Goodbye Blogger

And now, the end is near, and so I face, the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived a life that's full, I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention.
I did, what I had to do, and saw it through, without exemption.
I planned, each charted course, each careful step, along the byway,
and more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew,
When I bit off, more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up, and spit it out.
I faced it all, and I stood tall,
and did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried,
I've had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.
To think, I did all that, and may I say --- not in a shy way,
"Oh no, oh no not me,
I did it my way".

For what is a girl, what has she got?
If not herself, then she has naught.
To say the things, she truly feels,
And not the words, of one who kneels.
The record shows, I took the blows
And did it my way.
I did it my way.

Happy Halloween

Have fun. Beware the hounds of Hell. Oh, and if a stranger gives you some candy, you should totally try it.

Well, Hello, Kitty.

You knew there wasn't much out there that couldn't be, or hadn't yet been emblazoned with the familiar, cheerful, pink kitty cartoon theme. Clothing, toys, appliances, furniture, cookware, cars, musical instruments. Nothing is off limits. Nothing.










































I thought they'd gone too far (not really) when they made the Hello-Kitty vibrator. But NOW you can get legally married by Hello Kitty and all her friends in the land that reality forgot.

Holy crap it's SANRIO LAND
http://www.puroland.co.jp/spl/english/welcome.html

Yes.

Why I Don't Even Read My Work Email Anymore

Forwarded to me from Irene:

Hello Branch Administrators,

This email is to remind you (again) that I will need everyone's RSVP lists for the All Company Meeting by 10:00 am on October 26. If you complete your list earlier please email them to me. Carolyn from Portland Heights has already completed her list and emailed it to me - Good job Carolyn.


My reply:

Hello Annoying Reminder Lady,

This email is to remind you (again) that any and all emails relating to Company Meetings are to be sent to Cameron, not Irene. Derek at Branch Support has already corrected this same problem concerning supply orders and has been emailing all notification to Cameron - Good job Derek.

How to Embarass Your Dog on Halloween

Buzz who?? Whatever. Just point me in the direction of the kibble.




















If this thing glows in the dark, I'm ruining the rug.























If I had any dignity left I would ask for some hotpants.























In my mind I'm biting you as hard as I can.
























Help.























Oh crap, it's Dog the Bounty Hunter. Now that's embarassing for everyone.























This dog's costume is called 'Crazy Face.' He wears it every day.

*Sigh*

Today I’m advocating the Nokia 6103. Because mine spent the night outside, in the driveway. I’m pretty sure it got rained on too. But it’s totally fine. You would never know I just left it lying there in the gravel.

It took forever to get to work this morning. I actually got to listen to most of a CD. The only time I ever listen to music is in my truck. Unless I'm practicing Christmas songs on my guitar in the living room. Which has a very calming effect, by the way. I just wish Christmas songs had better lyrics.

I'm becoming less defined
As days go by
Fading away
Well you might say
I'm losing focus
Kind of drifting into the abstract
in terms of how I see myself

I've traded in my glasses for a pair of contact lenses that I can barely tolerate. My doctor says it’s all in my head, but how could you not feel something stuck on the front of your eyeball? I have to admit though, my vision is amazing with them in. I haven’t decided if it’s worth it or not yet. I sort of miss the blur.

Sometimes I think I can see right through myself
Sometimes I think I can see right through myself
Sometimes I think I can see right through myself

I read Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis, which I only knew about because of an animated rock-opera I saw on cartoon network. Now I’m reading Get in the Van by Henry Rollins.

Less concerned about fitting into the world
Your world that is
Because it doesn't really matter
None of this really matters anymore

I’m still waiting on that promotion I was promised. Somehow I’ve become responsible for so much of what happens around here, and the people who were once thrilled that I could do two things at once, now cop attitudes if I fail to read their minds. I’ve found that if I don’t respond when people talk to me, they just keep talking. Burned out is pretty close to describing the feeling that I have.

Yes I am alone
But then again I always was
As far back as I can tell
I think maybe it's because
You were never really real to begin with
I just made you up to hurt myself
And it worked.
Yes it did.

