The Glass Pen

15 Minutes Ago…

admin — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 20:57:13 +0000

Ok, here’s a little math problem for all of you geniuses. I was driving down the expressway the other day and I saw a sign that said that I had 25 miles to go until I reached my destination. So I got to thinking (I do that from time to time). If I have 25 miles to go and I drive 25 miles per hour, then it will take me one hour to get there. Right? Are you with me so far?

Now by using simple math we can deduce that if I drive 50 miles per hour I will be there in half an hour. Still makes sense right? If I drive 75 miles per hour I can be there in 15 minutes. Are you noticing a trend here?

Ok, so if I drive 100 miles per hour will I just be there instantly? Now here’s where it gets crazy. What if I drove 125 miles per hour, would I be there 15 minutes ago?

Yes, sadly, these are the things I think about when I am left alone with myself.

Hanging Up…

admin — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 15:50:29 +0000

What is it about hanging up from a phone call with someone that tastes so good? It seems like anytime people hang up they always say the same thing, “mmmm, bye.” Do you suppose that maybe this is where the saying “parting is such sweet sorrow” comes from? Do you think maybe back in Shakespears day whenever people were walking away from each other they would say “mmmm, bye”? Maybe they ended letters with “fruity delicious, bye.” I don’t know, but I have never had the benefit of the tasty goodbye yet, I fail to see the meaning.

I think from now on I am going to start ending my phone calls with “it was flat and flavorless, I give it a 1 star just for effort, bye.” I figure if you want a better goodbye than that, you are going to have to earn it. I’m not just going to hand out full “mmmm’s” for free you know.

Catatonic Aspirations…

admin — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 17:53:52 +0000

I have been contemplating a career shift lately, and have been taking a good hard look at crazy. Not like the dangerous kind, just the docile, catatonic kind. I mean, think about how easy life would be if your entire to do list consisted of, take medication and drool on yourself. Life would be so much easier if nobody had any expectations of you, “look, he blinked. YAY!”

You wouldn’t have to worry about your looks or hygiene any more, so that cuts out morning prep time, and you can reclaim that time in your life. And if somebody comes up to you and tells you that you look terrible, so what? “Hey, I’m a grapefruit, I don’t have to look good, what’s your excuse?”

I think that the only real problem with this particular career choice is that you don’t get nights and weekends off, and vacation time is pretty much out of the question. But at least every day is a sick day.

___________________________________________________________________________

I made up a good poem in the event that I decide on that occupation:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I’m schizophrenic,
And I’m a grapefruit :P.

It’s Raining On My Groceries…

admin — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 17:34:40 +0000

I stopped off to pick up some groceries for my wife the other day. Have you ever been in the produce section of your grocery store and you reach for a head of lettuce and it starts raining on you? What in the world is that?! Ambiance? What’s next? Jungle sounds playing out of surround sound speakers, for that ever so authentic feel? Maybe they can even hire some native jungle tribes to stand around looking like they are hunting and put a little stream running through the produce department.

You know, I get it already, it’s fresh. I’m not fooled by this little marketing scheme. “Oooh look, it’s so fresh it’s like I’m picking it myself.”

I just feel sorry for the guy who is already having a bad day, and now it’s even raining on him INSIDE a building. I mean, how do you think this guy feels. He just wants to pick up some produce to try and add a little sunshine into his day and it starts raining, “figures.”

Here’s the real question though, why don’t they stick with this theme throughout the store? It seems kind of like an unfinished thought. They could have animal sounds at the deli, a lady churning butter over by dairy, a little overweight kid passed out under a pile of candy wrappers in the candy isle, you get the idea. If you’re going to try to use themes for your marketing campaign you should at least have everyone get on board, that’s all I’m saying.

By the way, if you go back to the first paragraph of this blog and re-read it, you will realize that produce comes from farms, not jungles. But you went right down that rabbit hole with me didn’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone…else.

Penny Stamps…

admin — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 17:34:00 +0000

It occurs to me that with the rising cost of stamps these days, it almost doesn’t even make sense to buy books of stamps with a set value. You are inevitably going to have to buy a book of one cent stamps to make up the difference of whatever price changes are sent down from on high. It’s kind of like stocks, only it doesn’t go down, just up. So I got to thinking, if I already have to buy a book of one cent stamps, why not forgo the book of high priced stamps and just buy a bunch of books of one cent stamps? I could then just put the right number of stamps on my envelopes for that week.

