Mother of Invention – PODS
You hook 'em, I'll clean 'em and fry 'em.
My wife just left this morning on her annual weekend retreat with some girlfriends. Now I’m left home alone for a glorious three-day weekend.
Hello T-R-O-U-B-L-E!
Naturally I’ve got a lot going on, but I’m still going to try to squeeze in a little blogging as time permits. In between 14-hour bouts of sitting on my ass, eating entire bags of potato chips and sour cream dip, and watching my toenails grow, I shall endeavor to pump out the same high quality of bitching to which all of my reader have grown accustomed.
For today, I wish to announce the latest in a long series of miraculous and societal-changing inventions from the team of creative geniuses that power the Abyss.
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666 equilateral triangle
One thing is certain: The longer I remain at work the greater the probability I will make certain scientific discoveries. Once again I’m here to announce new findings.
Today’s discovery is something known as the 666 Equilateral Triangle.
A triangle is a polygon comprised of three straight lines.
An equilateral triangle is a triangle where all three lines are exactly the same length.
A 666 equilateral triangle is an equilateral triangle where the length of all lines is exactly 6 feet.
Three lines that are six feet each aka 666.
Shudder.
You might be wondering? How does this pertain to my job? How indeed.
The office where I work is roughly the size of the living room in my house. Three of us humans work in that space. In a corner of that space to maximize crowding. The grouping is such that we are not arranged at minimum safe distance.
The other day, as I lamented for the umpteenth time the proximity of our positions, I realized our seats formed a perfect triangle. And I had a hunch.
I waited until I was alone, a rare phenomenon at work. I waited a long time. Finally I got my chance. I sprang from my seat and grabbed the tape measure. Yep! My hypothesis was confirmed. The distance between our chairs was six feet!
Six feet from the boss to me. Six feet from me to the co-worker. Six feet from the co-worker to the boss. Six, six, six.
I knew there was something evil about my job!
“Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666.”
– Rev. 13:18 (New King James Version)
You might be saying to yourself, “Okay. That don’t sound so evil to me. What’s the big dealio, you friggin’ whiner.”
Well played. Point well taken.
In rebuttal, let me add this: Absolutely zero privacy isn’t really that big of deal. It’s a caffeteria-style environment all the way, and our triangle is positioned in such a way that two of seats have an optimal view of the third. (And you’ll never guess who that might be.) Yep, with an incremental nod of the head, either of them can surreptitiously watch me all friggin’ day if that is their penchant. They both sit behind me so I can’t see jack shit.
We’re not exactly the Three Musketeers. It’s more like “Two for One and One can eat shit.” Or something like that.
But that’s not the worst of it. No.
First of all, at this image suggests, there are forces at work that are external to the triangle. Assume that C is my workstation and D is the toilet. Coincidentally enough, that is also six feet away!!
And the work toilet is, of course, where the boss makes a lot of explosive noises. Words fail me to describe the phenomenon. Suffice it to say that he goes in, the door shuts, and three seconds later I wish I was dead.
But, thanks to the 666 equilateral triangle, that’s not all. The boss gives omnipresent a whole new meaning.
One thing is his labored breathing. All day long he sits behind me, six feet away, and gulps down air and wind-tunnels it back out again. It is as constant as the northern star. If you don’t find some way to divert your attention you will surely go mad.
There is also the sounds he makes when he eats. Slurpin’ and smackin’ and juicy snap, crackle and pops. Ugh. Mixed with labored breathing, of course.
That’s bad enough, but he makes those juicy smacking noises … all … day … long, whether he is eating or not. It’s amazing but true. I don’t know how he does it. He’s got some stamina.
So there I am with no privacy and struggling not to go mad from the audio onslaught.
And that’s what it’s like to work inside the 666 equilateral triangle. And by work I mean live since there is no other place in my life where I spend more time.
What geometrical shapes stalk you at work? What inscribed forms of evil do you deal with at your job?
Do you want to pet my dragon?
RAWR!
I just had a great idea. I’ve always wanted to write a screenplay and I think I finally have a concept unique and interesting enough to justify a treatment!
This is pretty exciting for me. If you’re willing to read on a bit, perhaps you could be kind enough to let me know if I’m on the right track.
It’ll be a movie about dragons. You may not have heard about these mythical creatures yet, but I’ll bet you will soon. If my efforts are successful it won’t be long until “dragon” is a household word.
A dragon is generally reptilian or snake-like, winged, has the ability of flight, and can breath fire. Yeah, I predict these creatures will be fascinating to unsuspecting audiences.
Although dragons can be found in the mythology of Asian cultures, they were also present in Greek and Middle Eastern mythologies, too. In fact, the English word “dragon” is derived from a Greek work that means “dragon, serpent of huge size, water-snake.”
I haven’t fully worked out a plot yet, but I’m pretty sure it’ll work something like this. There will be a land where dragons are hated, feared and hunted. In that land we will find out hero, most likely a young person, a criminal, or some other form of outcast from mainstream society.
