Home Life

08.05.2002

This weekend I managed to do something I haven't done in a while: relax at home. I did a little running around on Saturday, making some returns, getting groceries, things like that, but my goal was to catch up on some movie watching while doing laundry Sunday. For the most part, I think I succeeded. I finally watched Monsters Ball (and I'm not too sure what it was about). Thanks to hackers and the internet, I also watched the new Austin Powers movie't stay awake any longer - it wasn't the movie, I had just been fighting the urge to take a nap all day. Resident Evil is pretty good so far - it feels like a video game, and since it's based on a video game I'm guessing that's a good thing. Plus, I'm partial to anything with Milla Jovovich in it. So, with some luck I'll finish watching it tonight before journeying further into the boonies to watch Raw (which I'll save an explanation for until tomorrow).

How's that for a teaser?

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Wrong Number

08.02.2002

I like messing with people on the phone, especially telemarketers, so it's only natural for the phone to try and pay me back every once in a while. Last night I made it to bed at a decent hour (about 10:30) with hopes of getting a good nights sleep. I was sleeping pretty lite, when around 11:30 the phone rang.

Me:Hello?
Adolescent Voice:Is Charlie there?
Me: (after looking around)No.
Adolescent Voice:Can you get him to call JT when he gets in?
Me:If this was the right number I would.
Adolescent Voice::uhhhhh click.

Great, this woke me up more than it should have. After about a half hour I fall back to sleep. Until 1:30 in the morning.

Ring
Me:Hello?
Adolescent Voice:Is Charlie there?
Me:No. (See, I didn't even bother looking around this time, I knew he wasn't there)
Adolescent Voice::OK, when he gets in, canyou get hm to call JT?
Me:No.
Adolescent Voice::.... what?
Me:No.
Adolescent Voice::.... click

And then he didn't call back anymore. And I never really made it to a peaceful sleep after that. Dammit.

As I was laying there, I was wondering that if I still had caller id, it would be fun to get the number, then look up the address for whoever it was on the internet. From there, call back around 2:30 in the morning and complain to whoever was listening with an "I know where you live" threat behind it. But I don't have caller id anymore. Which is probably good, because it sounds like I'm evil.

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All Alone

08.01.2002

Today feels kind of weird. Jerry is off to Savannah to see his grandmother, who I will always remember as being this little, 3 foot tall woman at our high school graduation. She's not really that short, but she's a tiny woman. Probably has to do with being 400 years old. On top of that, Gina is gone to a funeral in Chattannoga for the father of a friend of hers today. These are the two people that I talk to or email on a daily basis. Now they're both incommunicado, and at the same time!

I bet this means I get a lot of work done.

Or, I'm completely free to goof off and no one will ever know.

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Stupid Programming Observation

07.31.2002

I noticed the silliest thing last night, which I ended up sharing with Jerry. We both work on websites, or doing some type of programming, the majority of every day (work with me, you know what I mean). How come that fingers don't get tired or cramped? I pop my fingers a lot, but I've always thought of that as more of a habit, not really anything that might releive pressure or loosen up my fingers. Granted, those fingers aren't moving a long distance, it's just a keyboard after all. But after typing day after day, my fingers just keep going. Is it some weird kieyboard friendly gene? Is typing the perfect finger workout, the equivalent of a sit-up, to where you can never do too many?

Obviously I've been looking at my fingers too much. Ooh, look, the Babe of the day!

There, much better.

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I'm Al Snow

07.30.2002

In a given week, I'll watch about 5 hours of wrestling on tv. Granted, I record it all first, so it takes closer to 2 hours once I get past all the commercials and boring matches, but I still try to watch enough to keep up with the story lines. TNN has started showing WWE Confidential on Saturday nights. It's different in that it gives a behind-the-scenes look at many of the wrestlers, many times where they openly talk about how the match results are predetermined, and most of the time the wrestlers break character and are just themselves.

This past week, they went to the home of Al Snow, self described pack rat. Al's got all kinds of stuff in his house, and most of it doesn't make any sense as to why he would have it. Barber chair, jukebox, prosthetic wooden leg, it's all just there, in the house. I was thinking how weird he must really be when the camera panned around and something caught my eye.

There on top of his mantle were action figures.

I have rows of figures atop my bookshelves at home. What a funny coincidence.

Then he was giving a speil about why he collects the odd things he does. And in the background, on the wall, was original comic art. Huh, I've got a wall or two of comic art. Then Al was showing off his comic book collection. It just so happened that the Spider Man he was flipping through for the camera, it was the last Spider Man trade paperback that I bought. Then it hit me: Oh god, I'm Al Snow.

Why Al Snow? Why can't I be cool like The Rock? The Russ has a nice sound. Why can't I be tough like Stone Cold? Wait, everybody's mad at him for leaving, never mind. Why can't I be a big, bad, biker like TheUndertaker? Maybe then I could find a bandana that would fit my head? But no, I'm Al Snow. I'm a loon.

But I should be glad that I'm Al Snow. It could be worse. I could be Raven or Perry Saturn and have to wear dresses (but if I were them, nobody would have the cajones to say anything about it). Or I could be X-Pac, then I would just suck.

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