13. I chuckle whenever I see a building that doesn't have a 13th floor.

By which I mean, of course, a building that has 13 or more floors anyway, which is relatively rare.

I found this article on Wikipedia, for what it's worth:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/13th_floor

Even landlords who are not themselves superstitious realize that the desirability of suites on a floor 13 might be compromised because of superstitious tenants, or commercial tenants who worry about losing superstitious customers. Based on an internal review of records, Dilip Rangnekar of Otis Elevators estimates that 85% of the buildings with elevators did not have a floor named the 13th floor.

Of course, there's also the Chinese practice of omitting the fourth floor, which I mentioned in this blog a few weeks ago.

A superstition, as the word is used, often means, simply, a practice based on a belief other than that of the person using the word. The identification of something as a superstition generally follows the form, "Do X, or don't do Y, or Z will happen," where Z is usually (but not always) something Bad.

Now, there are a lot of situations where "Don't do Y or Z will happen" has a causal basis; for example, "Don't get caught driving drunk, or you'll have your license taken away." That's not a superstition; that's cause and effect, for most people in most jurisdictions. The easiest way to avoid getting caught driving drunk is to simply not drive when you're drunk. However, "Step on a crack and you break your mother's back" has no logical or causal basis, and can safely be considered a superstition. But if you go out and purposely step on sidewalk cracks, and you find out later that your mother broke her back... you notice that, more than you notice when you've stepped on cracks and you later find your mom doing her yoga exercises.

But I think that few superstitions translate to real-world results; the thirteenth floor thing is one of the few.

(There are good, sound reasons not to walk under a ladder; however, "bad luck" isn't one of them.)

I've said for a while now that the main difference between imagination and reality is that imagination affects only the imaginer, while reality affects others, too. The fear of the number 13 (triskaidekaphobia) falls into that gray zone between imagination and reality, where, while it's obviously a superstition without logical cause, enough people believe it that it affects reality; hence, no 13th floor, no Gate 13, etc. Also, a person who puts any stock whatsoever into the superstition is more likely to behave differently on Friday the 13th, thus, perhaps, causing anomalies. In that sense, it's real; it affects others.

There are three Fridays the 13th this year; as in every non-leap year that contains Friday, February 13th, there's also one in March and again in November. That's the maximum; in every calendar year, there is at least one Friday the 13th.

Here's an article about it, on "How Stuff Works:"

http://www.howstuffworks.com/friday-thirteenth.htm

Ultimately, the complex folklore of Friday the 13th doesn't have much to do with people's fears today. The fear has much more to do with personal experience. People learn at a young age that Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky, for whatever reason, and then they look for evidence that the legend is true. The evidence isn't hard to come by, of course. If you get in a car wreck on one Friday the 13th, lose your wallet, or even spill your coffee, that day will probably stay with you. But if you think about it, bad things, big and small, happen all the time. If you're looking for bad luck on Friday the 13th, you'll probably find it.

In any event, I've long maintained that Saturday the 14th is far scarier than Friday the 13th... because the paraskavedekatriaphobics let their guard down on the day after.

Sometimes, you don't have to understand superstitions - you just have to be aware that they're there, and plan accordingly.
 

11. When I was a kid, I had a collie named Lassie. Yes, I named her. Give me a break; I was four years old at the time.

I've posted this before, but here's a picture of me with Lassie, from the rotation in my former blog:

10. I've seen Bruce Springsteen live eight times this decade (10 times total). I hope to go to another concert in May, if I can get tickets tomorrow.

I wrote that on Feb. 1 - the next day, I tried to get tickets to his show in my town on May 5.

Why my town? If you look at the tour schedule, there are a lot of big-name cities on it - cities that you don't have to put states or countries after, because everyone knows what you mean: LA. Boston. Chicago. Albany. Washington. Pittsburgh. Stockholm. Dublin. London. And Charlottesville?