This hero will, at some point, by chance, encounter a dragon. The dragon might be freshly hatched from an egg, perhaps even bonding with our hero. Or the dragon might be older. For super special drama the dragon might even be the last of his kind. (But this admittedly might be taking things too far.)
During that initial encounter things will, at first, go mostly as expected. There will be dramatic explosions of fire, courage, daring, etc. Yada yada yada. One or both of our main characters might even be injured. But at some point something unusual will happen and the two will decide not to finish each other off. One or both of them may realize that the propaganda they’ve been fed about the other just might not be true.
That’s the end of Act I.
Act II primarily deals with boring shit where the two get to learn allegedly interesting and fascinating things about the other. I won’t bore you with these details. Suffice it to say they hang out a lot, go on some mildly interesting side adventures, and, through this process, grow to become lifelong friends. Blech.
Act III is where it all comes to a head. Just when the two heroes are so close that they are about to take things to a whole new level of physicality (if you know what I mean), something tragic will happen. Suddenly the two will have to drop all of their fun frolicking because they’ll be in a world of shit. Some big bad guy will be doing Something Bad. Perhaps it will be a hunt for the dragon that we all now love. Or perhaps someone will be trying to take over the human’s village, stab all the people with swords, etc. Whatever the mechanism, it will arouse the audience, inducing anger and a desire for resolution.
That’s when our outcasts, the two heroes, will ride/fly in like John Wayne and save the day.
The end.
Pretty good, eh? Think I can talk Hollywood into it? My vision, if successful, will be that someday we’ll get a movie like this ever other month or so. I think the possibilities are endless for minor variations on this same theme.
I know this idea is so damn unique it’s almost mindblowing that I was even able to come up with it. I admit right now I had to resort to LSD. That really fuels the creative process.
So, that’s it. That’s the idea. Now bring on the criticisms. Don’t worry, I can take it.
RAWR!
The Grating Outdoors
I wasn’t going to post this. Really. I wasn’t. Then I saw this post on Freshly Pressed today and decided what the hell. Enjoy.
It was bad enough that I had parents. Ungh.
Growing up in a family of smokers was rough, even though I didn’t know it at the time. My mom and dad smoked. My grandparents smoked. All of my aunts and uncles smoked. When we grew up my younger sister joined in as well, something she still does to this day.
And there I was. Lone Wolf McQuade. Doing my own thing as usual. I just gotta be different. I always have to be special.
Mom smoked (and drank) when she was preggers with me. Later she even got married. I wasn’t exactly what you’d call “planned.” We lived in a rainy state. That meant lots of smoking in cars with the windows rolled all the way up and lots of smoking inside the house. People didn’t step outside to smoke back then. “It’s my house, goddammit.”
Back then I didn’t know any better. That’s just the way it was. These days, however, I’m a little more informed and educated. These days I consider what my parents did to be fucking child abuse.
Somehow I dodged the smoking bullet but I didn’t get out from under that cloud caused by others and inflicted upon me until my early twenties. As my life progressed I gained more and more power over my own environment. True, there were some times, like at work, bars and casinos where my choices were “take it or leave it.” But gradually, over decades, I finally got my life to a point where I was almost completely smoke free.
Alas, you can’t ever really be totally smoke free. My primary exposure these days comes from driving through my home town, generally on my two-mile commute to and from work. Sure, I moved to a gorgeous state known for it’s beautiful outdoors, and clean, fresh air. Unfortunately if I choose to drive through this small town, I have to deal with the waste products of my fellow citizens. That includes their cigs in their hands hanging out their open car windows, their butts flying into my city when they are done, and yes, even their smell as I drive my car. Today, parked at a red light, the stench was almost unbearable.
My wife and I recently acquired a new camera as an anniversary gift. As a result we’ve been making trips around this gorgeous area we call home and taking all the pictures we can. This weekend during one such trip we pulled over to marvel at one of the local natural wonders, a gorge carved out of rock by one of the local rivers. As we walked along the path near the river I found myself in a cloud of nasty smoke. It was bad.
People were walking along that path and happily smoking away. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze, so the fact that we were outdoors was of little consequence. It was like being taken back to when I was a helpless youngster held hostage in my parent’s omnipresent cloud of death. It was fucking gross!
I tried to shake it off, but Holy Fuck! Here we were in the great outdoors in one of the most magical spots in one of the most beautiful states in one of the most special corners of the Earth and I’m forced to deal with some loser’s fucking stinky addiction. It was pretty horrible.
Of course I didn’t say anything. I spared an evil glance and moved on with my pathetic existence on this planet, trying to play “keep away” with my physical space and maintain distance from the various assorted assholes nearby.
I just don’t get the mentality. I’m sure the logic is something along the lines of, “I’m fucking outdoors and I’ll do what I goddamn want. Fuck you.” Fine. But that logic obviously fails when others find themselves in your fucking cloud.
As a non-smoking human being on this planet, just what, exactly, do I have to do in order to take in the natural goodness of the clean fresh air found in this spectacular land I call home? When will it be my turn to breath air untainted by fellow humans for a change, even in one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever seen?
Shouts from the Abyss 
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