Bastards!

My gym put out punch, cookies and candy today for Halloween.

Explanation A: They got into the holiday spirit.

Explanation B: These bastards don't care about my attempts at weight loss and just want my monthly dues.

I'm gonna go with B. And no, I didn't take anything.

The inner foodie rears its ugly head

One of the nice things about living relatively close to New York is the food. My current home state is a bit of a gustatory wasteland -- Thai is still adventurous here -- though I have my choice of pretty much any terrible suburban chain restaurant I like.

Alas, my recent attempts to get back to going to the gym on a regular basis mean I just tend to drool over reviews of the latest NYC restaurants. (Also, it seems a wee bit much to go to New York just to eat, but maybe I'm being too practical.) But I'll be damned if I don't make it to this place in the near future.

Burger, fries and wings? My heart just melted ... in a pool of cholesterol.

BLT Empire Storms Burgerland [New York]
BLT Burger: From Rumor to The Robs in 21 Days [Eater]

Fire bad

I have quite the symphony going in my apartment.

The toilet always runs, and I hoped that would result in a pleasant gurgle not unlike that of a stream. Alas, it's more of a someone-left-the-garden-hose-on hiss, but I can block it out if I turn my head just so when I'm in bed.

More annoying is the heating system, which emits a low hum most of the time. The vents also rattle a lot, which means I have to give several of them a good kick once or twice a day.

And still, I could handle all that if I didn't have to also get the crap scared out of me multiple times per day by bangs and crashes when the heating system is shutting down or revving up.

It reminds me of the furnace we had in our house when I was a kid. From what I understand, there was something wrong with whatever controlled the air mixture, so when the furnace fired up, you'd occasionally get a small explosion. There were reports you could see the flame shooting out of the furnace, but I never managed to see this for myself.

I am still stunned my parents didn't replace the furnace until they sold the house, but it seems getting blown up was not high on their list of concerns. But I tend to be a little wary of open flames, considering I once managed to turn a barbecue propane tank into a blowtorch. (The hose wasn't tightly connected.)

Now that will add some excitement to your cookout.

Heartless prick or innocent bystander?

So I was at the bagel shop yesterday, and there was a woman at the counter, with the employee ringing up someone at the register.

I got into the express line, which is for people who just want bagels to go -- no slicing, toasting, etc. The other customer was in the regular line.

The employee then comes up to me and begins to take my order, at which point the woman in the other line speaks up: "I was here first."

At this point the employee and me both realize the customer is deaf or hearing impaired, and we apologize simultaneously. So the other customer gets her order taken, and another guy comes from the back to take care of me*, and I feel guilty for cutting in front of this woman.

But, I don't know if it's the store's policy to automatically serve someone in the express line first. Or, since there were only two customers, should they get to the one who was there first? And should I feel guilty at all?

* Upon reading this, I should point out that by "take care of me," I mean get my bagels, not punch me out for being an insensitive jerk. And I'm not even going to get into the other possible interpretation of "take care of me."

I don't, either

I wish I could find a video clip of this, but I'm too lazy to do a thorough search. But I'm sure it will show up on GooTube* eventually, or you can find it on HBO some time this month.

But I was watching the Wanda Sykes special over the weekend, and it struck me when she said that as she gets older, she increasingly doesn't give a fuck about things.

So instead of getting more and more annoyed by some little things at work that are beginning to grate on me, I no longer give a fuck.

Here's hoping it won't be long before I can find a situation where I do.

* I was hoping there might be the slightest chance that I was clever enough to have coined this term, but a quick Web search shows I am nowhere near the cleverest person around. Or even the 1,630,000th-cleverest person around.

Office science project(s)

If I had been on the ball, I would have taken a picture of this cupcake months ago, when it was first placed atop the cube next to mine.

But this was the state it was in last week. I fear that it has withered as much as it is going to, but if there are further changes I will post a new photo. The subject has gone from light, fluffly cupcake to rock hard over the past couple of months, and we have avoided the ant invasion I expected.

This, by the way, is a cupcake mix product, so I'll just leave you to imagine the loads of preservatives that are in this thing.

Elsewhere in the office is a very distressed Peep that has been getting sadder by the day since Easter. If I remember to, I will get a shot of that experiment, too.

Lest you think my workplace is filled with slobs -- well, it kinda is.

We're getting a couple of new people over the next few weeks, and one of my co-workers was kind enough to clean out the cube that's currently used as the staging area for our take-out food. Needless to say, the cube was a little grody. (Man, when was the last time you heard that word?) Anyway, hot water and a scrub pad failed to sufficiently remove the layers of kung pao sauce, salsa, pizza cheese, etc. that had built up since the cube was last occupied, so my co-worker went off in search of something stronger.

The cleaning product he returned with had an odd odor of pine and lemon, which pretty much overwhelmed the office within seconds. I did note that, as stated in bold lettering near the top of the can, this product is certified to kill HIV.

I'm not sure what the person who buys our cleaning supplies thinks goes on in this place, but obviously I'm missing out on something.

An art critic, I am not

My understanding of and appreciation for art is very much on a layman's level -- I made it through exactly one lecture of an art history class in college before I realized there was no way I was going to be able to make it through.

But I was in need of some inspiration, and there was an exhibit I wanted to see, so I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York yesterday.
There also was Cai Guo-Qiang's "Transparent Monument," which became a little disturbing when I noticed the dead birds at the base. I don't know, I guess I just wasn't expecting something like this at the Met.

(I just hope someone's not getting paid under the table by the maker of some window-cleaning product.)

Easily amused

Hey, wow, that last one went up right at midnight. Neat.

Decisions, decisions

I’m fortunate enough to have a little bit of cash in the bank, and luckily I haven’t felt the need to go blow it all in one foolish swoop.

I do, however, wonder if I should try to con some friends into letting me crash with them for some indefinite period of time while I subsist on Cheetos and plant myself on the couch for, oh, six or seven months. (Although I have just managed to drag myself back to the gym on a regular basis, so maybe I won’t do exactly that. But you get the drift.)

But it occurs to me that I went straight from high school graduation through college either in class or at a summer job, then had about one week between graduation and an internship, which led into my first job.

And I guess this is what most people do, so I’m not going to get much sympathy.

Still, if anyone wants a houseguest for an indeterminate period of time, let me know.

I’m free beginning Dec. 13*.

* Why Dec. 13, you ask?

Well, I’m on the hook for relocation expenses if I bolt before one year, so I’m going to tough it out. being the upstanding sort that I am, I feel it’s best to give my employer one year before I tell them I’m moving on.