He's played here twice, once last year, and once in 1974. That's it. Richmond, down the road, is another story; his band in the 60s played there a lot, his second home after the more-famous Asbury Park, NJ. No dates in Richmond, this time.

The Washington show sold out, I've heard, in ten minutes.

Fortunately, our local venue doesn't use Ticketmaster (those weasels), but Live Nation (who is supposed to get bought out by Ticketweasels, in a clear antitrust situation).

I got on the internet and I had three tickets within three minutes.

If you have a few moments, Bruce's account of his Superbowl XLIII experience is worth reading:

http://www.brucespringsteen.net/news/index.html

Six Air Force Thunderbirds have just roared overhead at what felt like inches above our backstage area, giving myself and the entire E Street Band a brush cut. With 20 minutes to go, I'm sitting in my trailer trying to decide what boots to wear. I've got a nice pair of cowboy boots my feet look really good in, but I'm concerned about their stability. Two days ago we rehearsed in full rain on the field and the stage became as slick as an ice pond. It was almost impossible to stand on. It was so slick I crashed into Mike Colucci, our cameraman, coming off my knee slide, his camera the only thing that kept me from launching out onto the soggy turf. When Jerry the umpire in "Glory Days" did his bit, he came running out, couldn't stop himself and executed one of the most painfully perfect "man slips on a banana peel" falls I've ever seen. This sent Steve, myself and the entire band into one of the biggest stress-induced laughters of our lives that lasted all the way back to our trailers. (A few Advil and Jerry was okay.)
 

9. I'm not sure which of 7 or 8 hurt more, but I wouldn't want to repeat either.

I admit it - I'm a weenie when it comes to pain. I don't like it. I don't think it builds character (though it may reveal it, partially), and I don't think there's any honor in bearing it stoically. No, I'd rather bear pleasure stoically.

It is, of course, unlikely in the extreme that I would ever have to get another appendectomy. That doesn't mean I'd never be faced with abdominal surgery, of course. I'm fairly sure that the abdominal surgery complicated my back pain, because it messed up muscles that normally serve in adjunct to the back muscles. Thus, I don't want abdominal surgery.

It goes without saying that I don't want any more needles near my eye. Hell, I can't even wear contact lenses, I'm so freaked out by the idea of something touching my eyeball. Fortunately, I've always had decent vision, and haven't needed lenses or glasses - until the past three or four years, when 25 years of staring into a computer screen most of the day finally caught up with me.

Surgery is supposed to result in a brief period of pain that substitutes for a longer-term problem, but someone would have to convince me that the pain of the problem will exceed the pain of the surgery and recovery.

Incidentally, pain is not the reason I won't get a tattoo. The reason for that is that I want the freedom, always, to change.

That said, you know what would make me change my mind about surgery? Well, imagine a drug that, whenever your nerves started to register pain, rerouted the sensation to a different part of your nervous system; specifically, the part of your brain that registers pleasure. This would be better than morphine, more addictive than hydrocodone, and more dangerous than a tomb full of asps.

Because, see, a drug like that would get out on the black market. People would take it, and they'd register all their pain as pleasure.

But pain is the body's way of telling you that you're doing something wrong.

But such a drug would make a great science-fiction plot feature.

I see any of you using it, and I'm coming after you.
 

8. I've had eye surgery.

If you didn't cringe when you read that a few days ago, or when you read it just now, I'll rephrase:

I once tore my cornea, and they stitched it back together.

Or,

I've had a surgeon poking needles into my eye.

It was 1987, and it was my left eye. I was working in construction, and I'd just dropped my glasses all the way down a stack of cinderblock cells. Minutes later, a nail came up and the head popped me in the eye.

When I went to the hospital, they scheduled me for immediate surgery. "Immediate" in this case meant "the next day," which I suppose prepared me for the 12-hour "right away," fifteen years later.

Fortunately, I was under a general anesthetic for the actual surgery. Recovery took a few months, after which my eyesight was as good as before - maybe even a bit better.

