The greatest tattoo story ever told.

Ok, probably not the greatest tattoo story ever told, but I felt like talking about my body art, after CeeRock blogged about her new nose ring, then we got to talking about piercing, and later, tattoos.

I've had my ears pierced 7 times over the last 17 years or so. Way back then, my uncle, who is only 7 years older than me, was living in our basement in Lauderdale, MN while he went to school. He went out and got his ear pierced, and I thought it was cool. My mother overheard us talking about it, and decided that that made for a good birthday present for me. This was back when I was in junior high, the heady days of 1988. I was on the Cross Country team, but had badly sprained my ankle and was on crutches. In we went, my parental consent filled out, and I came out with a pierced left ear. That spring, on the last day of school, my girlfriend and I went to a party at a friend's house. It was a blast. We had beer, stole 2 cartons of cigarettes from the grocery store, orchestrated a make-out contest and in a rather drunken haze, we decided to pierce my ear again. After icing my earlobe for a good 10 minutes, my friend K sterilized a safety pin with a cigarette lighter, and in it went. We replaced it with a faux diamond stud, and I had two earrings, a mustache, and long hair. Before I break into song, let's just say that was the summer of 89.

But this is supposed to be about tattoos, so let's get back to that- apologies if I have already told these stories before:

I got my first tattoo as a 20th birthday present from my friend A. We were both RA's in college, in different dorms. I had been thinking about doing something like that for a while, and it seemed like a good idea, so we sat down and figured out what I should get. I decided that I wanted a yin-yang tattoo. The next problem was location, and I figured close to my heart was as good a place as any, so that weekend, I drove to a friend of a friend's house in Minneapolis, and I laid down in a second-hand barber chair in some guy's basement. I was nervous at first, even a little scared, as I am more that just not a fan of needles, but there I was. About 30 minutes later, I had a tattoo on my chest. Unfortunately for me, I had volleyball practice that night, and the bandage was still on. Ouch.

Tattoo #2 came when I was about 22- I was dating a 26-year-old woman. We decided to go camping, and left in my car towards Duluth, straight up I-35. We wound up driving all night, never finding a campsite or even hotel, turned around in Duluth, and headed all the way back to my place in St. Paul. We went to bed. In the morning (well, early afternoon) we decided that we should have a picnic with all our food, so we headed to Stillwater to sit along the scenic St. Croix River. We spent a good part of the afternoon there, then went for a walk through the downtown district, when we came across Tatts by Zap. We walked in, looked around, saw some of their art, and checked the place out. On the way out the door, I grabbed a business card. We headed into a bar for a game of pool and a couple games of pinball and were talking about Zap's place. We were both very much in the mood to get a tattoo, and had liked their designs, but didn't have any cash on us. I pulled out the card. "Huh. They take Visa and Mastercard."

15 minutes later, we were back at Zap's.


Number Two
Posted by Hello

Tattoo #3 is a solemn tattoo. It's in honor of my friend K, who died in December of 2002. His girlfriend, a very close friend of mine, wanted to get him a tattoo for his birthday, but he hadn't decided what to get. Eventually, he settled on getting the lightbulb from classic Monopoly, the one pictured on the Electric Company spot. To my knowledge, there are 4 of us who got the tattoo after he died. My friend B and I went together, getting the same tat. Hers is on her ankle, mine is just below #2 on my right arm.


Number Three
Posted by Hello

What's next? I'm not sure. I've had a couple in my mind for a few years now, but just haven't gotten around to designing them, much less getting them done. Red and I talked about getting tats together (yes, they would have been matching), but didn't. Thankfully. I'd hate to have that reminder right now. I can't find any pictures of #1, besides, it's all faded and needs to be fixed up badly.

Pub Quiz a Go-Go Episode I: The Printer Menace

Subtitled: I want you to kiss my boo-boo.

Last night, whilst I was printing out all my picture rounds, I decided to feed my printer some paper. I bend over to pick it up, when I felt the sharp edge of the output tray digging into my scalp.

It didn't really hurt, but I did let out a solid "fucksocks," as I realized that I had given myself a scratch on my bald, beautiful head, something that just can't be covered. I was angry and bleeding, feeling really moronic for not keeping my head safe. Sometimes I can be such a dolt.