I spent the morning of my birthday getting my driver’s license renewed at the DMV. After waiting for an hour, I finally got hassled by the enormously intimidating woman behind the counter, who freaked me out so bad I managed to misspell my own name on the electronic signature tablet just in time for her to take an awful photo of me. If my new license doesn’t get ‘lost’ before then, I will get to do it all again in 2014.

There is no you there is only me
There is no you there is only me
There is no you there is only me

And there is Halloween, when I get to be something else.
Thank goodness for Halloween.

A Unicorn's Forest

A couple of weeks ago, Troy and Noodle and I visited the redwood forests and beaches along the coast of Northern California. Or should I say, the State of Jefferson. I wish I was still there. I told Troy that it felt like a place unicorns would live - nothing short of magical.

Here are some photos from the trip:

Space Fashion

After watching a particularly awful sci-fi movie the other day, Troy turned to me and said: "You know what I'm not looking forward to about the future? Tunics."

It's true. According to movies and television, tunics are pretty much an essential for futuristic space adventuring. However, upon opening up a couple of catalogs I got in the mail this week, I discovered that the future is in fact, already upon us. HERE and NOW.

Sorry sweetheart.

The Power of Negative Thought

As seems to be the bane of my existence, I inherited some sucktacular neighbors when I moved into my new house. Honestly, I don’t know how other people put up with this stuff, because it makes me crazy. These neighbors are the only people on the (otherwise lovely) block to have 4,5 and sometimes 6 or 7 cars coming and going and stopping and parking in front of their house all day and night. And these are some of the shittiest, loudest, piece-of-crappiest cars ever. Well, what better to do with a crappy, loud-ass car than drive up and down the street at all hours? Oh, I know, work on it with hydraulic tools in your garage at 2 in the morning. That's nice too.

There is one guy in particular who frequents our neighbor's home, and his truck is by far the most obnoxious monstrosity in the whole neighborhood. It’s outfitted with a special muffler designed specifically for rattling the windows of houses up to 3 miles away, and boy does he enjoy reving the engine up and peeling out at every opportunity. Which, as we’ve become painfully aware, is all the freakin’ time. He drives the two blocks from his house to our neighbor’s house, where they get into heated, expletive riddled arguments with each other in the driveway. Then he drives back home. Then he comes back. Then they both drive to the convienience store (which is literally, a stone’s throw away) and then they drive back to the house where he lets his truck idle (read: rumble like an earthquake) for 20 minutes or so before he peels out and goes back home again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It was when they started using my driveway as a turn-a-round/drop-off point that I decided I’d had enough. Get the fuck out of my driveway, asshole.

Of course I’m way too intimidated to approach him in person. So I imagined all the possible satisfaction-yeilding solutions to the problem of the rude guy in the loud truck. I considered fencing and gating my property. Nope, too expensive. I thought about installing a spike strip in the driveway. Naw, I can't be trusted not to damage my own car that way. Potato in the tail pipe? Not permanent enough. Um... sugar in the gas tank?

Yes. Sugar. In. The. Gas. Tank.

I wanted to do this SO badly. I fantasized about doing this. I got butterflies in my stomach when I was woken up at 4:30am by (what else!) neighbor guy's car, and almost got up right then to make it so.

And then, miraculously – a “House For Rent” sign went up next door. They're renters. And oh my god, they’re leaving. All of them! Neighbor guy, neighbor guy’s shitty-car driving friends, neighbor guy’s gross girlfriend, and best of all – loud truck guy won’t be coming to visit anymore. Hallelujah! Had my concentrated hate been enough to make it happen? Could it be possible I’d driven them out with my negative thoughts?

Well, it gets better. Since neighbor guy packed up his shit, I haven’t seen loud truck guy anywhere. Not even up the street at his own house. His truck is... gone. Not at the convienience store, not peeling out around the neighborhood, not turning around in my driveway... It’s just gone. I mentally ruined his truck with virtual sugar. I’m convinced.
I am awesome.

School of Fish

There's an elementary school near my house that displays an array of painted wooden fish-shaped placards on its perimeter fence. There are hundreds of them, all different, and all "swimming" in the same direction. Troy and I call it the Fish School. But it wasn't until the other day when I was actually walking by (with my camera) and got a closer look at the individual designs, that I came to fully appreciate these student-painted art peices. Have a look.


