2log

Horrible Stupid Corporate Buzz-Words That Make Me Itchy

Sam — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 15:58:38 CST

"sooner rather than later" -- just fucking say "now."
"functionality" -- a fancy way of saying something does what it's fucking supposed to do in the first goddamn place, i.e. "this e-mail client has message-retrieval functionality."
"opportunity" -- a boss's word for an idiotic extra responsibility he thinks you ought to have, i.e. "I think there's some opportunity here for follow-up communication with the user

BLARGH, I SAY. BLARGH.

Best 2logging of '08

gerrit — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 13:37:34 CST

If you place your complete and unbridled faith in 2log's point system, which you well should, here's the top 10 posts from 2008 (in no particular order):

Sweeney: God, I Hate Celebrities
Sweeney: People are Filthy and Disgusting
Sam: A Real Actual Conversation Overheard By Me
Sam: Sam @ Work 11: Efficiency
Gerrit: Event Listings: Monday Night
Gerrit: Tip Toppled
Winston: Technology is freaking sweet
Masten: Grace N' Michelle Are Awesome
Masten: Saturday Matinee: Rocky and Bullwinkle
Ben K.: The delicious trump card

And to highlight some of our more controversial work, here's the worst five:

Sam: STATEMENT OF FACT: Smash Brothers is a Shit Game
Sam: Sam @ Work 48: Wizardry
Sam: Orioles Defeat Yankees!
Gerrit: Hailin' Palin
Gerrit: Fascist Pig v. Gothic Dog

The Pirate's Dilemma

Sam — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:49:25 CST

Q: What does a pirate conclude when, after being in the running for a principal role in the next film by noted Pirate-Cinema auteur Horatio Starm, he finds out he’s been cast in a smaller role which will nonetheless still give his Pirate Movie career a measurable boost?

A: “Any old part in a Starm.”

The Linguistical Theatricals

Sam — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:48:51 CST

If the words “bamboo” and “pie” are combined, the result is the hilarious and onomotopaeic “bamboopie.”

Here is a hilarious and very short play imspired by this revelation:

BAM and BOOPIE are seated in the parlour.

BOOPIE: Bam! At this time we should sex each other with great whoom-pow.

BAM: Agreed.

They do. Curtain.

Euphemizin' the Sauce

mark — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 17:44:15 CST

2loggers, now cometh (in ringeth) the New Year! In preparatudinousness for the revelry that is sure to ensuify I have preparalated for you a list of virgin (hee!) euphemisms for being drunk. You might already know some of them, but I'd be surprazzled if you did.

- Treading water soundly

- Kicking the head cat in the bean

- Tripping the light fantastic

- Fortified

- Snogging the dog

- Doing work

- Shaking the snow globe

- Decked out in the Emperor's best

- Walking a mile in salty shoes

- Waiting for the neighbor to leave then using his pool

Additionally -- some fresh ways to call someone a drunk.

- You hound!

- You squeaky wheel(, wich yo' grease)!

- You bathtub scrubber!

- You timely gentleman! (Can I have one?)

- You train car coot!

And please, for the sake of democracy and children everywhere, if you must deck yourself out in the Emperor's best this New Year's Eve, please kick the head cat in the bean responsibly.

(Don't let me suck all the Euphemizin' out the air -- holla back, you train car coots!)

Travailing in Style OR How I Spent My Bummer Vacation

gerrit — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 14:04:39 CST

My trip actually started out right. The black cab asked me how much it usually costs to go to the airport. I thought $50, said $30, and saved myself nearly a Hamilton. Auspicious start?

First, the airport charged me my Hamilton just to check a bag. Yeah, they do that now.

Then they flubbed my seat assignment...

Then the plane had to switch gates...

Then the flight was delayed half an hour...

It was a bad moon rising. I could feel it in my knee.

Every time Seattle gets an inch of snow, the villagers panics. We can handle torrential rains without reflexively collecting two of every species, but once the raindrops start to crystalize, the entire city shuts down.

My American Airlines flight happened to be hovering over Seattle just as the first flakes of snow were hitting the ground. What did our intrepid pilot do? He waited for about ten minutes, decided it was hopeless, and took the hour and a half flight to San Francisco. Other planes circled for about twenty more minutes and landed. Some planes from San Francisco waved to us as we passed them en route... they landed in Seattle OK. If JFK wasn't perpetually delayed half an hour, WE would have landed in Seattle OK.