The worst part was the night after the night of the surgery. The corneal stitches were leaking, and to keep the stuff that's supposed to be in my eye, in my eye, they put cyanoacrylate on the stitches. But they put too much on and it got in my sclera.

Imagine having superglue on the white part of your eye.

Anyway, I can't complain much - like I said, the eye got better, and at least THIS didn't happen to me:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anesthesia_awareness

Yeah - give me snakes, spiders, or clowns any day. Just Not That.
 

7. I've had my appendix removed.

In early May, 2002, I developed what I thought was food poisoning due to Red Lobsteritis.

My first sign that something was very, very wrong was when I threw up. I'd had food poisoning before, and it was always bad, but the last time I'd thrown up was the first time I'd overindulged in beer, nearly 20 years earlier. Actually, it wasn't beer, but that pale amber swill that passes for beer when you're in your teens - Milwaukee's Best, it was. The Beast, we called it.

That's the root of my beer snobbery.

This time, though - when I finally got to the hospital, they told me I was just in time, it was about to rupture Any Minute Now, and they'd schedule me for surgery "right away." "Right away" turned out to be about 12 hours later, which, combined with the previous 12 hours, was easily the most miserable single day of my life. The one good thing that came from that day was that, in order to distract my mind from the unending agony, I worked out a method to convert any decimal number to binary using only my fingers (larger numbers require toes, too) in my head. Surprisingly, I remembered the technique afterward, though I've never been able to put it to practical use, seeing as how I have computers and calculators for that kind of crap.

They said laparoscopic surgery would be "easier" on me. What they meant was that it would allow the hospital to discharge me faster. I still couldn't stand up or lie down on my own.

In "Lost," which we've been picking up from Netflix, one of the major characters has to have his appendix removed on the island, using primitive surgical techniques. The next day, he's up and doing heroics.

Don't you fucking believe it.

I did get one decent funny story out of the ordeal, which I had to delve into the musty depths of my previous blog to recover:

"The Snake Story" 
 

6. Subtlety is always lost on me, except when it's not.

I don't know. I think I'm a pretty straightforward kind of person. What I say is generally what I mean - humorous comments excepted.

I can also be passive-aggressive, but that doesn't translate too well to the internet, and I'm working on that little problem.

So to me, when someone says something, I'll generally take it at face value.

I know this woman who's single, never been married, rarely dates. When she does date, she debriefs to her friends - me included, if I can't plead a sudden need to wash my hair. No, she's no one on Writing.com, so quit wondering if it's you. Anyway, during these sessions, she replays every gesture, every nuance of speech, every word spoken, and analyzes it for hidden meanings. I don't know if this is a chick thing in general, or if it's mostly her, but the third time I heard her do this, I said, "You know, not every conversation is fraught with hidden meaning."

She squinted at me. "Yes, it is."

From that point on, I was very, very careful about what I said around her, how I said it, and what position my hands were in when I said it. And I'm glad I'm not dating anymore.

I have to wonder what it's like to live in a world where saying something like, "I'm hungry," for instance, means something other than "I'm hungry." I suppose it could mean, "Offer to cook me something," or "I want to go out to eat," or "I want to have mad, passionate sex with you." Or something else entirely. When I say it, I mean, "I'm hungry." When I hear my wife, or one of my friends say it, I think they mean, "I'm hungry." Sometimes they mean something else, and they look at me funny.

Maybe that's why I'm so lousy at poetry, and interpreting poetry. You can't take poetry at face value, not good poetry. Even with prose, the few classes I've taken on the subject overwhelm me with the analysis of All The Details and What They Really Mean.

