Work, Work, and Work

Hey all.

Apologies for the slow updates lately. I’ve been dealing with work, work, and work, which is probably at least one more ‘work’ than I really should be doing. I mean, I do work and work all the time, it’s just that third one that’s killing me right now.

Anyway, hopefully I will be done with the third work soon and I can get back to more regularly talking about my fantasy life wherein I fight ninjas on a regular basis. Though, strangely enough, even in that fantasy I don’t have a girlfriend. You’d think I could dream up an imaginary ninja-fighting super model that was at least mildly attracted to me.

So, during a very small period when I wasn’t doing one of the three works, I was fiddling about on the internet and saw a warning/ad thing about the dangers of texting whilst driving. It featured a young woman with a very earnest message that in short read ‘This is dangerous. Don’t do this.’

The message was clear enough, but I was a bit puzzled that people would need to be told this. As far as I can tell, it’s about as obvious as ‘Don’t put a wolverine down your pants while driving’ or ‘Saxophones solos and driving don’t mix.’ Or dare I say it: ‘Don’t drive and fight ninjas, unless you’re actively running them over, in which case it’s sorta okay.’

Like I said, it just seems rather obvious that you shouldn’t engage in activities that require a lot of your attention while operating several tons of metal at high speeds. One of the best pieces of advice my dad ever gave me was when he was teaching me to drive. “Always assume everyone else on the road is an idiot,” he said. Followed quickly by ‘and don’t hit that tree!’

NOTE: I grew up in the country and literally learned to drive when I was 9. Seriously, I could drive stick before I liked girls. And never had an accident, not counting the time I almost ran over our truck with a bulldozer.

My dad’s advice has proved itself true on many instances and kept me alive on a few. Another notable piece of advice was ‘always hit ‘em with the thick end of the pool cue.’  That one hasn’t been used quite as many times, but it’s still noteworthy.

Cheers,

-Jason

Huh?

I am in the habit of writing things down. This will come as no shock to those of you who know me and have realized that my brain is basically a sieve. A razor-sharp, oft-delusional, steel sieve, but a sieve none the less.

Hence I am prone to writing notes. 

However, here’s the problem: I tend to write notes on any old piece of paper or chupacabra that happen to be around, so I have a large stack of papers on my desk that my brain-sieve has categorized as ‘necessary’ or ‘important.’ It is worth noting that the chupacabra didn’t stack nearly as well and is currently missing. I hope whatever I wrote on it wasn’t terribly important.

NOTE: MS Word does not recognize ‘chupacabra.’ I find this deficiency appalling. And yes, I can add it to my personal dictionary, I just haven’t yet.

Putting aside the missing chupacabra, there is a second problem with my note taking: when I get around to looking at the notes, I generally have no idea what they mean or what they’re for.

Here is an honest-to-god example of things I have written down on one sheet:

• Two columns of numbers, each totaled, with the difference beneath circled.

• Str, Dex, Will, Magic, Cunning, Cons, with tallies.
• Wash at Motel 6.
• A sketch of a tower with an arrow pointing at it. ‘Need spears!’ is next to the arrow.
• Diablo III, crossed out.
• ‘White to t3. Green to t6’
• ‘Tifany’ with one ‘f’.
• Armorer, Bladesmith, Florist
• Several doodles, which may or may not be of me punching a ninja

So, I have no idea why I felt the need to write any of these things down. I’m sure that I felt they were important at the time, perhaps even crucial, but unless I figure out how to decipher them, they’re basically worthless.

It could be like that movie The Saint with Val Kilmer. The impossibly hot scientist lady kept her notes for her world-shattering discovery on a series of small pieces of paper that had to be rearranged correctly and for some reason she was the only one who knew the right order. This is disregarding the fact that there were a finite number of pieces of paper (like seven) and I’m pretty sure you could have just brute-forced your way through all the possible combinations and come up with the answer. Anyway, that was an overly long explanation for the fact that I have lots of notes and no comprehension of what they mean.

In all likelihood, it’s probably not anything earthshaking like a cure for cancer or how to get Olivia Wilde to deliver a pizza to my apartment.

Hmmmm . . . pizza.

Cheers,

-Jason