I don't like hearing my own voice, either.

Thing One wanted to test a digital camera this past weekend, so I showed her some of the plants blooming on campus at the moment. I ended up in some of the photos, and, sad to say, my ego took a big hit.

You'll recall that my self image is fatter than other people think I am. Well, he also has more hair, and it's browner, than I actually do.

Seriously, I look different in a mirror than I did in the photos. Where is that guy now? I feel younger than I look; can you see that?

Life is a frickin' Vogon guard shouting, "Resistance is useless!"

Things are happening at an increasingly alarming rate.

Last Sunday, the fire department showed up at my apartment and asked where the fire was. "What fire?" It appears that one of the four smoke detectors (which are hard-wired and connected to the security system, not battery operated) in the apartments notified the fire dept. that there was a fire. It certainly wasn't in my apartment, nor in Thing One's (she didn't burn her tortillas until after the firemen left). Pinocchio had showed up briefly on Saturday but wasn't home, and Cookie (the downstairs neighbor who moved in last summer but I haven't had cause to blog about until now) had just left the day before for spring break.

On Tuesday, we managers were gathering for our daily meeting when Officer Krupke told Thing One and me that the fire department was over at our apartments again. (Neither of us was even there to burn any tortillas -- unless it was Thing One's dog.)

They had the security system contractor visit. They replaced the smoke detector in Thing One's apartment because it was faulty, and they did something with the wiring so that the fire department would know beforehand which apartment to head to first, rather than mine (unless, of course, the fire is in my apartment).

All was well and good until last night, when my cell phone rang less than an hour after I went to bed. It was Thing One, asking if I could turn off the security system alarm in Cookie's apartment because I know the master code. So, I went back to my nightstand to get my glasses and, naturally, knocked them to the floor. I finally found them, put on my robe (and grabbed my housekey, in a surprising moment of insight that I didn't think was capable in such a state of semi-sleep, but ended up not locking myself out anyway, which was entirely possible in such a state of semi-sleep), and headed outside. The security panel was different than mine, but I plugged in the code anyway. It didn't work. I tried it again and finally started waking up enough to wonder why I didn't see anything on the display. "Maybe it's the panel over here, where the alarm is," Cookie suggested. It was, indeed. (Belgium! That alarm, right over the panel, just at head height for me, was loud!)

The whole reason this happened was Skippy's fault. When the security company worked on the smoke detectors, he accompanied them and set the apartment alarms on his way out. Cookie had never used her alarm, so she had no idea what to do when it started beeping at her when she got home from vacation. Why didn't she ever use her alarm? Because she never was given a security code and instructions how to use it (nor had Thing One, until she asked Skippy directly) when she moved in. Skippy demonstrated the system and gave me the master code when I moved in, so how did he (and everyone else) forget to do so with the two newest residents?

Moreover, who the heck leaves an inoperative security panel right by the front door and installs a new one at the other end of the living room, next to the kitchen? Oh yeah, because it was quicker and cheaper to do it that way! (I will never get used to the way they do things here.) I wonder if that explains why my security system still works, even though the window sensors, which were taken down when the windows were replaced, haven't been put back up yet. I also wonder, then, if Officer Krupke will forget (he probably has done so already) that the sensors are apart, which leaves the portions with the wires leading back to the window frames taped to the walls above my windows, which does not contribute to the air of compently decoratedness I've been trying to establish in this dump.

Which reminds me... At a thrift store with Thing One this weekend, I saw a ceramic plaque which read, "God bless this lousy apartment." I wanted to buy it, but Thing One said she could make me a nicer one in counted cross stitch.

Another pun

If you move to a new town and you want to find a gym where you could exercise your core muscle groups, should you search through the "want abs"?

At least it's not another animal song...

A few posts ago, I blamed my mother for my attraction to novelty songs. In this case, I'd say it's "nature" rather than "nurture", since how many children like to listen to their parents' music (I mean, besides me)? One friend in college quipped, "Imagine when we get old: Metallica in the nursing homes."

