow, those of you who live in Indy will probably remember that on Wednesday the skies openned up and rain fell from the heavens, and I am sure that if it kept up for 40 days and 40 nights it would have been a second flood. I was about twenty miles outside of Indy when it got real bad. My visibility was nearly zero. Windshield wipers? Forget about it. So I slowed down to about 50 and pressed on. Then, while going around a bend I started to feel myself gliding gently to the right. I was no longer in control of the car. I tried my best to regain mastery over my vehicle, but it was no use, and I colided full broadside with a concrete wall at around 35 mph. I was beyond angry. In the middle of a biblical rain storm I found myself sitting in my car having just hit a wall. A stream of profanity left my mouth that I doubt I could recreate. I think I invented a few new words, actually. Soon, however, it dawned on me that if I slid off the road at this spot, then others might too, and if that happened things would rapidly go from bad to real fucking bad. So I limped along the shoulder to the next exit. I didn't even read the sign. Unfortunatly, there were no gas stations on this exit so I couldn't scope out the damage in dryness. Nevertheless, I had to assess the damage so I would know if I could limp home or if I needed to call someone. So I take off my tie, and step out into the storm. I held my breath as I walked around the car, not wanting to see the mangled side of my sweet baby. To my complete and utter shock, however, there appeared to be no damage. Okay. Lets get back on the highway. I drive to the next exit and pull off in an abandoned Shell station. I get out of the car, and once again walk around. This time I am determined to find the damage. Not a scratch. The paint shined like the day I got it. Alright, lets go to Chicago. For the remainder of the trip I kept checking for damage. Every time I got out I would cock my head to the side and search for some evidence of a collision with a concrete wall, but there is nothing there. I must say, it is an amazing feeling to have something like your beloved car ripped away from you and then given back. It almost gives you a feeling of invincibility (although it makes you a bit more cautious when driving in the rain). I later realized that I was pretty lucky to not have been injured or killed. I mean if the wall had not been there I would have gone right off the road and probally rolled. If I had spun out in traffic, another rain blinded driver probably would have smashed into me. Scary stuff, but I can't say that I sweat it that much. I am invincible after all. Also, I have decided to give my car a nickname. Its name is of course still Lizzy, but it now has the kick-ass nickname "KITT". I think next time I will try plowing straight through the wall...in slow motion.
...Or at least I thought I did. As some of you may know, I drove up to Chicago on Wednesday to generate some business. You know, the old hustle. Anyhow, those of you who live in Indy will probably remember that on Wednesday the skies openned up and rain fell from the heavens, and I am sure that if it kept up for 40 days and 40 nights it would have been a second flood. I was about twenty miles outside of Indy when it got real bad. My visibility was nearly zero. Windshield wipers? Forget about it. So I slowed down to about 50 and pressed on. Then, while going around a bend I started to feel myself gliding gently to the right. I was no longer in control of the car. I tried my best to regain mastery over my vehicle, but it was no use, and I colided full broadside with a concrete wall at around 35 mph. I was beyond angry. In the middle of a biblical rain storm I found myself sitting in my car having just hit a wall. A stream of profanity left my mouth that I doubt I could recreate. I think I invented a few new words, actually. Soon, however, it dawned on me that if I slid off the road at this spot, then others might too, and if that happened things would rapidly go from bad to real fucking bad. So I limped along the shoulder to the next exit. I didn't even read the sign. Unfortunatly, there were no gas stations on this exit so I couldn't scope out the damage in dryness. Nevertheless, I had to assess the damage so I would know if I could limp home or if I needed to call someone. So I take off my tie, and step out into the storm. I held my breath as I walked around the car, not wanting to see the mangled side of my sweet baby. To my complete and utter shock, however, there appeared to be no damage. Okay. Lets get back on the highway. I drive to the next exit and pull off in an abandoned Shell station. I get out of the car, and once again walk around. This time I am determined to find the damage. Not a scratch. The paint shined like the day I got it. Alright, lets go to Chicago. For the remainder of the trip I kept checking for damage. Every time I got out I would cock my head to the side and search for some evidence of a collision with a concrete wall, but there is nothing there. I must say, it is an amazing feeling to have something like your beloved car ripped away from you and then given back. It almost gives you a feeling of invincibility (although it makes you a bit more cautious when driving in the rain). I later realized that I was pretty lucky to not have been injured or killed. I mean if the wall had not been there I would have gone right off the road and probally rolled. If I had spun out in traffic, another rain blinded driver probably would have smashed into me. Scary stuff, but I can't say that I sweat it that much. I am invincible after all. Also, I have decided to give my car a nickname. Its name is of course still Lizzy, but it now has the kick-ass nickname "KITT". I think next time I will try plowing straight through the wall...in slow motion.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
I hate wallpaper
People, honestly, stop using wallpaper to decorate your homes. I mean come on. What are the benefits of gluing long strips of paper to your home? I suppose that if you found a really great patern it might look nice. For a while. Inevitably, however, it will start to bubble up and peel around the edges in the humidity and just look generally awful. And that is if it looked nice to begin with. Imagine if it was, say, some horrible floral patern. To rid your self of this menace, you have to spend hours scraping it off the wall with a knife. If that wasn't bad enough, you then have to spackle the chunks of wall that decided to go with the paper. All of that is just so you can paint, which you should have done in the first place. Lets be smart. Just paint the walls from the get go, and save yourself the pain and misery of wallpaper.