I'm getting better at interpretation, but don't expect me to grasp the finer nuances.
 

http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1877187,00.html

Facebook's "25 Things About Me" meme seems harmless enough; people write 25 facts about themselves and post them on their Facebook pages, just as they do with videos, status updates and photos of last weekend's party. An estimated 5 million of these notes — that's 125 million facts — have appeared on the website within the past week. Assuming it takes someone 10 minutes to come up with their list, this recent bout of viral narcissism has sent roughly 800,000 hours of worktime productivity down the drain...

Piss off, bitch.

5. I fear success more than I fear failure.

Not really sure how to expand on this, but I'm on too much of a roll to stop now, even with sandy-vagina Time writers throwing a wet blanket over the very idea.

Which leads me to wonder how someone like that gets a job writing for Time. Maybe she's a free-lancer; maybe she's a full-Time writer (or would that be full-Time Warner?) (heh). It's not because she's saying anything fresh or funny. In her own words, "Most people aren't funny, they aren't insightful, and they share way too much." Pot, meet kettle.

In my own humble opinion, while I am not funny (looks, as they say, aren't everything), I do say - or write - funny things sometimes. Sometimes I can even be insightful. And yeah, I probably share way too much, but this here's MY blog, and in the immortal words of Eddie Murphy's father, "if you don' like it, you can get tha FUCK out" and "Your wife's a bigfoot, isn't she, Gus?"

Hint to Ms. Suddath: being random is not the same thing as being funny. Anyone with a computer can be random. Being funny involves, among other things, taking two random things and finding a connection between them in some way that, in retrospect, makes a weird kind of sense.

To take random examples from the list she compiles in the above-referenced article,

9. I can't grow hair on my arms.

and

16. A horse once fell over while I was riding it.

I'd say, "What do you expect? It thought your completely furless arms were snakes and freaked out."

Maybe that's not roll-on-the-floor hilarious, but I smiled when I thought of it.

Which brings me back to why I fear success. Ms. Suddath is successful enough to have been published by a major publisher, Time magazine. I, on the other hand, have been published by, well, me. Here. And that's all. So who the hell am I to criticize a paid, published writer?

And when I'm published, what kind of idiot bloggers who can't be published to save their lives are going to be talking shit about me?

See why I fear success, now?
 

4. I was adopted.

I've never made a secret of this, but it's not exactly something that comes up in casual conversation.

My parents never made a secret of it, either. One of my early memories involves me telling this to some shocked adult who had commented on my resemblance to my father.

Any physical resemblance to my father is coincidental. (What was that long-ago adult thinking, anyway? Dad had black hair and deep brown eyes and a huge Jewish honker. I had blond hair (since darkened) and blue eyes (which I still have) and a straight European nose.) Any other resemblance to my father is probably intentional on my part, and I take it as a compliment.

The first thing people usually ask me is, "Do you know who your biological parents are?" Which is a perfectly reasonable question. "Do you know who your real parents are?" gets an unequivocal "Yes," and nothing more. It's rude. Anyway, to answer the non-rude version, no, I don't. At least, not entirely. I've learned a name, which I discovered when I went through Dad's safe-deposit box after he was declared incompetent due to Alzheimer's. Actually, I learned two names, my biological mother's, and my birth name.

This latter surprised me. I mean, I always knew I had a biological mother and father, though I never knew or cared to know their names. But what I didn't know was that the person who birthed me had given me a name, before my adoptive parents gave me the name on my birth certificate.

The papers don't disclose my biological father's name, and to tell the truth, I haven't given him much thought. This was the mid-sixties in the midwest, and the sexual revolution was getting going. Even without that, it wasn't exactly unheard of for a woman in college to get knocked up and then give the kid away so as not to jeopardize her education or life. I suppose a few years later, when it was legal, it was more common for such women to get an abortion. I suppose I should be grateful for that, but really, if she'd gotten an abortion, I wouldn't be here to be ungrateful, so who cares? I'm completely pro-choice anyway.