Of course I would have to use a larger envelope regardless of what I was sending, because I don’t think a standard size envelope would comfortably hold 42 stamps. It will probably only be a year before I have to send everything in manila envelopes.

Gooples…

admin — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 17:01:20 +0000

So…my wife prefers it when i don’t cook any more. Did you know that there is a point, while cooking, that noodles stop being noodles and become more of a paste like substance? It’s true, they do. The only hope at this point is to add the other ingredients in a desperate attempt to mask the sludge like substance that was once supposed to be goulash, but now more resembles something from Oliver Twist. My wife of course was not impressed when she dipped the ladle into the pot to retrieve the nights delectable cuisine, only to end up dribbling glops of what could only be labeled chunky paste onto her plate. I tried to convince her that gooples were almost noodles and were just as good, at the very least they were the same ingredients, but to no avail. My kitchen days are done.

Nowadays my son is thrilled when it’s my turn to cook, because it means were going to McD’s. However, I do still make a mean Ramen. I’m not sure you can mess that stuff up, I’m not sure they are technically even noodles.

Nose Jobs…

admin — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 18:11:36 +0000

I’ve been thinking lately about getting a nose job. It’s not that I am unhappy with my nose, I actually quite like it. But I would love for the opportunity to be able to send out an inner office email explaining that I am going to be out for the day picking my nose.

The only problem with that, is that I would be hard pressed to come up with another statement to disperse throughout the office that could top that. At least until it was time for a butt job.

Gandering At Geese…

admin — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 16:30:14 +0000

I often watch Canadian geese as they round up the troops to make the big trek for the travel season, and it often occurs to me; why is one side of the V formation always shorter than the other side? Is there some sort of aerodynamic benefit to be found in this? Is it a sign to other geese establishing flight patterns? But maybe, just maybe geese are smarter than we give them credit for and they are doing it just to mess with us. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they were up there just laughing at us the whole time, “Hey look at the humans, they look totally confused.” Anybody who knows anything about Canadian geese know that these are mean spirited foul birds with bad tempers. They will attack you just for looking at them cross. I totally wouldn’t put it past them to pull some dark prank like this just to frustrate the delicate infrastructure of the human psyche.

Then one day it occurred to me. Finally, the answer came to me like a bolt out of the blue, like a vision burnt across the clouds. One side is shorter than the other, because there are less geese on that side. Whew, glad to have that monkey off my back (or goose as it were), now I can get back on to more intellectual pursuits.

So, how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie center of a tootsie pop anyway?

Television Set?…

admin — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 18:55:31 +0000

So, we’ve been thinking about getting a new t.v. lately, something nice for the bedroom. I’m thinking that we should go ahead and upgrade to an HD now before the big switch in 2009. I think one contributing factor to our lack of having bought the new t.v. by now, is all of the false advertising out there. You always see a great ad about a television set for some great low price, and you get all excited and run down to the store before they are all plucked up at this magnificent deal, only to find that it is not a television set at all, it’s only one. I mean, when you go to buy a set of dishes, do you only anticipate buying one dish? No. I can kind of live with a pair of pants, at least there are two legs, so that’s kind of a pair.

I think that if a store is going to advertise a television set for $700, then they should have to honor that deal and give me my set of t.v.’s for $700. I don’t plan on holding my breath though.

Quick! Get Help, He’s Turning Blue!…

admin — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 17:52:54 +0000

The body is an amazing machine of self diagnosis. We turn red when we are embarrassed, brown when we’ve been in the sun too long, pale when we are ill, and chartreuse when we are about to be sick. OK, I made that last one up, but that would be pretty cool huh? Anyway, this brings me to the most important indicator of all, we turn blue when we can’t breathe. But why blue? Why not like, mauve or paisley? That would be great, If we turned different patterns when we can’t breathe, wouldn’t it? I mean that would leave no question as to our condition. Picture it; you’re in a restaurant and suddenly you see someone choking. “Stand back!” you say “This man is choking! Give me some room to perform my heroic duty!” (or something to that effect). “But how do you know he’s choking?” comes the question from the lady in the back. “Confound it woman! He’s turning plaid, can’t you see that?!” you answer. See how easy that was, anyone could have diagnosed the situation with time to spare (except maybe the lady in the back).

Besides, think of the life saving implications this could have for Smurfs. I mean, they’re already blue. What good is turning blue going to do them when choking? None, that’s what. But, think of the drop in choking deaths among Smurfs if they turned a nice, bright, contrasting paisley.

Just food for thought. Chew it well, we don’t need you choking too.