Anyways, this isn't the big story I was thinking about. It's coming, and it has to do with pain as well.

Pub Quiz a Go-Go

Last night we broke all previous attendance records at pub quiz. We had a whopping 45 people on 12 teams, all of whom racked their brains over the following rounds:

1) 4-H Clubbing (questions on farm animals)
2) Strange words
3) Match round- Bicycle parts
4) Sports health
5) Dead or Canadian: Single Malt Scotch or Aberdeen Football Legend
6) The picture round, with a link that all of the celebrities had MS
7) General Knowledge

My favorite question of the night I stole from Monday's Jeopardy!:

This famous last name has a father-son duo who won the Congressional Medal of Honor, one for the Civil War, the other for World War Two. What is the last name?

While you're mulling that one over, I'm gonna work on a new story.

I *heart* Ascii Keys

Actually, this post has nothing to do with ascii keys, or anything computer related, really. I was simply going to recant my wonderful weekend, and if you're scoring at home, you know that this weekend was the big MS Tour de Farms! For the record, by the way, I did attempt an audioblog Saturday night, but I guess it has floated off into the stratosphere of cyberspace, as I don't see it here today. Anyways, without further ado, here's how it went:

Friday, I had the day off, I was finishing up getting ready, taking care of last minute details, picking my rental car, etc, etc. I was also waiting for Red to return my belongings, up to and including my bike rack, which she failed to do. My anger towards her for that just doesn't harmonize with the overall happiness with my story, so let's just let that dog lie.

Jen, Bosco and I headed out toward Aurora just before 3, my rental car loaded to the gills with biking and camping gear, not to mention two bikes on my newly purchased bike rack. On our way to the Ike, we saw three "urban car washes," fire hydrants opened by kids, and spraying water all over hell. It was really rather cool. We got to our hotel at about 5, thanks to traffic, hung out, had dinner with most of the team, and finally turned it in, although not until two of my teammates and I checked out our hotel's "live" music act, consisting of a multi-instrumentalist playing basically to karaoke CD's.

Saturday morning, we were up bright and early, and I mean BRIGHT and EARLY- on the road by 5:35, heading to the start line at Kaneland High School(check out the route map here). We had our team picture taken(it will be posted as soon as I can get a copy), and got ready to go. Fortunately, it was just after 6:30 when we finally got started, so it wasn't too warm. YET.

The first rest stop is only about 9 miles from the start, so we pretty much kept together, all 13 riders. After that, we did separate into different skill levels, but I waited for them at most of the rest stops so we could be together. Once I got to the Rollo rest stop, that's when things went a little wrong. My little brother's hip was bothering him, so he was SAG'ed in, and I thought Jen was going to collapse. I waited for them to start feeling better, then I got back on my bike for the 100-mile route. Wouldn't you know it, but not 10 yards out, I notice my tire seems flat. I turned around, walked the bike back to the repair area to put more air in the tire. It wouldn't hold. Figures. A flat. Crap.

Unfortunately, there was only one repair guy there, and he was busy with a couple people before me. Once my turn came around, he didn't believe me. I told him that it wasn't holding air, and he wasn't too impressed. We went through the routine, and finally he found the leak, and then found the cause: a shard of glass. In the meantime, one of my riders, who had been with me on the 15 mile stretch from Sandwich to Rollo, who also had tire problems, had his tire go flat as he was standing in line behind me. It was, in retrospect, really funny, as his tire made a big to-do about it, with a loud bang and very audible hiss as it gave a nice death-rattle.

Off I went, though, all alone, for the 100-mile loop. It started directly into the wind, and the temperature at that point had soared. I started to question my decision-making process, but then remembered how mad I was last year when I didn't get to do the century. I pushed on, and made it to the first rest stop, where I picked up my coveted patch. Now, I had to earn it.

Fortunately for me, the next 13 miles were pretty easy, with the wind mostly at my back. I did start to bonk a little bit, though, and I stopped to help another rider with a flat. I pushed on, and made it back to Rollo in just over 90 minutes, a little slower than my usual pace, but still pretty good. I rested for a little bit, feeling really proud of myself for getting my patch. The best part of the whole ride, by the way, was the simple fact that at the Rollo stop they had SnoCones. I don't even want to think about where I would have been without them.

