Maybe this whole Schwarzengegger thing isn’t so bad after all.  He’s stated that he’ll be so busy fixing California’s problems that he’ll have no time to make movies.

I wonder if I can get Rob Schneider to run for office.

Whenever a girl is asked to name her ideal qualities in a partner, “He has to make me laugh” is almost always near or at the top of the list.  But guys don’t indicate that they share the same priority.  They don’t seem to care much about having a girl with a sense of humor.

I’m pretty sure this is because all guys really want is a girl who will fall into an erotic, hypnotic trance whenever they snap their fingers and whisper the code word “Snickerdoodle.”

Don’t click “more” unless you have the stomach to see office politics at their most brutal and vindictive.  You have been warned.

Between Texas and planning my event, gym time has suffered recently, so my workout yesterday was both short and somewhat nausea inducing.  On top of that, I once again encountered my old nemesis--the Butt Blaster.  Other pieces of equipment in the gym have normal names like Star Trac and Health Rider.  Is it absolutely necessary that I’m forced to look around nervously before using this particular device?  It’s a stretching machine, for God’s sake.  There’s no call for that kind of label.

I don’t see why they can’t simply go back to the genus and phylum of the equipment in order to provide accurate, non-humiliating names.  For example, if this was a cartoon and Wile E. Coyote had ordered the machine from Acme, everything would freeze in mid-air and under the machine you’d see something pragmatic and soothing like “Buttockicus Stretchikus.”

My first few days at college, I didn’t know a soul so I wandered into the dorm lobby and hung out by the pool table.  Eventually I started playing with an asian student.  Eventually I met his friends, and 15 years later three of us are still close friends who live and work in northern california.  One of them is getting married in December, which means I now know his fiancee and her friends and her family.  Yesterday, at a restaurant to sample the food that’ll be served at the wedding banquet, I stood out as the lone caucasian at a table of chinese and filipino guests.  From a blurry distance, I probably looked like a marshmallow floating on top of a sea of butterscotch.

My friends obviously speak English but their parents’ skills tend to be dicier. The nice thing is, the parents will talk to you anyway.  It doesn’t matter whether you understand them or they understand you.  The bride-to-be’s mother turns to me and says something that sounds like:

“Konichiwa don how?”

I respond, “I definitely have a problem with steel tariffs even if the short-term impact is to the protect the working class.”

“Yes, yes!  Konichia don how.”

And we can go on like this for several minutes and end happily by drinking tea.  The point is to be social, even if the exchange of information is highly limited. 

The food tasting itself was also educational.  I eat chinese food frequently, but this was serious banquet food and it carried its own set of unique traditions.  I learned to watch everyone else before helping myself to the next course.  Otherwise, I’d get involved in a conversation like:

“You like those kneecaps of braised duck?”

“Oh yes, delicious--”

“NO NO, do not throw bones away!”

“Oh.  What do I do with them?”

“You take the bones and you hurl them at the other members of the wedding party.  The flailing of poultry parts reminds us that every beginning also has an ending.”

Is it really necessary for my CFO to pop into my cube at the exact moment I take a break to watch the online “Dawn of the Dead” trailer?

(Chatting with the CEO of Friendster)

Me: Thanks for speaking at our event.

Him: No problem.

Me: I have to ask you something that everyone asks you all the time.

Him: Okay.

Me: Will you be my Friendster?

Him: Heh.  You know, my rule is that I have to have met the person at least once.  I get dozens of requests every day from people I’ve never met.  A Friendster network is supposed to be about real friends and acquaintances.  I don’t understand people who add strangers or famous people.  Internet people are weird.

Me: Now I feel bad about having added Mila Kunis. 

Browsing for a sofa causes three distinct reactions in me.  Only one of them is particularly pleasurable.

The first reaction comes from shopping in IKEA.  At first you’re happy, because everything is so cheap.  You bounce up and down on everything and look at the price and feel giddy.  But then you realize the sofas are kind of flimsy.  They’re easy.  They’re...well, let’s not split hairs.  They’re a bunch of wanton little tarts.  Cheap little things that catch your eye but basically can’t hold up to hard use.  And you feel pretty irritated about this, because IKEA has a play area where children can entertain themselves while parents shop.  What kind of company would have such immoral furniture when children are present?  Figures it’s a Swedish company.  Pervs.

