matthearn.com

Enjoying soccer
explain offsides
“let’s get rid of all this scoring”
“you know what we need? more ties”

3 minutes my DIMPLED PINK ASS.

Kanye says “sorry.” Er, wait, that’s: “SORRY!!!11!!!”

I’M SOOOOO SORRY TO TAYLOR SWIFT AND HER FANS AND HER MOM.

GOOD START, KANYE!

EVERYBODY WANNA BOOOOO ME BUT I’M A FAN OF REAL POP CULTURE!!!

Oh, if only I had known you were a fan of pop culture! I wouldn’t have immediately said to my wife, “Wow, Kanye’s a megadouche.” Fans of pop culture are allowed to be megadouches. (I have it from reliable authorities that Glenn Beck has every issue of Rolling Stone in hermetically sealed bags, and once kidnapped Justin Timberlake for a weekend to milk his tears for a “Timberlini.”)

Nice try, Kanye, you’re still King Schmuck.

This would be the best “soup and sandwich” deal ever.

Particularly if the sandwich is a beer.

Can someone explain to me this behavior? You’re walking down a hallway, and someone is coming from the opposite direction. It’s a big hallway, so there’s plenty of room for you to pass each other, but the person coming your way was sort of in the center, and refuses to yield, forcing you to walk right up against the wall, perhaps even brushing it with your shoulder, to avoid banging into them.

Happens to me at least 3 times a day at work. I’ve had people actually start out far away and move closer to me, like they want to play chicken. I’ve considered banging someone a few times, but I’m rather large, and fully 65% of the people that do this are women, and probably 25% are very small men. I’d knock them down, and then I’d look like a d-bag.

Is it just a dominance thing? Are they just suicidal? Do they want to sue me when their shoulders dislocate? It really creeps me out. I mean, do I say something? And what about people who let doors slam on you?

Help me, I’m in a quandary.

Good gravy, what a day. At work we racked six (6) large unix servers, which requires putting special slidey rails into big racks, then taking them out and doing it again, because we either put them in backwards or used the wrong screws, meaning that the server could fall out of the rails and crunch. Since each of them is worth more than my car by an order of magnitude, we thought it best to do the job right. Took about six hours.
It also meant that I didn’t get to work out, which is greatly annoying because I’m still fat. Tonight I may have to get on the exercise bike, but I may just skip it because I hiked and ran in the woods for 100 minutes yesterday to combat the effects of the 8 beers and 3 platters of sushi I ate afterwards.
In short, I’m exhausted, which along with the fact that I’m composing this on my iPhone while pushing Charles’s swing explains both the crappiness and brevity of this post.
Have a pimpslappinous weekend, allsayalls!

Found this pretty field of clover whilst out on a hike yesterday. Not five minutes later I came upon a group of high-schoolers who asked if I had any rolling papers.

(For ease-of-reading, any speech below attributed to little boys has been translated into adult English, so that you don’t have to read text like “Thaniel, can you klay wif me?”)

Charles, like many kids his age, is remarkably literal. If I have to chastise him for not eating, I will often unthinkingly say things like, “No you may not leave the table; you’ve barely touched your food, Charles.” He usually responds by pressing his hands onto his food and saying “I’m touching it! Can I be excused?” It’s amusing, even when it’s annoying.

On Saturday we had a little early Father’s Day party at my parents, since for various reasons we can’t get together next weekend. My sister brought her brood as well, featuring her son Nathaniel, who is just about 9 months older than Charles, but roughly the same size. Charles is very fond of Nathaniel; I’m not sure that the feeling is entirely mutual. Anyway, Charles has the annoying habit of tackling people that he wants to play with. (This partly my fault, since I allow him to climb all over me when we roughhouse, but I’ll be danged if I can’t wrassle my son as I see fit.) After he’d dragged Nathaniel to the ground a few times, we convinced Charles to stop, or at least to ask first. So later that afternoon, he asked:

“Nathaniel, can I wrestle you?”

Nathaniel replied, “No.”

We complimented Charles for asking permission, and someone suggested that perhaps he might have better luck asking his Daddy. So Charles looked up at me and said,

“Daddy, can I wrestle Nathaniel?”

We found this greatly amusing. Charles likes when other people laugh, even if he doesn’t get the joke, so we got a hearty guffaw out of him as well.

Wow, really? I never would have known. (Full disclosure: I hate American Idol and believe it to be the reason that America is going to hell in a handbasket.)