I pushed on to the next stop, and started to feel a little weak, but it was getting really, really hot in the afternoon sun, so I didn't want to wait too long. I skipped eating anything. That, my friends and readers, was a mistake. After I left there, at about mile 88, I really started to bonk. Badly. One of the motorcycle ride marshals actually rode up next to me to check on me- something I thanked him for, but assured him, with a lot of conviction(and perhaps a couple swear words), that I was going to finish, no matter what. I stopped with a couple of girls that were also bonking. I had a Powerbar, and got back going.

I finally made it to the Elva rest stop, the last one before the finish line. I was exhausted, bonked, and overheated. So, I rested up, ate a lot, drank a shitload of Powerade, and I dug deep for the determination to finish. And finish I did. My first century, and I chose one of the hottest days to do it. But I did it- something I'm incredibly proud of.

Sunday, we reversed course, and set out earlier to avoid the heat, and met with mixed results. Most of us were too tired to do the 75, but I pushed through, with another of my riders, and did the 75 on day two, without a flat, and without bonking. When I rode in at Kaneland on day two, as if by fate, what's playing, but Johnny Cash. What a thing to happen.

Music helped me summon the mental toughness to fight through the bonks and the exhaustion. I kept putting songs in my head to keep me going- Push It by Salt n Peppa, Held by Smog, Faith by George Michael, and yes, CeeRock, I was thinking of you when I put Take Me Home Country Roads in my head. So did thinking about my friends Jess and Laurel, who both have MS. So did thinking about my Physical Therapist, who helped me get to the point I could ride again. I can't wait to walk in there, once I have the picture, and show her my century patch. I'm also so very proud of my team, nine of which were new riders this year. I certainly hope they caught the bug, and will be there with me next year.

Anyways, before I get too mushy, I'm going to write my pub quiz, after all, just because the ride's over, doesn't mean the fundraising is!

Superbowl Shuffle meme

On whatever mp3/music device you have at your desk, hit random and list the first 10 songs. Mine:

1) Raspberry Beret- Hindu Love Gods
2) Ill in the Head- Dead Kennedys
3) The Spiderbite Song- The Flaming Lips
4) Paranoid Android- Radiohead
5) R.A.M.O.N.E.S.- Ramones
6) Broken Train- Beck
7) Fanatic Heart- Black 47
8) My Iron Lung- Radiohead
9) Nobody's Fool- Cinderella
10) You Were the Last High- Dandy Warhols

Pretty sweet soundtrack, no?

Just Dork It.

Take the Geek Test. Try to beat my score. C'mon... everybody's doing it.


http://www.matthewbarr.co.uk/geek/index.php
Posted by Hello

Today is none other than Jen's birthday, so birthday shouts out to her. Yesterday was my friend T's birthday, and tomorrow is my buddy W's birthday. Again, shouts to birthday goodness for everyone. My question is, what the hell was so fashionable about having sex in September in the 70's? Just curious.

Happy birthdays to everyone. If I have time today (another busy one) I'll put in a real post. Expect some Audio posts from along the bike route on Saturday and Sunday, too.

Whirlwind Romance

Sorry for the teaser yesterday, things were really busy here in the ol' rock quarry. I had some heads to fill with knowledge, some computers to fix up, and some patience to use up. Needless to say, there wasn't a lot of time for the kind of blog entry this should be.

As you've been reading, Red and I began an amazing romance, full of potential and with a head of steam about it that was clearly out of control. At points, too far out of control, one might say. Said relationship ended on Friday, after a rather strange falling out.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm 100% fine with it. I'm not. But I am ok, still a little hurt, but ok. These things, sometimes, just don't work out, and one of the things I was definitely reminded of is that more than likely, if something seems too good to be true, it more than likely is.

Of course, it could be that I'm so busy gearing up for the ride this weekend that I don't have time to think about my feelings toward her, which I'll take as a blessing in disguise. What's done is done, and I don't have the desire or time to harp on about the past.

Special thanks go out to all my friends who listened so nicely to my problems et al, especally to my two favorite Libras(you know who you are) who did such a wonderful job, as you always do, of saying the perfect thing at the perfect time.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Where there's smoke...

There is fire.

I had a lazy day yesterday- I was tired and needed some relaxation time. It was Mia's birthday, too. She's 8 now, or 48 in human years, according to this chart. Plus, it was father's day, and I figured since I'm kinda my cat's father, I deserved a day of watching movies, bike riding, and petting my cat.