Then there’s the more upscale venues like Ethan Allen.  Oh, how the sofas flatter your back and your buttocks.  And oh, how they’ll blowtorch your wallet.  You wonder: is there any way to flatter the back and the buttocks without all those zeroes?

The most pleasurable reaction, though, comes when you see a couch with bright red stripes and frilly pillows and big, gaudy armrests covered with brass tacks.  But it’s not just the look; it’s also the $4,000 price tag.  And you realize you can’t afford it, but more importantly you have absolutely no interest in it.  This is the pleasurable sensation: it’s unaffordable but you don’t desire it.  And you stand there for a good ten minutes, grinning at it and gloating.  The salesperson floats over to you: “May I answer any questions?” And you reply, “Yes, I’m just curious as to whether Raggedy Ann designed this sofa before or after kicking her crack habit.”

Watches the dancers.

Makes up unique insults to throw at the visiting team: “Our guys are taller than your guys.  They’re tall.  They’re, like, 5’10” if they’re an inch.  You are all short.”

Watches the dancers.

Watches the dancers.

Does a Shaggy impression every time Dirk Nowitski does something cool.

Watches the dancers.

Has disturbing conversations with 9-year olds, who ask:

“You’re from California?”

“Yup.”

“Man, I can’t believe what they say about Schwarzenegger.”

“....huh?”

“They’re all, like, he touches girls.  In a bad way.”

“Uh.”

“That’s what they’re saying.  I mean, c’mon, he was the Terminator.”

“Uh.”

“He would never do that...would he?”

“Look, there’s only one thing I know for sure about Schwarzenegger.  And I’ll tell it to you.  Are you ready?”

“...yeah.”

“He looks better in a tank top than I do.”

Dirk Nowitski of the Mavericks and Shaggy from Scooby Doo: Separated at birth?

One of the reasons I chose pMachine for my new blogging software--as opposed to, say, Movable Type--is the ability to “future date” my posts.  This means that I can write a post and have it appear on my site whenever I want.

For example, take this post.  Judging from the time stamp, it appears to have been written in the late afternoon.  Not so.  I wrote it at about 6 a.m.  But I didn’t want it to appear until 5 o’clock, because shortly after 5 I should be deplaning in Texas so I can attend a conference.  I wanted to write about the day when I hadn’t experienced yet, and post it automatically when I had, in fact, experienced it.

So what was my future-past-day like?

I’ve noticed that people reveal a lot about themselves when they make edits to my press releases.

I write:
The enterprise system enhances [the company’s] online services while cutting operational costs and boosting annual revenues.

Edits from the CEO:
Our new enterprise system fulfills our destiny of being a comprehensive, end-to-end, completely scalable and integrated service provider for everyone on God’s green earth.  I believe that this improvement will attract the attention of industry analysts, which is why I’m using words like “scalable” and “integrated.” Analysts should call me more.  I think they’d like me.  They can come over to my house and we can play poker, and stuff.  I mean, we can play integrated, scalable poker.

Edits from the CFO:
We’re going to make more money.  I think that’s what’s important here.  Money money money.  Also, it’s enterprise-level and it’ll enhance something or other, I don’t know exactly what.  If you really want to know, go ask our Chief Information Officer. I’m the CFO, and what I’m telling you is, we’re going to make money.  Oh, and no, you can’t borrow $20 from me; I know your type.

Edits from the CIO:
Annual revenues?  Whatever, dude.  The point is, this new enterprise-level system makes us totally badass.  We’re like the Death Star, except we wouldn’t blow up Princess Leia’s planet because that was mean.  We are top-of-the-line, best-of-class, pure blinking lights and bells and whistles.  We use XML.  We use SSL encryption.  We use mySQL.  We are unstoppable. 

Edits from the Director of Marketing:
Greg, you’ve got to go easy on the press release jargon.  “Enterprise system”?  “Online services”?  I know what you mean, but will your average, dumb reporter understand too?  Go talk to the CEO, CFO, and CIO.  I’m sure they’ll agree with me.

The worst thing about keeping a web journal is when people read it who know you in real life.  Then, when you’re in a group of friends and you relate an anecdote that you’ve already posted about, you catch those people rolling their eyes and looking faintly bored.

What is with you?  You already know I’m not interesting enough to entertain you both offline and on.  Either hang out with me and do fun stuff, or surf to the site like an anonymous stranger and leave pithy comments.  You’re no longer allowed to do both.