The Red Team

First softball game of the season has come and gone. Good news: we won!

We took the lead in the top of the first inning and held it the entire game, winning by a final score of 19-11.

Your author flied out to right field in the first at bat (not knowing his own strenghth, he was just trying to pop one over the first baseman, and instead hit it 200 feet right at their right fielder), then, determined to get on base in the second plate appearance waited for a really good pitch to hit, didn't get one, and walked on five pitches. In the last at bat with runners on first and second he grounded into a fielder's choice (5U, safe at first).

In the field, though, the spectacular defensive prowess was unchanged, save for a fast groundball between first and second that your author didn't even make an attempt at catching.

But, three good picks for force outs saved a few runs over the course of the game.

AVG: 0.000
OBP: 0.333
SLG: 0.000
OPS: 0.333

Hopefully I'll get my average up to...positive numbers, soon.

-t

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Inspired

Thanks to Tyler for the link.



That tree flair is unbelievable.

-t

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Watching

I've received numerous (one) complaints regarding the previous post.
Calling the post lazy, boring, tedious, un-original, and slap-dash I have been instructed by multiple readers (two) to post something else "for the love of all that is holy I can't take that accordian anymore!")

So, to honor their request to knock the youtube accordian post off the top of the page, I'm replacing it with the following youtube videos which are, by turns, awesome, hilarious, enlightening, trivial, and watchable.

First up, for the history buffs! Winston Churchill's Great Declaration speech (re-mixed, what!?)


Next! More history! Martin Luther King Jr. and I Have A Dream (re-mix)


There are a bunch of these, including remixing cable pundits and the 2008 presidential and vice presidential debates.

Blame Mental Floss for turning me on to these guys. And for those anit-youtubers out there, take heart. My next post will probably not contain video.

Mostly.

-t

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Majorly FugueD

I love this piece of music (usually played on an organ). Kudos to Neatorama for finding the clip:



I've listened to it four times already this morning.
Check out the finger work @ 5:40

-t

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Over Overtime

-photo by Marcin Wichary

I've just received, through three layers of managerial strata, (three strata of management? managerial strata? Is layers of strata redundant?) a policy directive.

Please make sure you are taking and putting in for 30-45 minute lunch breaks. Our workday is scheduled to start at 9AM and salaries are based on a 36.25 hour work week (9AM-5PM, 45 minute lunch). Please make sure you take the allotted time for lunch. We've seen slower than usual trade volume, and overtime is something that is being closely scrutinized.

This was, by the way, received via Blind Carbon Copy (pop quiz: who thought the acronym for "carbon copy" would persist through the electronic age? bonus Al Gore joke: How is Al Gore using e-mail to save the planet?*)

So, receiving the memo via bcc I can assume a few things:
(1) I am not the only recipient
(2) I am not allowed to know the other recipients
(3) The other recipients are not to know me

Rhetorical question: If you had just been passed a note and were aware of the preceding statements regarding that note, would you, or would you not, conclude that you were involved in a criminal conspiracy?

YOU WOULD.

Or, at the very least, an international spy ring operating in enemy territory (everybody wave to the Chinese hackers who are right now copying blogger's source code).

You would not, in all probability, conclude that you were a valued member of a TEAM of PROFESSIONALS built to COOPERATE.

So, to...honor... this request, sent by some anonymous supervisor somewhere up the corporate ladder, and carefully stripped of all details of origin, I will (I know, I know, you're shocked) take a thirty-minute lunch break everyday.

I may take my book and head out to the park to read. I may wander around the city and enjoy the sunshine (or rain, as the case may be). I may sit at my desk staring blankly at my computer screen, catatonic.

Or, I might just take my lunch break at 4:30PM.

I haven't decided.
-t

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This is a test txt post. This is only a test. There should also have been a cool picture of a robot...but that's not going to happen.

Global Domination: Patrol and Descent

Science hasn't been keeping up with my plans for global domination, but, to keep all you minions in the loop, I've decided to post a few items I'm planning on incorporating into the design of my evil legions.

1. Armored Patrol Units

These exo-cycles will be outfitted with armor and offensive weaponry to patrol the exterior of my compound, jaywalkers beware.