One of my earliest memories is standing in the rec. room of our house, rapidly and unceasingly drawing figure 8's in the air as my mom played this song on the record player.

How much does your employer think you're worth?

My ten year anniversary with the company is coming up. I have these choices for my gift.

I got the binoculars already for my fifth-year gift.

I don't wear jewelry or even a wristwatch. I don't have a wife or girlfriend, and my mother doesn't need any more jewelry, so all those choices are out.

I just got the plates I wanted, so I'm kind of happy that the options here don't appeal to me.

I checked out retail prices for the electronics (even though I already have a DVD player and can't imagine a use for an mp3 player -- let alone needing to learn new technology if I got it), and it looks like the company has gone with the low end of the market.

The sleeping bag "fits up to 5'11" tall". Ah, yes, the story of my life. Maybe the cute chick in the picture frame would fit in it, but I have a feeling that I'd get just the frame.

I already have a tool set, and I can buy frozen waffles for cheap in the grocery store, and if I really wanted to make my own, I'd just have my mom send me her waffle iron; she hasn't used it in decades.

I certainly don't need anything pretty that does nothing but collect dust. I don't go camping, so the lantern is useless. The gym set is cheap. Lord knows I don't need another bag; I have plenty I don't use already.

So, I've settled on this. I'll be able to see what coat or jacket I'll need (or not) before I leave the apartment.

Two Puns

We couldn't tell if the pig farmer was weeping because he was marrying off his youngest daughter or because he slaughtered his prize sow for the reception dinner. All he'd say was, "She was the apple of my sty."

If I can't remember a sexy dream when I wake up, is that a nocturnal omission?

No, the Other P Word

A member of the athletic department told me about the pee-wee (ages 6-12) wrestling tournament held on campus this past weekend. He said one father was so disappointed by his son's loss that he took his son under the bleachers, called him "the p word", and started beating on him.

The word that came to my mind was a part of anatomy which men have but women don't. Then I thought that was an atypical way of insulting someone. Maybe he meant something else. You plebiscite! You plantain! You perambulator!

I overheard Froggy retelling the story later, and he said that the father called his son "the female organ".

Oh, that p word.

Home Improvement

It was another busy weekend, thanks to Thing One. I mean, I have wanted to scrape and paint the ornamented, metal posts which hold up the porch roof since I moved in nearly two years ago, but she's the one who got me off my duff to actually do it. Oh, and while we're at it, why not pressure wash the gutters and the soffits and the siding and the porch and the sidewalk? And then I had to be nice and do the same for the Chinese teacher in the downstairs apartment because the paint had been flaking off the awning over her door, and the sidewalk and walls to her apartment looked absolutely nasty with algae and moss and dirt.

Oh, and Thing One needed to pick up some items before the stores closed (at 8 p.m.), so we hit Idiotville and finally headed for dinner -- except the restaurant had a line out the door (I guess everyone else also wanted to shop then eat), so we went someplace else, which means I didn't eat until the time I'd usually head for bed, so I had to stay up for a while and digest. That was Saturday.

I've decided that it's a good thing to wake up at my usual time on Saturday to swim and walk, since the past several weekends have involved Thing One keeping me up past my bedtime on Saturday, so I sleep in on Sunday to recover. I call it, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we sleep in."

For some reason, this song (you'll note it's another animal song) was stuck in my head during my walk. However, it did not reflect my self image at the time. (It may accurately represent my actual body image. I don't know.)



I spent most of Sunday morning reading. (I got substantially through one of my books.) In the afternoon, we primed the porch railings and the neighbor's awning. They don't look great, but they're a lot better than the peeling paint which was there before. (The neighbor is out of town with her mother, who's visiting our country, so I hope she notices and appreciates our efforts when she returns.)

Now I have to get motivated to paint said railings and awning. I suppose one a day, after work, shouldn't kill me. (Lord help me when we start the "little" extras on the school-owned house that Thing One will be moving into.)

Another Animal, Novelty Song

You can blame Dr. Demento for linking today's song and the previous two in my head. (Actually, you should probably blame my mother for teaching me to like novelty songs in the first place.)

