Jonny Copp, a well-known mountain climber and adventurer who grew up in Fullerton, has been found dead on the side of Mount Edgar, China, the apparent victim of an avalanche, according to a variety of websites, including his own.
Three words that come to mind when I hear someone introduced as an “adventurer”: Die, die, die . . .
I went to a 50th wedding anniversary mass today. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead at such a thing but in this case the husband and wife also happen to be my parents so not only was I there, I was there bright and early to hand out programs.
Fifty years! How do a man and a woman celebrate with each other such longevity and perseverance?
Honey, I want to say something to you tonight that I’ve never said before, although I’ve had it in my heart for many, many years.
Three little words . . .
. . . let’s try anal . . .
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I’ve got a little list–I’ve got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed–who never would be missed!
People who use the word “bandwidth” to mean “time,” as in “I’ll see if Sally has the bandwidth to handle that.”
Analog signals have bandwidth, communication channels have bandwidth . . . people don’t have bandwidth.
People “complaining” about their busy lives. Cancel some activities and shut the hell up.
Drinking in the morning has an undeservedly bad reputation . . .
Of course, it’s a three-day holiday weekend and if I want to start the day by enlivening an otherwise ordinary glass of cola with a splash of tequila, that’s nobody’s business but mine.
But I also think that on weekdays, most workplaces would be more interesting and fun if people had a glass or two of wine before coming in to the office . . .
People who run a family business and call it, for example, Dawson & Dawson. That’s stupid. Call it The Dawson Company. Or Dawson, Inc.
What if another family member joins the business? Do you rename it Dawson, Dawson & Dawson?
The only acceptable reason for doing this is if the people involved are completely unrelated but both happen to be named Dawson.
‘Top Gun’s’ McGillis ‘done with the man thing’
Wow . . . she’ll make a nice tuna sandwich for some lucky lesbo.
I remember when I saw her naked in Witness. I had an erection lasting more than four hours and had to call my doctor.
He said don’t worry about it, he had the same thing . . .
Katie Couric talks about Twitter:
I don’t think anybody gives a rat’s ass whether I am about to eat a tuna sandwich. I don’t even care. Some of it is so inane and narcissistic and bizarre I don’t quite get it. I don’t know why anyone would want to read it, much less why I would want to write it.
Unless “tuna sandwich” is a code phrase for “vagina.” In that case, I’d be very interested to read about Katie Couric eating a tuna sandwich . . .
On weekends, I’m the king of the sofa at my house. Let me tell you, there’s lazy, and then there’s Sofa King lazy, and I’m the latter.
I nap in one of two positions: facing the front of the sofa or on my back.
Lately I’ve been thinking about adding a new weapon to my arsenal — the Bumstead Maneuver, as popularized by Dagwood Bumstead.
You can see from the illustration that Bumstead is actually taking a nap facing the back of the sofa!
Blogging experts recommend posing a question in your posts, in order to artificially engage the readership, so here goes . . .
Does anyone have any thoughts, pro or con, on adding the Bumstead Maneuver to my repertoire?
I’m reading a recommendation on LinkedIn, written by a person I know for another person I know.
Unbeknownst to the vast majority of people who’ll read the recommendation, these two people used to date each other. I know I’m a bad person but I can’t help mentally adding “…in bed” to the end of each sentence.
Try it:
Cleopatra is an absolute pleasure to work with. While working together, I found her to be a consummate professional. Clearly, her keen attention to detail is without equal. . . .
You get the idea . . .
Two women are talking in the lunch room. One is wearing a black pullover sweater.
The other woman says, “I like your sweater.”
“Thanks. It’s long, so it covers my ass.”
“That’s what I like about it. Not that it covers your ass, but that it would cover my ass.”
I’m speechless . . .
The sweater isn’t covering her ass, her pants are covering her ass, and the sweater is covering the pants!
It’s a total misread of the geometry of the situation!
I’ve learned a lot from James Bach, but when I looked at his new blog , I couldn’t get past this sentence:
I had no idea Jack Welch, former CEO of GE, was such an interesting thinker.
Jack Welch!? Really?! Jack Welch is Satan in a suit . . .
Facebook exchange:
1st woman: Why does my 15-year-old son ALWAYS have to push his boundaries???
2nd woman: Same reason you and I did at 15
Yeah — bad parenting.
If you haven’t figured out what your kid is all about long before he turns 15, you’re both fucked.
Sorry, but I ain’t Doctor Fuckin’ Phil. I’m bringin’ it!
Effective immediately, I’m going to start de-friending everyone who sends a Facebook status update about how glad they are that it’s Friday, how glad they are that it’s Thursday because it’s almost Friday, how gloomy they are because it’s Monday, how they hate to be at work, blah blah blah et fucking cetera.
SHUT UP LOSERS! Stop wasting your life and mine with this nonsense!
Find an activity that you love and engage in it . . .
An optimist sees a green light everywhere; a pessimist sees only the red light. The truly wise person is colorblind.
A true optimist is a man who can look in a toilet bowl and see only corn.
If anyone ever told you there’s no reason to learn math in school, they are absolutely right!
Americans are so mathematically illiterate that you’re better off learning to speak Klingon if you want anyone to understand you.
I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve walked through a mathematical demonstration of some concept and gotten back a reply like “Well I don’t see any reason why . . .” or “Let’s have a meeting to discuss that.”
God, it’s painful.
If you’re still in school, don’t bother learning any more math than you absolutely have to. It’ll just come back to haunt you.
Several ordinary life stories, if told in rapid succession, tend to make life look far more pointless than it really is, probably.
To update that quote for modern times, replace “ordinary life stories, if told” with “Facebook status updates, if read.”
Oh the vapidity . . .
There was a troubled-looking guy in Petco this afternoon giving away packets of Natural Balance dog food. He looked like a meth addict or something.
As I walked past him, he mumbled, without making eye contact, “Want some free dog food?”
“My dog won’t eat that shit,” I said, which is not true, but it certainly took the wind out of his sails.
Now you might say I wasn’t very charming but by verbally assaulting him in that way, I was motivating him to rehabilitate himself and get a real job.
Tough love . . .
The CFO announced at our all-company meeting this morning that one of our colleagues had fallen down the main stairwell at the office yesterday.
(That stairwell has a marble-like tile surface, so if you were to take a fall on it, it’s gonna leave a mark, no question about it.)
As a result, the stairwell is closed until the building architect can figure out a way to make it “safer.”
One clumsy person ruins it for all of us.
I thought about raising my hand and proposing that those of us who like to live dangerously be allowed to sign a waiver acknowledging that we’re willing to walk up and down the stairs at our own risk.
But I didn’t. I just sat there.
Then a strange thing happened . . .
Others began to raise their hands and weigh in on the uneven surfaces, the depth perception in the stairwell being off somehow, etc., and as they did, the futility of what was happening seemed to grab me by the throat . . . I felt something — hope? resolve? IQ points? — draining out of my skull, so I discreetly got up and left the meeting — my silent, feeble protest against what’s happened to us as Americans.
On the bright side, at least she wasn’t in a car accident. I’d have to ride my bike to work . . .