I've known several people who were adopted, and there's nothing that we all have in common save that we were adopted. Some were abused; some were not. Some were pushed aside in favor of their parents' genetic offspring; others weren't. I can say that in my case, it made me know, for a fact, beyond a doubt, that my parents wanted me; some kids could think they were accidents, but never me.

It's just not something that matters, especially now that my parents are dead and, as best as I've been able to determine, my genetic mother died in '89. Could have been someone else with the same name who was in her late teens when I was born. I haven't looked deeper into it.

My birth name, discovered in my father's papers? Robert Waltz.

You don't think I'd use my real name on the internet, do you?
 

3. I relax from my long day job on the computer by spending time on my computer.

I've heard so many people say, "I just can't be on the computer at home. I spend my whole day on the computer!"

They then proceed to plop themselves down in front of the boob tube.

At least computers are more interactive, unless you count channel-surfing (a despicable habit which I despise) as "interaction."

Really, though, I figure as long as I'm doing something other than CAD work, cost estimate spreadsheets, project proposals, drainage calculations and other business stuff at home, it's an entirely different thing - even though it's being done on a similar machine. Likewise, as long as I'm not playing video games or surfing the internet at work, I-

Wait.

Nevermind.
 

2. I like learning about other cultures, but I rarely travel to visit them.

There are two things that I would do if I were financially independent: Learn stuff, and travel.

Obviously, these things aren't mutually exclusive. What they are exclusive of, though, is working. I've tried taking classes while still working full-time, and it sucks. Even if the classes are only once a week, I find it hard to go, sometimes. It's just that work sucks up so much of my time and energy that all I want to do when I'm not at work is goof off.

Hell, all I want to do when I *am* at work is goof off.

Anyway, travel's out, too, except for like a week at a time, every few years.

Part of the problem is I'm just not a very ambitious person. Another part of the problem is even if I were ambitious, I wouldn't know what to do to get me to where I'd want to be if I were ambitious. If that makes any sense. I'd end up spinning my wheels. I know this because I used to be ambitious, but only one of my ambitions ever worked out, and now that it has, I want something else.

Fortunately, I like to be on the computer, and learning stuff that way. You can pick up a lot just casually surfing.

Still, that's not the same as actually visiting, say, Budapest.

"They" say that it helps to think of what you'd do if you knew for a fact you'd be dead in a month, and live accordingly. That strikes me as idiotic, because I wouldn't work or do anything productive. But I would go to Budapest, or England, or Japan, which I can't do now because we just can't afford it.

Someday...
 

I figure, why not expand on last entry's "25 things," one at a time? This is, after all, the month containing my birthday, so a bit of introspection is, perhaps, forgivable.

1. My favorite vacation spot is Belize. My second favorite is New York City. Go figure that.

This is actually fairly simplistic and possibly misleading. I've been to Belize exactly once and, while we enjoyed it a great deal, we don't have plans to go back just yet.

Though there are islands for sale just off the coast for a remarkably reasonable sum, considering. About what you'd pay for a upper-middle-class house in my town.

If I were upper-middle-class I might even consider it.

Anyway, like I said, I've been to Belize once, but there are two places we go almost every year: New York City (NYC) and North Carolina's Outer Banks (OBX). So really, you could consider OBX my favorite vacation spot, and NYC my favorite place to visit.

The distinction is important. There's virtually no reason to visit OBX except to vacation, while the reasons for visiting NYC are manifold, especially since my wife and I both have relatives there. You may remember I went there - alone - last month. Well, I'm going again - this time with my wife - this month.

The occasion (apart from my birthday) is the first American concert in 15 years for Leonard Cohen.

You might not have heard of Leonard Cohen, but I can almost guarantee that you've heard at least one of his songs.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonard_cohen

I had a bitch of a time getting tickets. Apparently they were sold out prior to the official tickets-on-sale date. Unable to score tickets from the respectable, conventional and price-gouging Ticketmaster site, I turned to the disreputable, unconventional, and oh-my-god-you-want-HOW-much? reseller market.