Around about 5:50, I remembered that I had to go to the Osco around the corner. All my bike riding has finally exhausted my gatorade supply. I was walking back, when I looked up at what was earlier a very beautiful blue sky, but saw some very ugly dark brown smoke.

Something's burning, I thought to myself.

The smoke appeared to originate south and east of my house, and I thought of all my friends who live down that-a-way, which is quite a few. What I couldn't tell, however where exactly the fire was. Turns out it was the Dominick's Store on Broadway. I used to go there to use their cash station from time to time, because it was one of the few ATMs where you could get cash out in $5 increments. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, and the fire didn't damage any of the bars around there that I like(ok, the one bar around there that I really like).

Anyways, there's some big news in the life of your humble narrator, which we'll get to in a bit. Unfortunately, I've got some work to do.

Missed opportunities.

I read this story this morning, and almost cried my eyes out. I mean, doesn't this guy have my phone number? Why didn't I get a call?

I could also think of a couple friends who would've appreciated a call, too.

Never judge a book by its cover.

I started out my day here at work by noticing I had something in my pocket that I wasn't expecting... reached in, and there's a recently washed $10 bill!

Woo-hoo, right?

Well, sadly, that has been my highlight of the day, at least so far.

Red and I are supposed to go out tonight, which is always a mood-brightener. Plus, it is a beautiful day in Chicago, so I think I might catch me a good, long bike ride. I deserve it.

Back to the saltmines...

It's always in one ear and out the other.

Last night I completely forgot about Mike Doughty's appearance on David Letterman.

I can't believe it. I was looking forward to it for more than a week. Dammit. I do need a personal assistant. Maybe an intern. Hm.

If anyone Tivo'ed/taped/etc the show, I would be eternally grateful if you could get me a copy of it.

Feeling a little full of myself.

I just got a call from the President of the Illinois Chapter of the National MS Society. She was calling to praise me for my fundraising efforts this year.

She made me feel like a million bucks.

If you're one of those few folks who reads my blog and hasn't received an e-mail from me, asking you to contribute to my cause, please feel free to click on the links at the top of my blogroll, or goto our team website, or to my personal MS Society Page. Every dollar helps.

"You either need a personal assistant or a wife."

Red as a way of saying things that catch me off guard. A way of saying things that makes me happy. A way that makes me feel like the luckiest mutha in the world.

When she said the above, however, she wasn't necessarily offering her services- she was reminding me that I'm a busy man and I need to slow down. She's not the only person who tells me this. Pretty much everyone does. I am, as it were, my father's son. He keeps so busy it's hell to try to get a hold of him. Even on his birthday it takes me 6 different phone calls to usually wind up leaving a message to say "happy birthday, pop." I persistently threaten to buy him a cell phone, but I know he'd never use it. Not because he doesn't like technology, quite the opposite, actually, just because he's not a cell phone kinda guy.

I digress.

As stated, I am a busy man and Saturday was one of those days where I needed to clone myself. In the morning, I had a MS Training Ride all the way down in Matteson. What most folks don't know about Chicago, but should know, is that we employ a grid system to number our streets and addresses. A very strict grid. So, any idiot who an get through plane-coordinate geometry (a junior high school class), has no excuse to get lost in my fair city. The X and Y axis meet at State and Madison. Myself, I live at approximately 4000 North by 1900 West, or (4000, -1900). The starting point for the ride in Matteson, to give you a sense of the distance between the two, is 21400 South by 4800 West or (-21400, -4800). With eight blocks to a mile, and one block being worth 100 points on the grid system, that means that I traveled 31.75 miles south, and 3.5 miles west to get there. Chicago is a big city, friends and neighbors, most Chicagoans don't realize it, I think. I didn't fully appreciate it until I rode my bike to Indiana.

I digress again- so I woke up at 5 on Saturday to head down there. It was a tough ride, as it was really hilly and extremely hot and humid. My poor Northern European blood didn't like it much. But packets were picked up, elements of the team got to ride together, and we all got a moderate wake-up call: the ride is only 2 weeks away!