Stars and Clouds














This kid's mom is a palm reader.



I Love Hearts














Even the eye is a heart. Way to maintain a theme.



Eyelashes














This fish is clearly female. Or a drag queen.



Air Fish














I imagine this one was painted by a boy. Who has yet to be informed that the whole Micheal Jordan craze of 1997 is pretty much over.



I Love America/Starwars














Awesome. Luke and Darth Vader go at it with light sabers for America, while C3PO looks on.



Despair














The Goth Fish. My favorite.



Deep














Ooooh... Fish on a fish. How profound.



Diver














A variation of the fish-on-a-fish theme. This one was cool up close, it's a silouette of a diver in an ocean/outerspace landscape. A jellyfish is the eye! Watch out diver dude!



Realism














Hey, it's a Clown Triggerfish! Very nice.




More Realism














Rainbow Trout!



Whatever Gets the Point Across














The same Rainbow Trout, as interpreted by another student.

If I went to this school, I would need about 10 wooden fish. One to paint as a shark, and nine others to break into peices, paint red, and scatter around the scene of the 'feeding frenzy.'

Or more likely, I would use up the art department's entire supply of glitter recreating a scene from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat where all the characters have been replaced with mackeral.

Or perhaps I'd paint a Mullet, sporting a mullet.

Or a Noodle-fish.

The possibilites are endless.

Reebs Reincarnated

Not that she died or anything. But if she did, I've met the person she would come back as. And guess what? She works in the office right next to the front desk. How appropriate.

The new Reebs is obnoxious, moody, invasive, and she has a medical condition that requires her to eat between 3 and 5 aromatic TV dinners every goddamn day. The whole office smells like microwaved sausage. And when she isn't talking about how horrible and bratty her kids are, she's talking about how horrible and bratty her kids are. It never stops. She can redirect any conversation (that she's managed to interrupt) to be about the one time her son smeared peanut butter all over his naked body right before she had to take him to daycare.

We really wanted to picture that. Thanks Donyelle.

That's not actually her name. But try telling that to her 84 year old best friend. Yes, she's adopted Harmonica Man. The little old neighborhood guy that everyone thinks is really sweet and funny until you can't get away from him and you suddenly realize the 'conversation' you've been having is really a sales pitch for his self-produced harmonica album and you've just inadvertantly agreed to buy one. He's mostly harmless. Unless you count those contaminated warm tootsie rolls he leaves on my desk when he comes to talk Donyelle's ear off. Which is every goddamned day.

Is Donyelle here?
Yep. You can see her in her office if you look through the window.
What?
Yes. She's in there, see?
Can I go in?
I don't know, why don't you knock on the door?
Eh?
Just knock on the door
What?
JUST GO IN!!
Oh, I see her. (sings) Everybody loves somebody... sometime...

Last week he was in there for two and a half hours. Then they went to coffee. Then they went to lunch. I'm pretty sure she has several copies of all his albums.
When does she work I wonder? Oh that's right - she doesn't. It would be pretty difficult seeing as how she doesn't have ANY clients, and all her phone calls are from her sisters. How do I know? Because Donyelle wanders through the office all day long talking to them on her wireless headset, going on about the latest travesty involving a 4 year old and a jar of jam. She stands right in front of my desk, or sometimes, right behind me shouting "Yes! Naked! He was naked, and sitting right in the middle of my bed with blackberry preserves all over his face. Can you believe that!? I've got to stop letting him climb on the counter."

And those are her good days. Sometimes, she's in such a terrible mood she just locks herself in her office, cranks up some horn-screaching jazz music, microwaves a salsbury steak dinner and refuses to take any calls or visitors. I'm left trying to divert harmonica man from performing "you are my sunshine" for a conference room full of someone's clients, while placating her callers with "She's here, but she's unable to come to the phone at the moment." It never works.
"Why? What's she doing?" they ask.
"I don't know." I say. "If I had to guess I'd say she's meditating on something her son did one time. Call back in an hour."