I won't disclose what I paid for tickets. I will say that I've never paid that much for Bruce tickets. In my defense, Bruce plays huge stadiums and a whole lot more often. There are opportunities of scale. Yes, Bruce is a lot more popular, but Cohen has a devoted core following of fanatics. Wait, so does Bruce. Anyway, the point is, I scored tickets.

Having secured entrance to the exclusive concert, I set about finding transport and lodging. Transportation was a no-brainer; from where I live, it's more expensive to fly than to take the train; the train is a lot more comfortable, though slightly longer from door to door. And no one strip-searches me before getting on the train. So - train it is. Got a decent price for round-trip tickets, and no 3am departure times, either.

I decided to get creative with lodging. Like I said, my wife and I both have family there, but we wanted to be answerable for our time to no one but ourselves, so we wanted to get a hotel room.

Hotel rooms in NYC can be outrageous. More expensive, even, than scalped Leonard Cohen tickets. But this is New York City in February. February is the month people escape NYC, not enter it. So I decided to look for a bargain.

Before I looked for bargains, though, I remembered something about Nikola Tesla; how he spent the last 10 years of his life in a hotel in Manhattan called the New Yorker. Wouldn't it be cool, geek that I am, to stay in the same hotel? What are the odds that one of those early-20th hotels would still be standing, and still functioning as a hotel?

About the same, I guess, as the odds of me getting Leonard Cohen tickets:

http://newyorkerhotel.com/index.html

More, they're running a winter special, and it's costing us less than $150 a night to stay there.

Less than $150 a night, in the middle of midtown New York City, less than a block from the train station.

The optimist in me cheered.

The pessimist figures there's going to be one HELL of a blizzard that week.
 

I keep getting tagged with this over at Failbook.

No offense to the taggers, but I hate wasting time at Failbook; I'd rather waste time here. Since all y'all who tagged me read my blog at least sometimes, consider this your opportunity to read my 25 things. And I'm not going to expect anything in return; this one's free.

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

Okay, here goes...

1. My favorite vacation spot is Belize. My second favorite is New York City. Go figure that.

2. I like learning about other cultures, but I rarely travel to visit them.

3. I relax from my long day job on the computer by spending time on my computer.

4. I was adopted.

5. I fear success more than I fear failure.

6. Subtlety is always lost on me, except when it's not.

7. I've had my appendix removed.

8. I've had eye surgery.

9. I'm not sure which of 7 or 8 hurt more, but I wouldn't want to repeat either.

10. I've seen Bruce Springsteen live eight times this decade (10 times total). I hope to go to another concert in May, if I can get tickets tomorrow.

11. When I was a kid, I had a collie named Lassie. Yes, I named her. Give me a break; I was four years old at the time.

12. I also had a cat named Kitty. Deal with it.

13. I chuckle whenever I see a building that doesn't have a 13th floor.

14. I stood atop the World Trade Center when there was a World Trade Center. I don't remember if it had a 13th floor.

15. I believe that while money doesn't buy happiness, it also doesn't buy misery.

16. I believe I'll have another beer. My current favorite is Old Rasputin. http://www.northcoastbrewing.com/beer-rasputin.htm I might have to go Russian out to get some more.

17. One of my biggest regrets in life is that I never saw Pink Floyd in concert.

18. I've always wished I knew another language. Spanish, Russian, and/or Japanese, especially.

19. I'm a good cook. Too good, in fact; I've had to stop so I can try to lose some weight.

20. I'm working on my second million (I gave up on the first).

21. I used to be a photographer.

22. If I ran the world, things would be better.

23. I'm not a happy optimist; I'm a laughing pessimist. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.

24. Robert A. Heinlein influenced my worldview in ways I'm still trying to fully understandgrok.

25. Life is one big joke. I hope I'm still around to hear the punch line.

And there you have it - 25 not-quite-random things about me, trivia that I'm sure you'll forget as soon as you switch pages. But hey, I'm just killing time until the Bruce appearance at the Superbowl.
 