Once I got back home (which too far too long with all the traffic), I hit the couch. I ate. I took a shower. Then, I headed to my friend's Printer's Row Book Fair Party. I stayed for a while, had a beer, did some people watching out his window, chatted with friends. After that, I had to head to the Globe for one of my rider's benefit, then I had to head back downtown to catch a Metra train to Red's restaurant. That was one hell of an adventure.

I was walking to the train, when I saw a downtown brown line go by. Damn. I tried to leave myself plenty of time, and I did, but I hadn't anticipated having to wait another 13 minutes to get a brown line downtown. Finally the train came, I was about 3/4 the way to the Oglvie Transportation Center, I made the decision that I needed to get a cab there. Unfortunately, my cab driver didn't fully understand my predicament and didn't drive like I wanted him to, which, was I requested of him, was fast. I got to the station at 8:37, for a train that was leaving at 8:40. I didn't even know what line I was supposed to be on, only that it left at 8:40. In I went, up the stairs, running, despite having had so many cramps while biking in the heat that morning. Fortunately for me, there was only one train in the station, and it happened to be mine.

I ran up to the door for Track 1, only to see that they wanted you to have already purchased your tickets. I turned around, saw the line at the ticket counter- 7 people deep. "Fuck" I thought to myself, "now I'm really screwed." Into the line I went. I waited a minute. Three teenage girls suddenly ran for the train. I asked the woman in line in front of me if you could still buy tickets on the train (myself having ridden Metra only 4 or 5 times, I didn't know their policies). She said they did, so off I ran. Time check- 8:39.

I ran to the gate. "You have a ticket sir?"

"No, but that's my train, and it leaves in a minute."

"You need a ticket, sir."

"Since when can I not buy one on the train?" It should be noted that two, count 'em, two train conductors were standing right there, with tickets in their pockets, in plain sight. Finally I convinced them to let me on the train. I got on. I was finally having something go right.

It was a good half-hour ride. When I got off the train, I realized something I had forgotten on Friday- that I had no damn idea where Red worked, in relation to the train station. Fortunately, I managed to recall a map that I looked at on Friday. I new I had to walk North, then East, but I didn't know how far on either point.

Luckily for me, my brain does work from time to time, and I managed to get there in one piece, despite scaring a lot of suburbanites with my appearance. After dinner and drinks, we went to a friend of Red's house for a party, then back to my house for a nightcap and some well-deserved sleep.

After a day like that, I wanted as little to do as possible on Sunday. Red and I went out for breakfast, but I stayed in the rest of the day.

Man, was it ever great.

Global A-Go-Go

I took a tram/into the fourth dimension

It's been almost 4 years since my favorite celebrity encounter. I'm talking, of course, about the day I met Mr. Joe Strummer:

I was standing literally right next to the photographer. From rollingstone.com
Posted by Hello

I had known he was coming to my store for a month, at least. I was giddy with anticipation. I was counting the days. Let's face it, it's not every kid who not only gets to meet one of the greatest contributors to punk ever, but also one of his rock idols. I wondered how I was going to behave. Was I going to lose my shit all over, or could I keep it cool? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

The day finally came. A sunny July afternoon. I had the day off. Jen was out of town, visiting family. I took the train down to Belmont to catch the bus down to the store, expecting to just be a regular person. I spotted my friend and former supervisor J on his Vespa at the traffic light. He offered a ride to the store, and I accepted, because you can't really, sanely turn down a ride on a Vespa on a sunny Chicago day. We floated into the store, reeling with anticipation.

The instant we got in, my boss found me. "Do you mind clocking in? We need you to do some crowd control," he said, and added "and you'll have to be stage security." I was already legendary at that store for my ability and glee in yelling at large crowds of people and keeping them in line. On more than one occasion I was called the Drill Sargeant, by both employees and members of the masses I so deftly controlled. I had not, however, done stage security ever, and here I had the opportunity to stand just a few feet away from a punk rock legend and watch him play.

It didn't take a lot of brain power to blurt out "yes" and grab my layard, now with a special Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros addition, right on top.

We took a ride called the Banchoff-Klein mega bottle ride/Well, how we spewed inside, back and forth/In time, mathmatics and pride, inside

The band arrived. We were all pumped. He was hanging out in the back room while the roadies set up the stage and I told everyone to keep it orderly. I can be such a hard-ass when I need to. Finally, it came time for the show. We brought the people in, and I took my spot just inside the stage right stacks. It was the first (and only, thus far) time I have used Hearos. The band took the stage, and proceeded to play. I was speechless. I was awestruck. I was standing 4 feet from Joe Strummer.