Instead, they dropped us off for an impromptu vacation in San Fran at 11 at night. It wasn't all bad... the maintenance worker pulling a double shift as a customer service liaison distributed some $10 off coupons to some local hotels from his orange vest. Plus the airport bar/grill was open for another twenty minutes if you were in the mood for $11 half-shots of Johnny Walker. Most people seemed to be. And they kindly didn't give us access to our checked luggage, so we didn't have to bother with nightly rituals involving toothpaste, soap, or whatsoever liquids Homeland Security dubbed too dangerous to carry-on.

Thankfully, our tired, angry, stinky posse made it back to Seattle the next day.

I would have spent the next week reflecting on my journey, but at some point in my tri-city, twenty four hour tour, I picked up some kind of flu. I proceeded to spend the next week in bed, save for when my fannyhole pulled overtime as Old Faithful. But I'll spare you the details.

By the time I got better, it was time to fly back to the hellhole on the Hudson that is New York. My return flight on Delta was largely without incident. They'd instituted a progressive luggage check policy. In addition to the now standard $15-25 fee, they also charge a Christmassy $90 extra if your bag weighs more than 50 lbs. For comparison, shipping 50 lbs by UPS ground only costs $58.77. Next year, I guess I need to make sure I ask Santa for less than 40 lbs of stuff to put into my 10 lb suitcase.

Oh yeah, as we were taxiing out of the gate, our plane backed into a Northwest Airlines flight. Where I was sitting I couldn't see the chunks of the tail falling off or smell the gasoline. But needless to say, our flight was grounded and I got put on a flight a few days later.

So I'm kicking it at home, where Delta still hasn't returned my 53 lb. bag containing my clothes and toiletries. I'm still tired, angry, and stinky.

The Christmas Haul

sweeney — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 12:24:35 CST

I love to cook. This is not news. I'm a decent cook, not awesome. I can't make a lot of American basics, and the last time I baked I accidentally doubled the flour for a chocolate cookie recipe and made instead -- as my sister kindly pointed out -- chocolate chip dog biscuits and chocolate chip door stops.

Fair enough.

In my defense, I just rocked a 4-lb. batch of pulled pork in my epic slow cooker. Garlic, ginger, red wine and white vinegars, and garam masala. Insane. Then a quick red sauce topper -- tomato base with minced onions, and sweetness a la rich brown sugar.

So it cracked me up when I got a totally sick awesome immersion blender from JW's sister and brother-in-law. Brushed stainless steel with a whisk attachment AND a chopper. I'm so excited. I'm going to whisk the eggs to go with the home fries JW's prepping right now.

My parents are fully stoked that JW is so at home in the kitchen and they dropped a Cajun kit on him in celebration of the yule. Two wicked heavy-duty Calphalon pans, hand-labeled -- in Mom's excellent Catholic school copybook script -- jars of paprika, ground cloves and sage, and most hilarious, a shirt box containing four different kinds of dried chile peppers in varying degrees of heat. And the Prudhomme bible.

I have a week off from work. This stove and oven will be getting paid time and a half.

*****

Ha ha, OK, whoops.

Six eggs and a little milk in the tall measuring cup. I dipped the whisk attachment into the cup and squared up to the counter ready to hit GO.

JW says, I think you're going to want to put your hand over that thing...

I heard what he said, but my trigger finger flexed before my brain could process it.

Six eggs and milk, pbbbbbbttttttt, airborne. Snotty whites and broken yolks in a river of Lactaid running down the front of the butcher block counter onto the floor.

Like I said, a "decent" cook.

One egg and some milk remained in the cup, so I topped it off with another five and tried the immersion blendy attachment.

Not nearly as explosive, but those immersed blades make a heck of a suction. Good thing I was holding onto the cup or I would've been out another half dozen.

The eggs turned out way fluffy, the blendy blender rocks. Excellent home fries, too. With green Tabasco.

Traveling in Style

mark — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 13:20:30 CST

It occurs to me how similar packing is to looting. Generally it is an activity performed swiftly, and includes the collection of items into a pack of some sort for easy transport from the current location.

Of course, it's not completely the same. The goal of packing is to be prepared for a trip, and includes carrying around useless garbage like empty shopping bags, rubber band balls, can openers and aquarium filtration systems. In stark contrast to the above list of shit, the goal of looting is to procure only items of great value. In fact, who better to loot one's own belongings than one oneself? Not only does one know where one's most valuable valuables are, but one knows the best exit routes and has the perfect alibi.