Earlier this week she even brought her kids to the office.
Guess how that went.

When Amphibians Come to Visit

In case I hadn't fully realized the extent of the moisture issue in the basement...
Troy found a salamander down there today.














Yep. I'd say it's a little damp in the cellar.

I was slightly freaked out when I heard about it because the only salamanders I've ever seen are the ones that are found primarily IN the water. I was picturing a little creek and some ferns growing next to the washer and dryer... But as it turns out there isn't any standing water downstairs, and this particular critter is a Western Red-Backed salamander, who do the majority of their salamandering on the land. I imagine the cool, dark basement was pretty inviting considering how hot it was outside today. Sal was probably just looking for a little respite.
But still.
I'll be cranking up the dehumidifier to "very dry" tonight.

I wonder how he got in there?
And perhaps more importantly - where did he go? He was MIA by the time I got home for lunch. Oh well. As long as he's not showing any giant spiders the way in, I think it'll be ok.

Then again, maybe the basement has nothing to do with it at all. Maybe woodland creatures are just naturally drawn to me for some reason. Ask me some time about the day I discovered a snake in the air duct, or the time I found a live crawdad on top of my car, in the parking lot at Safeway.


(Update: Later that night Sal reappeared, and I was able to capture and release him into the wilds of a forested park near my house. Hooray!)

Under New Management

As I've mentioned before, I just love when the agents bring their kids to the office. And then leave them to pester me while they go to work, apparently in a sound-proof room where they can't hear the shrieking and the giggling and the crying. Hello? Am I not also working? No, no I'm not. Not when your 7 year old is climbing up my legs, attempting to slap me in the face and then laughing like crazy while I'm trying to take a call from a potential client. Yeah. I love that. It's really great for business.

You know the type. Real cute and innocent at first, but once mom is out of the picture, the kid turns into some kind of diabolical ninja monkey, who can think of nothing more entertaining than causing me physical pain.

When I pleaded with my petite charge to please be quiet and PLEASE, please stop beating me up, the little terror came right out and demanded a bribe.

"Ok." She said, "Do you have any money? Give me twenty-five cents."

Feeling like this was actually a pretty good deal, I searched all over my desk for a quarter. No luck.

"Crap! I don't have any change."

"Well, where's your wallet?"

"I'm not telling you. But I only have $20's anyway."

"Yeah!"

"No, you're not getting my wallet. Ow! Tell you what. I'll give you... the office. This entire office is yours. Congratulations, now leave me alone."

"The office is mine? Cool."

She stopped pinching my arm and went off to draw on some star-shaped paper. I figured she was satisfied with our little 'deal.' However, when I came back to my desk a few minutes later, I found a thumbtack on my chair, and this stuck to my computer monitor:




















Evidently, I've been 'kikt' out of my own workplace.
Fine by me.


Speaking of finding notes on my desk, The Post-It Gallery has been updated.

Happy Friday!

Link Day

Train Car Murals, A.K.A., 'Graffiti'

Also, the Museum of Bad Art

And, Flash Fighters animation

And last but not least, The Continuing Misfortunes of Simple Graphics Man

Vacation Photos

As a true testiment to the fact that there are just WAY too many people in the world these days, I came back to work to discover that one of the new agents at the office knew exactly where our little remote, primitive, cabin in (the middle-of-nowhere) woods was - because he had floated by it during a rafting trip. More than once.

Aargh. So much for 'getting away.'

Anyway, here is photographic evidence that I was there.




















Once you reach the end of the 'road' (dry creek-bed full of boulders bordering a steep drop into the river canyon) you'll see this and know you've arrived at last. Here T'is.






















The large set of horns, I was told, were found years ago washed up along the edge of the river. Evidently Elk aren't always the best swimmers. The other horns are from deer who were ruthlessly massacred with bullets.


















The view from the porch. Judging by the position of the sun (which is how you tell time at the cabin) it's about 7:30am. What the heck am I doing up so early!?






















Anytime of day is a good time to catch fish. Especially if you are a master fly-fisherman like my Dad, pictured here with his assistant, Gilly.


















And there's Noodle! She is on the sandbar with my nephew, waiting for someone to throw a stick. Or a ball. Or something.


