I'll take "Novelty Songs with Southern States and Animals in the Title" for $400, please, Alex.

There's probably one about the University of South Carolina Gamecocks, but I'm not sure it would be clean enough to post.

Is there a squirrel in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?

I didn't intend to tell you about my nightmare, because it's somewhat embarrassing, but circumstances merged so that it became appropriate.

I dreamt that a squirrel was trying to force itself down the back of my pants. (Remember this was a nightmare, so no jokes about "the squirrel of my dreams" trying "to get into my pants" and me resisting.)

1) I interpreted the dream as Froggy trying to tell me what to do, as if he were my boss.

2) There's an interesting psychological aspect (or more than one, depending if you go for multifaceted or separate ideas). Skippy left on Friday for his annual mission trip out of the country. Before he had even left town for the airport, Froggy was already getting in my face (figuratively, since he's a lot shorter than me). I drew a parallel to where I used to work because Sub would behave the same way whenever Boss was out of town. Yesterday, Froggy tried to tell my crew and me what to do and how to do it. (Here's where the interesting part comes in.) Froggy's usual behavior is to identify tasks as someone else's problem and then get as far away as possible. He did this yesterday, but then he didn't leave. My best guess so far is that his chaos factor is ramped so high in Skippy's absence that he can't control himself.

3) Then there's this.



Just call me Harv.

I'll take the "young" part...

On Friday, while we were on the North Shore (of the Tennessee River), Skippy took us to a frozen yogurt place. Just up the street is a recently completed condominium complex. "That would be a great place for you to live. You're a yuppie," Froggy said to me.

Keep in mind he's a complete redneck.

The word "yuppie" will always be equated in my mind with the generation who brought us the insipid, whiny TV show Thirtysomething. Hence, I refuse to accept the descriptor, even though Thing One said, "Well, you are a young professional."

Instead of saying, "I'm no yuppie," I think I'll call myself an "inoyuppie" -- an "I'm not old yet urban professional".

Let's call today 'Bluesday'.

I don't know if I quite agree with the Youtube commenter that this song is "stupendously badass" and "one of the most amazing, mind-blowing pieces ever composed in the history of the freakin' Universe!" but I do quite like it. Add it to my "favorites" list.

No Illiciting

At a local restaurant today, I saw the sign which most of you have seen on many restaurants: "No Soliciting". I pondered if the owners meant they don't want anyone selling something on the property, or just selling "some".

If you combine that sign with the typical "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service", but follow the letter of the law and walk in without pants, you might be busted for soliciting anyway.

(Three Minus One) Records

I, fortunately, will not find out how long it takes me to get sick and tired of eating leftover potato salad and cole slaw. Yesterday, the St. Bernard cooked a special lunch of ribs, chicken, and steaks for all the staff who worked on the varsity baseball field project. "Hey," I suggested, "how would you like to serve potato salad and cole slaw with that?"

Sometimes, I'm so clever I amaze myself.

What's right with me?

Yesterday, I got a bit miffed about how unfair something was here at work. It got me pondering: Why do I have such a strong sense of fair play contrasted with other people? I posed the question to Robomarkov (our discussion follows), and it makes me wish I had more readers because we could get into a really interesting discussion if I did.

CC: I came up with something to ponder this morning. What did my parents do in my upbringing that resulted in me having such a strong desire for fairness and equality? Well, not so strong as to lead in another march on Selma or something. Maybe a "sense" for fairness more than "desire".
RM: The sense of fairness is innate. Even small children understand this. It is only when we are adults do we "retrain" ourselves or justify cheating.
CC: Well, there's a lot of that (retraining, not necessarily cheating) going on on campus. Then the modified question would be why I stay "lawful good" while other people change.
RM: Yes. I have the same issue. Mostly on my commute to/from work. Why do I have to follow the driving rules and others seem to ignore them.
CC: Boy, howdy, ain't that the truth!

All right, so we diverted from the idea at hand, but you get the gist of my question. So, what do you think?