He's already a sargeant!

Looks like the cubicle army has a new addition! Thanks to my boss, Dwight now has a Michael Scott to serve beside. It's what the holidays are all about, isn't it?

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Saga of the lamp

Have I been withholding my writings in a show of support for the striking WGA members? Sure, let's go with that.

However, it stops now. (My withholding, not my support. Stay strong, we're all on the same page, etc.)

Once upon a time, I bought a lamp. It was, of course, from IKEA. I am a twenty-something city dweller, after all. It was a nice little table lamp with a pull chain and cool little glass globule over the bulb. I wish I could find a picture of it, but suffice it to say that it did not look anything like this:

This was the sight that greeted me as I returned home the day we had maids clean our apartment. Having maids come was the second-best decision the apartment has ever made and the best is when we had them clean the first time.

Unfortunately, this time was not so awesome. They tried to work an hour past when Tara told them to stop and also, quite obviously, broke my lamp. However, they made no mention of the incident, left no note and I guess just hoped that I wouldn't notice that my cool lamp had been reduced to a bulb on a stick. I would give them credit for cleaning up the broken glass, but that is their job.

So Tara called to complain, there was a whole rigmarole where she tried to cancel her check but they had already cashed it and a couple days later I walk into my room and see this:
Apparently the two maids came back and, having a change of heart but not merely wanting to reimburse me for the cost of the lamp, decided to take my decor into their own hands and simply buy me a new one.

They then asked Tara if they could have the old one. If they could have the old one.

It's now the belief of the apartment that they simply were jealous of the lamp, stole the globule and concocted this elaborate scheme to obtain the base and reassemble the lamp later.

So I have a new lamp now. It's okay. The frosted glass is a little much, but it's a touch lamp and that reminds me of old times and grandmothers' houses, so that's fun.

The moral of the story is to not trust maids, but I bet most of you knew that already.

Why We Fight

As I am tangentially connected* to the entertainment industry, a couple of family members have asked me what this Writer's strike is all about. Here it is, in simple terms. It's about getting compensated fairly for your work, regardless of the medium.

It's a tough pill to swallow, knowing that this Thursday will be the last new episode of The Office for a while, maybe for the season. But the cause is just.

I proudly support the Writers Guild of America.


*Connected is in the loosest possible of meanings here. If the entertainment industry were playing in Wrigley Field, I would be trying to peer through the fence at Fenway**.

**No, I don't know why the entertainment industry is playing baseball in my analogy. Let's just be proud that I know something about baseball and move on.

I mean, come on

This is a souvenir you can purchase to remember your experiences at a museum of science. Seriously.

You get an 8x10", four wallet-sized pics and a keychain.

To paraphrase Luke, "If there's a plausible center of the universe, you're at the exhibit that it's farthest from."

An elegant weapon from a more civilized age

So...yes. Star Wars at a museum. Gazing rapturously at Star Wars memorabilia under the auspices of learning.

It is a combination most profound. Surely the boon of many a field-tripping youngster.

After a few conciliatory attempts at building a mag-lev vehicle out of Legos, we abandoned all pretenses of being there to learn and proceeded to merely enjoy. Original costumes, props, models and what were essentially our childhood dreams made tangible were on display.

Rebecca, Josh and I enjoyed our time there most thoroughly. Hooray for Star Wars, a half-hearted thumbs-up for science, mostly because I couldn't get my stupid mag-lev vehicle to work right.

Wars between stars

Oh man, so much to talk about. I turned a quarter of a century and celebrated by enjoying culture. The Sparrow, The Decemberists, Dashboard Confessional, Comedians of Comedy - all perhaps deserving a post of their own. Whether they will in fact get one remains to be seen. I have little photo evidence to prove I was at any of the above events. Suffice it to say - they were all great.

But nothing was as great as this.

That's my brother. He's in charge of the spiritual development of youth.

More soon...

Portrait of a cube, part 1

My cubicle army is ready to mobilize at a moment's notice. You might recognize Clango from previous musings, but the rest are new, at least to you. That's obviously Bobblehead Dwight (not representing the current unshaven, hilariously downtrodden Dwight), a turtle with a bouncy neck and a Sacagawea dollar stood on its edge.

They are a mighty force. Mess with them at your own peril.

Okay, the coin is maybe not as intimidating, but I keep it around so my space is more like the Batcave.