At some point, he knocked over his right monitor. I set it straight. He winked his thanks at me. I just about fell over, but I didn't. I kept it together.

After the show, he and the band signed autographs for everyone in attendance. They drank wine and insisted that we play no other music but Jimmy Cliff. They were pleasant, they were nice. They didn't panic when one of the tables broke. Finally, everyone had their autographs signed, and they were on their way home. Joe and the band headed back to my boss' office.

Some of the staff had gathered in back. I stopped in to see if anyone needed anything. That's when Joe asked for weed. Suddenly, several staff members were making several phone calls. They each wanted to be the one to bring Joe Strummer weed.

With another bottle of wine opened, and a joint a-blazin', they started signing autographs for the staff. When my turn came up, I said "Joe, do you think I could get a picture with you?" He was more than happy to oblige. He even offered me a tug on his spliff, which I refused (still kicking myself for that one). I knew that I would actually lose my calm demeanor if I would, so I didn't.

Eventually, it was time for them to go. And it was long since time I got out of there and blew off some steam. I headed across the street to my friend's bar, Raven's. I walked in, ready to burst. My friend, the bartender asked me how I was. I burst: "I've just spent the last 4 hours with Joe fucking Strummer!"

I bounced off walls. I was giddy. Fortunately, I was the only person in the bar. My friends A and T were still across the street, and met me for a drink at Raven's. We decided to get some food, and headed north on Clark Street. Outside Emilio's, the record label rep was spotted us as we were walking, and asked us if we wanted to have drinks with the band. This was not an opportunity to pass up. We instantly agreed.

Just gimme a Tequila, I'll slam it the 4-D way

In we went, and saw our bosses at a booth. They had us sit with them. Joe ordered us margaritas. He insisted we have them. We chatted briefly, then he went for a cigarette at the bar. He then decided it was time to go, and walked out by our table. he grabbed my hand, shook it, and very drunkenly said "you guys fuckin' rock!"

Thankfully, I had already blown off some steam, otherwise I'm certain I would have wet my pants.

Red's identity.... revealed?

A couple Fridays ago, Red and I met up at Martyr's to see a friend of mine's band, CANASTA. I ran into a few friends there, including my friend T, who was taking pictures of the band for her and their websites.

Much later on that evening, after we had moved on to yet another bar, I asked T to take a picture of Red and I, for my gentle readers, who are still curious after the blurry image in this post, as well as for myself.

Well, here it is:

Red, and your humble narrator.
Posted by Hello

T took three shots of us. I asked which picture she prefered, and she said we looked like dorks in all three. This is what happens when you're still out at 3:30 in the morning, and you woke up at 4:45. Not a smart move, I know.

News you can use

I've got some stuff on my mind, but I'm too busy to blog about it. Here's some interesting news articles in the meantime, all from fark:

In the scary vein of news, a woman on Long Island had body parts fall from a plane, into her backyard. Just when you thought you were having a bad day.

In yuppie justice issues, a teenager decided to apply to the same Abercrombe & Fitch store, dressed once as a preppie, once as a goth. Guess which one got treated all nice and good, and which one got the cold shoulder.

In general justice issues, isn't it nice to realize that the W's approval ratings are presently 20 points below Clinton's were when he was being impeached? That should give you something to think about.

I'll be back later. Promise.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

You know how it goes.

My weekend was so busy it's not worth talking about. Saturday, one of the busiest days I've had recently, capping off a really busy week. Not to mention a Wolves loss Sunday, I was more than happy to sleep in with Red, and blow off doing all the things I had to get done. Including getting a bike ride in.

Oh well.

Yesterday was hell. Hell in the way that I had a phone pressed to my head from 6:45 to 10:30. So I was pissy and grumpy, and don't want to think about it. Enough.

Oy.

Hopefully things will switch back into their normal, happy selves soon.

Yet another example of IIMD.

I like to think that my readers are more intelligent then most folks out there. I like to think that I sometimes write something with enough intellectual stimulation to keep folks interested.