In this spirit, I would like to encourage you all, as you make your holiday travel plans, to loot (not pack) your apartments. So that when you arrive at the pawn shop where I'm certain you live, your suitcases will be stuffed with only your best electronics equipment, jewels and priceless antiques. As you'll not have any clothing, you'll be well prepared to hock your expensive items, yielding enough cash for a shopping spree. This, in due course, stimulates the coughing and spluttering economy, earning you a gold medal, which you can then pawn to buy lunch.

Oh, the faces those customs agents are legally bound to make!

Merry X-mas

gerrit — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 19:51:32 CST

Merry X-mas, all! As befits our militaristic age, enjoy some missile-toe:

Safety TARP

gerrit — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 15:13:34 CST

As reported by the phenomenal Rachel Maddow, the application for a chunk of the bailout is indeed only two pages long. 2log's ship is finally gonna come in!

Nooze Roundup

Sam — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 16:59:36 CST

It's FRIDAY DECEMBER 19th on the 2LOG!

The latest and greatest iPod accessory is a breathalizer.
Good news for Company Sam Works For: the RIAA will stop suing individuals for downloading music.
Developer jobs are the most recession-proof.
I may have spoken too soon about the Red Sox...
2008's biggest TV floparoonies

Tex's Fat Chex

Sam — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 14:21:22 CST

With the decidedly wonderful news that the Red Sox have dropped out of the running for free agent 1B Mark Teixeira, the Orioles are a step closer to locking him down in Baltimore for the foreseeable future. This would be incredibly awesome, because it would make their 2009 starting lineup look like this (player names followed by 2008 season stats):

Brian Roberts (2B): .296-9-57 (with 40 SB)
Adam Jones (CF): .270-9-57 (and he's only 22)
Nick Markakis (RF): .306-20-87
Mark Teixeira (1B): .308-33-121
Aubrey Huff (DH): .304-32-108
Melvin Mora (3B): .285-23-104
Luke Scott (LF): .257-23-65
Cesar Izturis (SS): .263-1-24 (plus Gold Glove defense and 24 SB)
Matt Wieters (C): .355-27-91 (minor league stats)

Methinks Tex's implications are clear. It gives the Birds one of the most potent 3-5 slots in the league, and removes the pressure from the 36-year-old Melvin Mora to be a pivotal run-producer (in addition to his advancing age, he is also a bit of punk-ass crybaby, so this would also give his whining less merit).

In a larger sense, however, the addition of Teixeira, who grew up in Maryland rooting for the O's, would be an organization-wide signal of a renewed intention to actually win baseball games. Teixeira obviously wants to play in Baltimore at least a little bit, or else he would have taken the Red Sox rumored offer of 8 years and $180 million (or the similar one made by the Angels). The Nationals have also made a huge play for his affections, but the Orioles continue to be in the running, despite their less-lucrative offer of 7 years and $140 million. To my mind, this indicates that Teixeira wants to play in his hometown badly, and is willing to consider less money than the market seems to think he's worth to do so. My hunch is that Tex is holding out for assurances that the Orioles will play to win if he signs with them.

For this reason, it is imperative that the Orioles get their shit together and sign at least 2 solid starting pitchers ASAP. The only one I know of them pursuing is Jon Garland, which would be a step in the right direction, but with the remainder of the potential rotation a hodge-podge of unproven youngsters and journeymen, it will take more than just Garland and his as-yet-unfulfilled potential to get the job done. I'm inclined to think Jeremy Guthrie, who managed a solid 3.63 ERA last season in spite of his 10-12 record will be a much better pitcher with the Tex-infused line-up, and run production helps any starter, but the next-lowest ERA in the Oriole rotation last season was the thankfully-departed Daniel Cabrera's unsightly 5.25, and it's tough for any lineup to win games when they're starting out with a five-run deficit four out of every five games, no matter how potent the bats. I'd love to have seen the O's make a sweeping overture to Mike Mussina--for both practical and sentimental reasons--for a 2-year deal before Moose retired. But until they land Garland and someone else like him, I'd expect Teixeira to keep them (and we Baltimore faithful) waiting.