I rarely get bored. Even when I have nothing to do, I always have something to do.

But as a resource for those of my readers who DO get bored, I present:

http://www.cardtoss.com/

and

http://www.zefrank.com/byokal/kal2.html

and

http://www.rafcareers.com/altitude/games/dz_game/dzgame.cfm

Not *quite* as useless as, say, the virtual bubblewrap or virtual toilet paper roll. Still... bloody damn useless.
 

http://progressiveboink.com/archive/calvinhobbes.htm

Every time I find something else about Calvin and Hobbes, I laugh all over again. This one's got some great commentary on it.

It's also an excuse to link my one and only fanfiction again, for anyone who might have missed it.

ID: 1192516   (Rated: 13+) Home Again  A middle-aged man rediscovers his childhood. by Robert Waltz

A challenge to writers: true stories, told in one sentence.

http://www.onesentence.org/
 

My computer is (mostly) up and running again, and I was even able to restore a lot of stuff from an old backup.

One thing I wasn't able to restore was my long list of blog fodder links. Those are gone forever, I think. Well, most of them were one-shots anyway.

But I did find the time to begin a whole new list of blog fodder, and now I shall begin to inflict them on YOU.

Let us begin with this classic Top Ten List:

http://www.evilbible.com/Top_Ten_List.htm

Top Ten Signs You're a Fundamentalist Christian

Example:

5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loopholes in the scientifically established age of Earth (few billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by Bronze Age tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that Earth is a few generations old.

Good stuff, good stuff. I can only add that, contrary to popular belief, there are not two sides to every issue. Some issues have multiple sides. Most, however, aren't even "issues" at all, and thus only have one side. These include: The Earth is round, humans have walked upon the moon, the Holocaust happened, and dinosaurs disappeared an unimaginably long time before the first human picked up a wrench.

Okay, off the soapbox and on to the next link.

While we're talking about religion, I might as well also decry the excesses of Barack-is-my-redeemer-ism. Hey, guys? Chill. It's not like we elected Bruce Springsteen.

http://www.holytaco.com/guest-column-barack-obama

Now that I'm president, here's four things I want you people to stop doing...

Seriously, when I walk up to a podium, stop f*&king chanting my name like I just shredded on a three and a half minute guitar solo.

Here's a site anyone with a cat will appreciate. Hell, dog people will probably get a chuckle out of it, too, as in "Lawdy, those cat people are weird." Hey, dog people, we're not the ones following around behind our lords and masters with plastic pooper scooper bags.

Guidelines for Cats

Doors
Do not allow closed doors in any room. To get door opened, stand on hind legs and hammer with forepaws. Once door is opened, it is not necessary to use it. After you have ordered an "outside" door opened, stand halfway in and out and think about several things. This is particularly important during very cold weather, rain, snow, or mosquito season...

http://www.jamesshuggins.com/h/hum1/guidelines_for_cats.htm

And I'll finish today's crop of websites you never would have otherwise found with this little offering, which will make you waste time whether you're a human or a cat. Dogs need not apply; go make your human pick up your poop now.

http://www.zefrank.com/memory/stringspin/spin_1.html


 

Still lazy today, so another short entry.

(Okay, actually, I'm not lazy. I'm just finishing up restoring my computer after I came into work on Monday morning and discovered that the hard drive had crashed. Completely. All my work files are on a network drive, but it was STILL a royal pain in the ass to reinstall everything. Pleh.)

So on to the entry: We all know that the painting known as the "Mona Lisa" was da Vinci's masterpiece, and is doubtless the most famous portrait, if not the most famous work of art, ever... right?

Well, what if some other famous artist had painted it instead:

http://damncoolpics.blogspot.com/2008/12/if-other-artists-drew-mona-lisa.html

Go ahead. There's a great punchline.
 

It's better without the W.