2. Stairs

I'm also going to install these between each floor of my command center. Possibly in chrome (except in my personal apartment, it will be environmentally-friendly renewable wood.


-t

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Patronizing

I need a hobby, some outlet for my creative impulses.

Naturally, these impulses only hit me when I'm stuck at work, stuck without access to paint, sculpting clay, metal-working equipment, or any physical medium except Bic ink and white copy paper.

Which, as far as it goes, can still be transformed into art, but it usually takes more time, concentration, and studio space than I have the ability to devote since I am, still, stuck at work.

Lately I've been following a number of vinyl toy customizers on Twitter (like, squink, reactor88, and crisr). Naturally my inclination is to now get into the vinyl toy-modding scene. It probably wouldn't take up much room, there are plenty of nice, simple templates to work from, and the community is very vocal and supportive of one another.

It's also a great little outsider-art community because it hasn't been around long enough (hello, painting) to accumulate centuries of entitlement or exclusivity (there are no international universities dedicated to customizing Dunnies).

In lieu of a paint-covered workspace, then, I'm sitting in a cubicle with access to four colors of ink (three I brought from home), no time to explore artistic inspiration (when it strikes), and, worst(?), no way to exhibit the little I do doodle.

I don't have easy access to a scanner, and carting a week's worth of scrap paper scrawling home and digitizing each one has proved too laborious for my laziness to handle. So, no sketch blogs (one, two, three) either.

I'm not saying what I've accomplished (or what I haven't, actually) or what I could accomplish would necessarily be "high art" or even "average height art" (though my tastes don't run toward "low art") I'm only bemoaning the set of circumstances which prevent me from exploration and production of something I could be proud of.

So I'm stuck writing. Writing blog posts, actually. I still don't have the time to construct anything along a narrative arc, no story-telling beyond anecdotes.

Alas, not producing art pays the bills. Stupid Pilgrims.

-t

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To Sleep, Percha-FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

The high-pitch wailing of the smoke alarm woke me from the first good night's slumber I'd been in the process of having in a good long while.

It was 3:39AM

The battery in the smoke alarm had, apparently, died, and the smoke alarm, lashing out blindly (deafeningly) for vengeance, blared its squealing peal to wake the dead and dead asleep alike.

I awoke completely stupored, baffled as to the source of what I am kindly describing as noise. The cellphone? No. The alarm clock? No. Auditory hallucination...mmmm...maybe? But, no.

I roused myself as best I could given the circumstances (it normally would take a few hours of wakefulness and a cup or two of coffee before I would willingly step into battle with such a sound), stumbled to the light switch and then stood, neck craned upward, eyelids still drooping heavily, contemplating this well-illuminated rest-ruining screaming plastic banshee.

The smoke alarm was just within the reach of my outstretched arms which I had raised in the hopes of striking at the smoke alarm's battery compartment, its power source, its brain. And strike it I did, with gusto, ripping the rectangular nine-volt battery from its cradle with a gleeful smile on my face, anticipatory joy for the return to slumber I expected.

Erroneously expected, that is. For, as I ripped the battery from this monstrosity of sound, this wailing warning signal, no relief was granted, no, instead, an echo began, released from the alarm's brethren, spread throughout the house, sensing a fellow cacophonous compatriot in dire straights, a call to aid (and ears) was sounded to alert any alarm in the vicinity, or indeed, any sonic sympathizers within range, of the horror ongoing now, at 3:45AM.

The battery, the battery was not enough. No, to slay this siren, now keening its final appeals, there must be another power source found and disabled, or else, its desire for a new battery appeased, before sleep would be granted.

And so I set to work, amid its klaxon clamor, to pry the offender from its ceiling perch, and pry again, the ties that bound the thing to call, its lifeline, the wailer's wire.

Once freed, it died, the soundless source at last, empty, silent, yet whole. A quarter hour more, it would have snapped. Instead, a sort of victory for sleep, interrupted though it was by this nonsense nocturnal notice its signal sounded last at 4:00AM

And heaven help the alarm clock this morning. I'm sleeping with a hammer under the pillow.

-t

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