Aunt Cami was happy to help facilitate that. Little D. reaches for a stick to toss to the eagerly awaiting dogs.


















We swam a lot. Noodle wouldn't let me go out too deep, she kept wanting to sit in my lap and keep me close to shore. Life Guard dog!

















Playing la guitarra on the porch. The audience goes wild.






















We also hiked up to Bear Lake, which is in an alpine area previously ravaged by forest fires. It's eerily quiet up there.

















Again with the stick fetching.






















Troy takes a mountain-top siesta


















Back at camp, there's a place for everyone.























This was on the door of a neighboring cabin. I thought it was hilarious. "Love, Sue."






















I built an Inukok (Semblance of Man) on the river bank - inspired by 'People of the Deer,' a Farley Mowat book I read while I was there. Rock Man got a lot of 'touchdown' jokes.






















The ultimate happy camper. I had to cut myself and Troy out of this photo because we look like... well, like we've been living in the woods for a week.


















And of course you know what the drive home was like. I was probably just grumpy because someone was hogging my pillow.

Did You Miss Me?

I'm back! Back from 9 days of camping, swimming, fishing, napping, eating, and generally just lazing around a cabin in the woods of Northern Idaho. I feel very refreshed. Pictures will be up shortly. They'll be a lot like last September's post "99 Photos Of Noodle in the Woods" only, with more Noodle. And more people. And a different body of water.

Now, while the vacation itself was supremely relaxing, I can’t say the same for the 13 hour drive home in the crowded cab of my parent’s new truck. With my parents. With my mom, who felt the need (in her innocent, well-meaning, totally annoying way) to give a running commentary of the entire drive home.

We couldn't agree on a CD or radio station to listen to, so it was just road noise and Mom the whole way. She told stories we had heard already. She asked irrelevant questions and answered them with her own irrelevant speculation. “Wow, those trees are really close together, aren’t they? I bet you couldn’t even walk between them! I don’t think you could even walk between those trees, they’re so close together.”

She talked incessantly, reading every road sign, pointing out all of the obvious landmarks and places of interest, narrating each turn and straightaway. With Mom in the car, you can’t be alone with your own thoughts for 30 seconds without hearing “Oh look, we’re in Mulino. Moo-LINE-oh.” And “Only 280 miles to Portland!”

The rest of us would sit in silence wondering who exactly she was talking to, since we could all read the road signs for our damn selves. We could not escape the road signs. Anyone who has ever ridden in a car before KNOWS there's not much else to look at BESIDES the road signs and things immediately bordering the ROAD. But before any of us could even consider a response, she’d be off again with “That guy's hauling a boat” and “There’s the Char Burger restaurant.”

Yes, Mom. There it is.

My Dad, doing all he could do to get us there already, was eventually pulled over by a state cop for speeding. “Don’t say anything” he instructed Mom, who was in the passenger seat, already going off about how speed laws are different for passing lanes and didn’t the cop know that. “Ok.” She said, folding her hands in her lap and looking like she might actually be quiet for once. The officer approached the driver’s side window.

“Hello sir. I stopped you because you were doing 77 in a 65.”

“...passing lane??" Mom whispered from her side of the car, with her hand over her mouth, as though to fool the officer into thinking someone else had said it.

“Well the car you passed was going 64, so that’s not really an excuse.” He replied, before explaining how the radar gun works and how there’s really no need to make exuses at all when you’ve been caught speeding, passing lane or no. “Just say Oops and Sorry” He instructed my Dad, who said “Oops. Soory” (Canadian for sorry.)

“I’ll be right back with your license” said the cop, turning to go back to his car. Before he had even taken 2 steps, my mom, ever the trouble-maker, piped up again with “Well, he’s a cocky little bastard, isn’t he!?”

Mind you, ALL the windows on the truck were open.
“Mom!” I hissed, “Hey!” my Dad scolded, “Holy F-ing Christ!” Troy exclaimed.

Fortunately, the cop (who was actually being very polite) didn’t hear any of it. Or at least, he didn’t let on that he had. And since my Dad apologized (and doesn’t have any outstanding warrants) we were even let go without a ticket.