There's got to be a drinking establishment called The Space Bar, right?

I've been trying to break a bad habit recently.

It's nothing scandalous. It's not gambling or drinking or even cracking my knuckles. I don't think I'll ever stop doing any of those things. I have written proof from 3rd-5th grade that my New Year's Resolution was to stop cracking my knuckles. If the sheer willpower of a 4th grader couldn't do it, I doubt it'll ever happen. In fact, it's gotten worse. I now pop my knees. I will be in a wheelchair by the age of 38.

No, this is a simple typing habit, one that I've been doing ever since I learned the skill from Mavis Beacon. I hit the space bar twice after every period. But according to a book by some writer who is not Mork,this is incorrect.

It is not the most amazing of differences. It is the difference between this. And this*. You see my point.

Really, I wouldn't even bother except that it occasionally does mess with layout, but mostly with GChat and away messages. And that stuff is important. So I am breaking it as we speak.

It should be noted that Lynette told me about this years ago and I am just now heeding her words. I hope you're happy, Lynette.


* After posting a couple times and editing, I have realized that Blogger will automatically edit my double-spacebar-hitting into one. So what the heck was the point of me trying.

Friday in the park with Niki (and Rebecca)

Lest the dear reader think that I am insinuating that nothing exciting is happening in MY life, allow me to direct the dear reader to think again.

On a recent (read: almost a month ago) Friday, Rebecca and I ventured outside our comfortable neighborhood to experience some culture.

It should be noted at this point that our preferred form of culture is giant skull sculptures.
These are the sculptures of Niki de Saint Phalle, on display at the Garfield Park Conservatory. They are fun and colorful and some of them are climbable.

This picture is humourous because it appears that I am riding the giant seal backwards.

The sculptures are placed all throughout the gardens, both inside and out. Some are just for looking, but some are also for climbing and sitting. Most of them are for fun picture taking, as Rebecca and I discovered. These are but a small sample.

This picture is humourous because I was directed to make the flower look like it was Rebecca's thought.


It was a beautiful day and much fun was had. It's there through the end of October and is highly recommended for any visitors to our fair city.

This picture is humourous because we are in the belly of a giant cat and yet are not being digested.

More exciting things about my brother's life

I hope I'm not breaking some sort of press embargo with these pictures, but I had them and thought they were worth sharing.

This is Cocoa. She is a good puppy. She regrettably does not belong to me but instead to Josh and Allyn, who I suppose are more suited at this point for dog ownership anyway.

Cocoa enjoys other dogs, chewing on PS2 cables and not responding to her name. She is learning how to bark.

Cocoa is an excellent poser. And by that I mean she stands still for pictures, not that she pretends to enjoy punk music.

They are some seriously yellow walls

I visited my brother and his wife over Labor Day weekend to see their new house, new workplace and new puppy*. My dad reminded me that I should take this picture to complete the series (of two.)

Josh: You're still an idiot.

Well, that may be, but I'm an idiot who's about to plug the relaunching of your blog, so be cool.

That's right, computers. Josh's blog, Life in the Lane, long thought dead, is alive again. Does this make it a zombie blog? Should you immediately get up the stairs, then destroy the stairs**? You can decide.

I believe it will be an insightful look into the world of a youth pastor as he tries to make his way in the world and teach his dog to recognize her name***.


*She deserves her own post, which is coming soon.
**#6 of the Top 10 rules contained within the Zombie Survival Guide. I have been made fun of for taking this book so seriously. We'll see who's laughing when you all get infected.
***Project status: ambivalent.

Can't think of a thing

One of the perks of the job I hold currently is the occasional fun team outing. Our clients were in town this week and we had a grand time watching the Cubs game from a nearby rooftop.

A great view, no rain and a come-from-behind Dodgers win. What more could you ask for?

Improving on Garfield, Part 1

A denizen of a message board recently posited a theory that Garfield's humor can be assumed to be at a level of 0. Therefore any attempt to alter or recontextualize the strip cannot help but improve upon it.

Method 1: Assume that Garfield has been dead or starving to death since 1989.

A series of strips published just before Halloween in 1989 paints a startling picture of a world in which Garfield's house is abandoned and his friends have disappeared.

While Jon Davis apparently meant the series as a comment on the fear of loneliness, it make things more palatable to imagine the present banal strips as the last defense mechanisms of a starving cat in the throes of denial.

