Category: Ramblings

Book: Advanced Programming in the UNIX(R) Environment
(3 Stars) The book may placed in some place too long time., September 2, 2005
Reviewer: Ming Zhong (NJ USA) (REAL NAME)

The smell of it isn’t good when I open the package.
I just prepared return it.
But now (near one month),The smell almost dispear.
So I change my mind.
(thanks to Anus)

Alright, I admit it. I’m afraid of spiders. There was a big black one on a pair of pants I picked up in my room tonight and I screamed like an effing little girl while I beelined out of the room. What, you’re not afraid of anything stupid? It takes a big man (6’3″ to be exact) to admit he’s afraid of something that’s only about an inch long (that’s a big spider around these here parts if isn’t a daddy long legs).

Other bugs freak me out too. There, I said it. I found a dead cricket on my couch and I didn’t want to sit back down for a while. Hey, crickets can be dangerous. Wait, I mean spiders. Whatever!

A friend, Tom, observes:

I was looking through some of the horrible pictures of the hurricane Katrina aftermath and I noticed something: White folks wading through the water carrying food and supplies simply “found” them at a local store. The black folks however, “looted” the local store. Check it out:

Black people “loot”
http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/480/ladm10208301530%3E

White people “find”
http://news.yahoo.com/photo/050830/photos_ts_afp/050830071810_shxwaoma_photo1

Coincidence? Maybe.

Update: I noticed today that BoingBoing picked up on this as well. See also: Romenesko & Salon

Matchstick

The artist and the critic

Must coexist
On the tip
Of a matchstick

I used to love ranch dressing — at times, it was my favorite bottled dressing. There is this pizza place in Richmond, VA called Chanello’s that serves ranch with their pizza and breadsticks, and, although this is hardly beneficial for the arteries, when I was in college it friggin’ rocked.

About 5 years ago, I went out to a pizza spot for lunch with a few people from this contract job I was working. While I was getting myself some napkins and silverware, a girl spilled a cup of ranch dressing down my pants leg. Devastation! I didn’t really know the people I was with and the girl was very apologetic, so I had no choice but to take the incident in stride. I did everything I could to wipe off the dressing and gritted through lunch.

Unfortunately, I was not close to home and I had no way to change, so I was stuck with RanchPants for the rest of the day. It was brutal — I reeked of ranch. Some people talk of bad vodka or tequila experiences… me, I had a bad ranch experience. Ever since that day, I haven’t been able to stomach it at all. I can’t stand the ranch!

• I worked my college summers as a Marlboro Gear Van Representative. My job was to give people schwag after they bought cigarettes and to survey them in the process. What a motherlode of schwag it was, my friends. I still have towels, denim shirts, keychains, umbrellas, sunglass pouches, the works. When I was an exchange student in England I actually sold several “rare” Marlboro Zippos that I had acquired while working “the Van.” The English were way behind on schwag.
• At Christmas, our family likes to gift each other schwag. I have some awesome golf shirts embroidered with various mutual fund logos and I wear them proudly. I do not believe that my brother owns a single golf ball that is not emblazoned with some 3rd party logo.
• I used to have schwag giveways at my summer parties. I’d collect as much schwag as I could throughout the year than have an absurd drawing toward the end of the party and give it all away. One year I gave a 7′ (2m) inflatable red-white-and-blue Budweiser rocket (that looked a lot like a penis) to this crazy geek kid that was a busboy where I worked. He was thrilled and every time I saw him he mentioned that gigantic rocket. That is the power of schwag.
• I worked for Apple one summer as an in-store representative at Circuit City. The job sucked pretty bad but they had these awesome pens and I also got a “Think Different” watch that ran backwards.
• Getting married generates a lot of schwag. Various businesses such as caterers, DJ’s and florists are eager to press their schwag firmly into the palm of your hand. Accept this token. Unfortunately, the token is too often a spoon with a Hershey’s Kiss tied to it with ribbon or a miniature bubble-blowing toy. But, one of the finest wedding schwags is the food. Taste away, my friend, taste away.
• After I graduated from “the Van” and entered the big time as a Territory Sales Manager for Phillip Morris, my entire concept of schwag was redefined forever. PM meetings were virtual schwagfests – I recall once they actually set up a faux casino in the hotel for everyone to play with tickets to win schwag, then, they gave away a lot more schwag. After the casino prizes came a leather jacket, hikers (in my size), oxford shirts, umbrellas and duffle bags for the guys and purses for the girls. I still have the leather jacket – it has a bright-blue satin lining with “You’ve Got Merit!” embossed in the fabric. It always makes me feel better when I read that lining; both because of the affirmation and because it’s schwag.

Tell the world about your Joy of Schwag. Shout it from the rooftops … or the comments area.

Yesterday, I saw a woman driving a blue Chrystler Seabring (top down) with a licence plate that read: “IM WACK”.

That’s all.

So I got this postcard in the mail yesterday… It was yellow and looked like something you’d get from the government — it even said “Offical Business” at the top. The telegram-style message read:

WE ARE TRYING TO REACH YOU. PLEASE CALL US AT THE NUMBER SHOWN ON THE REVERSE OF THIS CARD. THIS IS A FREE CALL.
SINCERELY — PAT HAINES, SALES REPRESENTATIVE

(The return address on the card was “N.M.E. / 16120 U.S. 19 North / Clearwater, FL 33764” and the phone number was 1-800-693-9206.)

Obviously, the moment I got this, my scam sensors went to overload. When I first saw NME, I thought of the music magazine (especially since this site used to focus on music reviews), but clearly they would not have send me a ludicrous postcard like this one. And, they are located in the UK, not Florida.

So anyhoo, I did some research and found out that N.M.E. is the National Magazine Exchange and when you call they try to scam you into buying a bunch of magazines. The more crappy subscriptions you buy, the better your chance will be to win some GREAT PRIZES!

Obviously if you have come to this site looking for information on Pat Haines or N.M.E., you’re probably already hip to the fact that this is total BS. Here’s your confirmation.

Of course, if you like, go ahead and give “Pat” a call and screw with her. Have fun!

More info via ripoffreport.com

Around the time that the Iraq blogs started to get exposure in the MSM and blogosphere, The Religious Policeman popped up. An adult Saudi with enlightened views, he was a true rarity in that he spoke to the frustrations of Saudi everyday life, religion, politics, and the police. Sadly, he’s not posted in over a year. (Update: in an odd serendipitous turn, Alhamedi reappeared on the scene just 2 days after I posted this! Welcome back!) Re-reading his entries in light of King Fahd’s death should raise fresh questions and concerns for anyone paying attention to the source of the juice that runs all our cars (and, apparently, most suicide bombers).

• at brickside, I leaned back and the green plastic lawnchair exploded underneath me in front of many friends who found it quite hilarious
• at a baseball card convention, the folding grey tube-steel chair gave way and folded in half
• the plastic adorondack chair on my Aunt and Uncle’s deck over 4th of July in Stone Harbor made a loud snapping noise but did not collapse
• the kitchen sink faucet at my friend Scott’s posh parent’s house on New Year’s Eve (admittedly, I shouldn’t have been sitting near the kitchen sink)
• at my friend Chris’ pool party, the webbing of one of those lawn chairs gave way with a horiffic rending shriek and my ass popped through