So, I'm posting these two pictures of a program probably none of you have seen or will ever use. Please leave a comment if you can tell me what the error is trying to tell you in this situation. Imagine you are entering an order to buy a Wheat future for July at a price of $3.22, using the order type Or Better(abbreviated OB):


Order Entry Window
Posted by Hello

After you submit your order, this window pops up:

Error window
Posted by Hello
Tell me, dear readers, what could that mean?

International Idiot Magnet Day.

I was originally hoping that there was a full moon, but there's not. I'm having one of those rare and very unattractive days where the idiots and morons of the world have my timing down, and are calling me en masse.

First, there was a customer who just couldn't understand anything I explained, even after 6 times explaining it. I got so frustrated that I had to hand the call off to my boss, who is re-explaining the exact same fucking thing again. For the third time since he picked up.

Second, there was the genius who didn't get that checking a box was the way to check a box. I think a part of me died when he said that.

Some day, I'd like to see the computers of the world rise up and attack unqualified users. Mice suddenly crawling up around necks and choking people. Maximum Overdrive is a movie the deserves a remake. Leave the soundtrack as it is, though.

Top it all off with my already bad mood(which was significantly improved by an impromptu visit from Red) due to the Wolves' loss last night. Dave is hoarse, so hoarse, of course.

A message to you, Rudy

I just read about the possibility of the IHA- International Hockey Association, a venture of Rudy Giuliani and Maurice Strong, a Canadian diplomat.

Hm. I know Rudy means well, but the problems that have been plaguing the NHL for the past few years are more than likely going to come right after the IHA, unless you're willing to make mondo changes. Here's a brief list of the changes I'd make:

#1- No hockey below the Mason-Dixon Line. I don't know why it exists. Leave it where it belongs, in the upper Midwest, the northeast, and Canada. It just makes more sense.

#2- Work on those ticket prices. Take a good look at Chicago. Blackhawks championships in my lifetime(ie, since 1973), 0. Rinkside seat price? $250 each. Wolves championships in their 11 year existence, 3(and one in the oven, I hope). Rinkside seat price? $41 each. Make it affordable and exciting, and they will come.

#3- DO NOT try to steal the Stanley Cup from the NHL. That's where it belongs, the holiest of holies. I don't care if it is awarded again or not. Keep your damn mitts off it. Find your own trophy, and name if after anyone but yourselves.

#4- Keep the season, and the number of teams small. At least at first. Last year was the first time I cared about the World Series in 13 years. The only reason I pay any attention to baseball is to make sure my fantasy team is still doing well. The season is too damn long, and after the last strike, I just don't care, so long as the Yankees lose. 82 games is great for a person like me, who watches the standings and take an actual interest in the sport, but your average fan isn't going to want to keep tabs every day. At least, at first, they won't.

#5- How about a women's professional league? I know of more than one woman who plays hockey, and would love to play professionally. Maybe the time is ripe.

Well, there's my nickel's worth of two cents, Rudy. Use it wisely.

Broken record.

I hate to sound like one, but I've uttered the words "fucking idiot" or "what the fuck did I just tell you twice" both under my breath and very much out loud more times than usual today. Either my attitude sucks or something sinister is conspiring against me. I'm guessing a little from column A, a little from column B.

Counting the minutes.

As of right now, there are 670 minutes left until the beginning of the Calder Cup Finals. I'm quite excited.

Ok, I'm having difficulties containing myself.

Ok, I'm not even bothering to check my emotions(no pun intended).

This is gonna be great.

Turn around, bright eyes.

This morning, as I was preparing for another wonderful day of work, I had this brilliant idea about social commentary as it pertains to my country's leadership.

Then, I forgot it.

Damn. It was good- the kind of thing that starts flamewars in comments, well, it would, if I got comments(c'mon people! Let me know what you think).

Sorry. I'm blatantly fishing for more comments.

Did you all notice that for the second year in a row, my blogiversary passed without getting mentioned? I did. I guess I just can't be bothered. Anyways. Happy Blogiversary to me. For those of you who want to see where it all started, click here. It ain't much, but it's where it all started.

In my travels along the ISH today, I came across this nugget of fun, the top ten ways to destroy the world, a kind of reality check for all those disaster movie screenwriters who need to sit down and write a nice drama before they try to reinvent another enemy for a public being led down the road to more enemies than we had 5 years ago.

Not that I'm keeping score or anything.