Method 2: The Crazy Jon theory


Removing all of Garfield's thought bubbles places the focus on Jon Arbuckle and results in a more surreal and occasionally hilarious comic strip. More examples can be found by clicking on the picture and by clicking here and here.

Method 3: Consider it a lost cause and move on.

This is probably for the best, but it's fun to freak Tara out with the "Garfield is Dead" theory.



Update:

Method 4: Condense the entire strip to one panel.


Nice.

Method 5: Googly Eyes

Yikes.

It's just science

There's been a bit of a cleaning kick around the ol' apartment recently, which is to say that there's been slightly more cleaning than none at all.

I should have done a before and after picture of my shower, but that would have been too embarrassing. Let's just say it's now much less...mildewy.

This particular adventure started when I wanted something to drink other than the milk and juice I had in the fridge. So I started asking the available roommates whose 2-liter of Sprite Zero was in there. Turns out it was no one's.

This gets Jon all curious about what might be in that paper bag sitting in the fridge. Well, the picture speaks for itself. We have reason to believe it was once Chinese takeout, but only from the container can anything about the contents be determined. The material itself no longer resembles anything other than a solid foam mold that you stick plastic flower stems into.

We talked about it when Tara got home. In the course of the conversation, we determined that it was over a year old.

And it was Jon's.

The aftermath

So...yeah. Big storm in Chicago on Thursday. I'm fine, the apartment is fine, the car is fine, but all these pics are from the neighborhood. Guess we were pretty fortunate to not have trees around.

Pretty chump move from the trees, in my opinion. Falling down. Come on, trees.

Those two guys are very slowly hacking the tree to bits. Sorry, tree. You got yourself into this.

I mean, that's a big trunk that just decided it was done supporting itself. Yikes.

The sky was quite pretty today. Funny.

At least he realizes it's a joke at this point. At least I think he does.

Okay, now imagine a dozen big dudes in matching black suits with earpieces patrolling the sidewalk.

Also, a miniature red carpet.

Add a couple of those big searchlights to shoot into the sky to tell the world that something exciting is happening and if only they could triangulate the location of those searchlights, maybe they too could join in the excitement.

If your imagination is still intact, add to it the fact that R.Kelly was presumably in the vicinity.

Now you're starting to get a sense of the level of excitement on Southport last night. I presume that it was a sort of premiere for the new chapters of his epic urban operetta "Trapped in the Closet."

I would have just taken a picture of the excitement rather than the aftermath, but I don't think the suited dudes would have stood for it.

It's not really him. Well, it could be.

I was feeling a deficiency of whatever vitamin you get from direct sunlight, so I took my lunch to the plaza and ate outside today.

Lenny Kravitz was nonplussed.

That's a promise I make to you, the American people

Look, I've got nothing against the French as a whole, but this is ridiculous.

The name, yes. Obviously. But also the fact that a wanna-be French bistro is touting its quesadillas.

I will never eat here.

It is truly a historic day

My brother Josh has somehow conned his way into a position as Youth Minister at a church in northern Illinois. Yesterday, he informed me that I made the cut to be some sort of beneficiary and I should call him with important information that he should probably already know.

Josh: Associate Pastor in charge of Youth Ministry.
Me: Really? That's how you're going to answer the phone?
Josh: I haven't worked it out entirely. It's my second day.

It should be noted that most of his first day was taken up with hiking. Apparently, youth minister office hours = hiking on the clock.

Me: Hey, this is pretty fun. I'm calling your work phone from my work phone. I even had to get past your receptionist.
Josh: Mom would probably want a picture of this moment, if only she could figure out how.
Me: I'll just take a picture of me on the phone and you take a picture of you and we'll put them together in post. I'm getting my camera now.

(I step away from the mic to get my camera.)

Me: Okay, I'm taking the picture now...done. I took it. Did you take yours?
Josh: ...
Josh: You're an idiot.

Start the skinny jokes

Are we still in the dog days of summer? I should look up what that means. I can't imagine it just implies there are dogs around. That doesn't seem special at all. There are always dogs around.

Ah, we certainly are still in them.

At any rate, it's been really hot in Chicago recently. As much as I longed for these days in February, now I find myself just longing for a time when I can walk home without having to change shirts afterwards.

When I wait for the bus in the morning, I seek out whatever shade I can. The above picture is my view on most mornings. It's what passes for Chicago foliage on certain corners.