People, honestly, stop using wallpaper to decorate your homes. I mean come on. What are the benefits of gluing long strips of paper to your home? I suppose that if you found a really great patern it might look nice. For a while. Inevitably, however, it will start to bubble up and peel around the edges in the humidity and just look generally awful. And that is if it looked nice to begin with. Imagine if it was, say, some horrible floral patern. To rid your self of this menace, you have to spend hours scraping it off the wall with a knife. If that wasn't bad enough, you then have to spackle the chunks of wall that decided to go with the paper. All of that is just so you can paint, which you should have done in the first place. Lets be smart. Just paint the walls from the get go, and save yourself the pain and misery of wallpaper.
Monday, July 03, 2006
One week strong
As of midnight tonight, I have successfully gone one full week with out smoking or drinking. Without drinking alcohol, that is. I mean if I could go a week without drinking anything, that would be amazing...or deadly. Regardless, I have gone a week and I must say, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean I am not going to give up drinking permanently or anything, but I think I could easily handle a few less drinks in there. That said, watch out for me at the Beer Olympics this weekend, I am planning on competing. A lot. If you know what I mean.
As of midnight tonight, I have successfully gone one full week with out smoking or drinking. Without drinking alcohol, that is. I mean if I could go a week without drinking anything, that would be amazing...or deadly. Regardless, I have gone a week and I must say, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean I am not going to give up drinking permanently or anything, but I think I could easily handle a few less drinks in there. That said, watch out for me at the Beer Olympics this weekend, I am planning on competing. A lot. If you know what I mean.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Paintball? More like painball
I have just survived my first ever attempt at playing paintball. For those of you who are not familiar with the game, it is essentially a legal way to shoot your friends in an urban combat setting. Tonight was my companies end of quarter shoot out. In many ways it made me recall my high school days spent playing laser tag. The only difference really between the two games is that in laser tag, when you get hit, you have to go back to base and recharge yourself. In paintball, however, when you get hit you scream out in pain. While this might not sound to interesting to my less masochistic readers, it really adds an interesting dynamic to the game. Namely, you do not want to get hit. This adds to the game on a number of levels, for one thing, it really cuts down on the heroic factor. For in laser tag, you will often see someone sprint into the enemy's base to sacrifice themselves for a base hit. In paintball you don't see this, as any such heroic figure would quickly be reduced to a mound of quivering pulp (not to mention that sprinting at all is not a good idea since the floor is covered in a permanent layer of oil-based paint). It also adds a realism to the game that is distinctly lacking from laser tag. You feel real fear while stealthly moving about behind enemy lines, or running across a gap while a teammate lays down covering fire. It all combines to create an intense, fun, painful experience. I myself did fairly well, I busted some caps, and although I did not get hit all that much, I am pretty sure that in a real warzone several of my wounds would have been fatal. Also, much props to Micah for squeezing into that box near the ceiling, it was reminicent of Jon Brown's Xsite antics.
I have just survived my first ever attempt at playing paintball. For those of you who are not familiar with the game, it is essentially a legal way to shoot your friends in an urban combat setting. Tonight was my companies end of quarter shoot out. In many ways it made me recall my high school days spent playing laser tag. The only difference really between the two games is that in laser tag, when you get hit, you have to go back to base and recharge yourself. In paintball, however, when you get hit you scream out in pain. While this might not sound to interesting to my less masochistic readers, it really adds an interesting dynamic to the game. Namely, you do not want to get hit. This adds to the game on a number of levels, for one thing, it really cuts down on the heroic factor. For in laser tag, you will often see someone sprint into the enemy's base to sacrifice themselves for a base hit. In paintball you don't see this, as any such heroic figure would quickly be reduced to a mound of quivering pulp (not to mention that sprinting at all is not a good idea since the floor is covered in a permanent layer of oil-based paint). It also adds a realism to the game that is distinctly lacking from laser tag. You feel real fear while stealthly moving about behind enemy lines, or running across a gap while a teammate lays down covering fire. It all combines to create an intense, fun, painful experience. I myself did fairly well, I busted some caps, and although I did not get hit all that much, I am pretty sure that in a real warzone several of my wounds would have been fatal. Also, much props to Micah for squeezing into that box near the ceiling, it was reminicent of Jon Brown's Xsite antics.