When Mom tells the story now (I had to hear it twice just on the way home) the speeds of my Dad and the woman he was passing (in the passing lane!) have been changed, and she refers to my Dad as a ‘Scoff-Law.’ Of course, there is no reference to the fact the she almost got us all in serious trouble. I mean, I really had to restrain myself from killing her when she started filing her nails. As loud as possible.

Shhhhk-shhhk. Shhhhk. Shhhhhhhhkkk. Shhhk-a shhhhk-a. “Oh look Cam, horses. Is that one a Paint? I think that one’s a Paint. Do you see them Cam? The horses? Hey, there’s a Toyota Prius.” Shhhhhhk-a. Shhhhhk.

13 hours.

I may need another vacation. Especially considering some of the agents at my office didn't even realize I was gone. Those cocky little bastards.

Gone Fishin'

Come back in a week.
That's what I'm gonna do.
Yay vacation!

Best Monday EVER

I was the first one to arrive at the office Monday morning. I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and immediately noticed that an alarm was going off. It wasn't the regular alarm, to which I have a code for disarming. No, it was a much higher pitched alarm, going off in our server room behind a locked door.

Huh.
That's nice.
I wonder what it means?

I found the key to the server room, went in and... yep. That's a really loud alarm. I could not figure out where exactly it was coming from, or how to get it to stop. I pushed buttons, unplugged things, flipped switches. Nothing happened.

Then the agents arrived. "What's that sound?!" They all asked me.
Then the phone began to ring. And ring and ring and ring and ring and ring.

I soon realized that I was unable to transfer calls. Our phone system was all out of whack, and had been all weekend. Everybody decided to call at the same time to ask me if the phones had been fixed. ALL the lines were busy, there was a stupid alarm going off, and I couldn't transfer calls.

I went to the computer to see if I could email the tech department an S.O.S.

No internet. Page not found. Cannot detect server.

"What's that alarm Cameron?"
"Hey - I can't access my voicemail!"
"RING-RING!"
"Can you shut that noise off!?"
"Why doesn't the internet work?"
"RING-RING"
"All I'm getting is a busy signal!"
"Hey, is our server down?"
"RING-RING!"

I ran away to try and find the source of the alarm again. That's when I realized that over the weekend, A CAR HAD CRASHED INTO THE BUILDING. Glass everywhere. Broken bricks. The driver had taken out two parking signs and a tree before launching her Celica through our floor to ceiling windows, spraying the office with glittering shards of glass.

This had caused our power to go out.
And our phone lines to go down.
And our server to shut off.
And our back-up server was blaring its discontent at having a dead battery.
I got to tell this story about a billion times that day.

Whee!! Just when I thought I was getting bored with my job.


Oh, wait...

Nope.

Still bored.

Photographic Trickery

Is fun!





















Even crafty little 12 year olds in 1917 England could do it. Fakers!


More from the Museum of Hoaxes

I'm Not Here

This conversation happened on the phone at work yesterday:


"Good morning, X Real Estate, this is Cameron."

"Who? What is this?"

"X Real Estate. My name is Cameron. How can I help you?"

"Oh. I was referred by The Housing."

"... The Housing?"

"Yeah"

"... I'm sorry, what does that mean?"

"What?"

"What does that mean? The Housing?"

"They gave me your number"

"Ok... What can I do for you?"

"They told me I should call you"

"Um... are you looking to buy or sell a house?"

"Yeah"

"Oh. Ok. And are you working with a realtor?"

"A what?"

"A realtor"

"You're a realtor?"

"No. I'm the receptionist. Are you currently working with a realtor?"

"That's why I called."

"... Ma'am, that doesn't answer my question."

"I dunno, they just told me to call you"

"Do you need a realtor to help you find a house?"

"Yeah"

"Ok, let me transfer you to our broker. She will select someone from our office to work with you."

"Aren't you going to help me?"

"Not if you are unable to communicate and don’t even know why you’re calling ma'am. Please hold while I make the transfer."



Luckily, I'm not fired. In fact, stay tuned for an upcoming post called "Promotion! What Happens When You Slack Off Enough at a Job You're Getting Sick Of"