Aah Haa, Idiots

sweeney — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 12:08:00 CST

Bristol Palin's to-be mother-in-law?

Busted, 6 felony drug counts. I hear meth labs are huge in Wasilla.

*****

The Obama kids' new school starts soon, so the parents asked the Bushs if they could kick it in the guest quarters until the official move-in.

Denied. The Bushs plan to party in the guest house.

Think they'll change No Child Left Behind to Two More Children Left Behind?

Inner City Pressure

gerrit — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 11:10:43 CST

Snowed in and bored? Watch the Season 2 premiere of Flight of the Conchords:

A Real Actual Event Experienced By Me on Tuesdsay Night, As Well As Said Event's Accompanying Back-Story and Implications

Sam — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 16:36:36 CST

I returned home from playing Left 4 Dead with Gerrit, Mark, and Masten to find that I had accidentally and not on purpose left my bath-robe on the bed from the morning's rush. I picked it up and carried it to the bathroom, where I shut the door and hung the robe on its hanger.

AT THIS TIME A NEFARIOUS AND ENTIRELY BITCH-ASS STOW-AWAY MOUSE LEPT FROM THE POCKET OF MY ROBE AND

ENDEAVORED TO KILL ME DEAD.

It rebounded off my chest and began running in circles on the bathroom floor. With great valiance (for this is the only word to adequately describe my actions), I proceeded to yelp, utter a stream of obscenities, and yank the bathroom door open with great vehemence, causing the mirror mounted thereupon to crash to the floor with a thunderous KERTHUMP-GIZSSSHHH. Next my upstairs neighbors could be heard uttering obscenities as well, as could my girlfriend Lux2, who called out from the bedroom, "What the fuck are you DOING out there?"

As I stood in the hallway, hyperventilating in my underpants, the mouse escaped to freedom, and now I slumber with the nightly fear that it defecates in my ears.

SOME BACKGROUND ON THE SITUATION:

Approximately one month ago, before heading to Regular Bar Nite, which immediately follows RPN, I was watching the pilot episode of Weeds upon my couch, which is known by many to be the Couch of Dreams. It is the finest couch in all of America, or was, until it was sullied by the event which I am about to relate to you: A MOUSE RAN OUT FROM UNDER IT. The couch has been known ever since as the Couch of Pestilent Nightmares. As for the mouse, which has turned out to be, in fact, mice, it has proved resilient to:

all forms of trap (indeed, we succeeded in capturing only Lux2, who became ensnared in a glue trap one fateful morning, and the television, which was the victim of an unprovoked assault via flying snap-trap when we attempted to bait said snap-trap at 2 AM amidst the haze of the Unbearable Bud Lite-ness of Being)
the Vermont Country Store's Plug-In Pest Electro-Deterrent
an industrial strength poison called "Final" given to me by my neighbor back in Viriginia who is a professional exterminator.

I became so agitated at the state of affairs on a recent evening that, after perceiving a mouse run out from behind my dresser with intentions of murdering me that I ceded the territory of the bedroom and went to the living room, only to find another mouse glaring at me from beneath the front door, a glimmer of homicide in its wee tiny eyes. I resolved that the only safe way of sleeping would be to construct a crude and narrow bed out of a series of wooden chairs, as it is well known that mice are incapable of climbing. My slumber that evening can best be described as "restive."

These events have driven me to consider the possibility of acquiring a cat, a possibility which I find odious for two principal reasons:

Cats are assholes
The previous cat with which I interacted on an extended basis was Flav's cat, and at that time (November 2006) it STOLE MY VOICE. This is not a fabrication. I was able to speak when I went to bed one night at Flav's house, and when I awoke the next day, I was unable to, owing to my deep and abiding allergy to cat dander. I can only presume the cat spent the day contacting agents and casting directors in New York City and saying scandalous and inappropriate things, and that this is the reason why I can't get them to come to my shows.

I realize that the second item is merely an extension of the theme articulated by the first, but no matter. THE POINT IS THIS: if we get a cat, and it successfully kills all of the mice, we will then be saddled with an extraneous cat with nefarious intentions upon my voice, and I will be forced to procure a boomslang snake (dispholidus typus) in order to be rid of this clear and present danger. This, however, will cause the return of the mice, who are no longer threatened by the presence of the cat, and they, being crafty little bitches, will in all likelihood kill the snake, and so the entire carnival of nonsense will begin anew.