That Wasn't So Bad

Thanks to all those willing to bear the mantle of suckage that I might have a better day. it worked because yesterday had it's ups and downs, but I figure I broke even.
I'm trying something a little different at work. I listen to Internet Radio and within the realm of Internet Radio I listen almost exclusively to Awesome 80's. Today however, I am trying AP News (Associated Press), just to have a background noise, because I am to distracted by the Awesome 80's to get actual work accomplished.
That being said, is anyone following the bird flu thing.

Influenza struck without warning in the fall of 1918 and with catastrophic effect. 550,000 Americans died over the next few months (few months!), a casualty toll exceeding U.S. combat deaths during World Wars I-II, the Korean and Vietnam Wars combined. Approximately fifty times this number, around twenty-five million persons in the Uniteds States, contracted the virulent influenza strain and survived.

The thing about influenza was that it appeared, killed, then stopped. It is still an unknown as to what caused, or why it stopped. We were never able to due anything.
Kind of like...Avian Flu.

Dear Diary

I'm not used to doing a 'Dear Diary' format, but if you're going to grow as a person, you have to try new things.
This morning was ok. Trying to find a parking spot sucked a little bit, but I eventually did find one. Got my Dunkin' Donuts coffee, so that was good. Am at work now, so that sucks. Work is bad for people. It sucks.
More later as the day unfolds. Although I'm pretty sure it will probably suck.

I like this one

Your Brain's Pattern

You have a dreamy mind, full of fancy and fantasy. You have the ability to stay forever entertained with your thoughts. People may say you're hard to read, but that's because you're so internally focused. But when you do share what you're thinking, people are impressed with your imagination.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Is that dog crap on a paper plate?

I work nights, roughly four to midnight, so if I go home for dinner it's usually dark out. Tonight I went home and had some taco fixin's and decided to walk the dog after I ate.
Some background on the dog. He was six months old when we freed him from the humane society five and a half years ago. Other than peeing on the hallway floor the very first time he entered the home, he has never had an 'accident' since. We have walked him faithfully for the past five and a half years. A major part of the regimen of walking the dog is carrying a plastic bag and a couple of paper plates. Why paper plates you ask? That is because from the time he first joined us, it seemed like a clever and sanitary way to deal with the dogcrap in the first few moments of purging from his little dog body. A paper plate is easy to pop into a plastic bag for transport to a receptacle. It also gives the dog a big target to hit, even though, I think we all would agree, he really couldn't care less about hitting any targets.
So, I pack a plastic bag and two paper plates and I'm off with the dog into the night.
He's all excited because Fall has arrived and the air is crisp and dried leaves are everywhere. Dog sensory overload to be sure. We got about to the halfway point and he starts to squat and pinch a loaf. As always, I had a plate at the ready and successfully had it in place before doggie gifts started dropping. The dog finished, now stretching his legs and sighing that relief that comes from doing honest hard work. I lived through his happiness vicariously and then reached into my pocket for the plastic bag. But what plastic bag? The plastic bag I had felt in my pocket earlier was now gone! Shit! What are my options? Well, only one really. I can' t leave the plate, because everyone knows who the only person that uses paper plates is. Stuck with the only avenue open to me I pick up the plate and start to search for the bag. That would be the brown plastic supermarket bag resting in the leaves somewhere in the last three blocks...in the dark. i must discreetly traverse back to the home with hopefully no one noticing. Which of course, was never meant to be. Out of the darkness comes a neighbor.
Neighbor: Yank! How's it goin'?
Me: Not too bad. Just walkin' the dog.
Neighbor: I see that. Whatcha got there?
Me: Paper plate.
Neighbor: Is that dog crap on your paper plate?
Me: Yeah, I lost the plastic bag. I'm trying to find it now.
Neighbor: Oh, that makes sense. [unsolicited advice] Maybe you should carry two plastic bags.
Me: Shut up asshole! I already feel like a moron, walking through the neighborhood with a paper plate full of dog crap. [Then out loud I said] Thanks! You're absolutely right! Sure would've made lif a lot easier! G'night!
I found the bag two houses away from my own.

[Author's Note: The plate was folded at all times]

Daydreams

day·dream
n.
A dreamlike musing or fantasy while awake, especially of the fulfillment of wishes or hopes.

I was pathetically whining to [insert a generic female faux name here] that I needed to write something and that I didn't want it to be some cathartic crap, which is ultimately boring, and in my head I'm thinking I want to top the 'Believing in God is like being Drunk' entry which I take a lot of pride in, but blah, blah, blah, anyway...I need something amazing. She said, "write about your daydreams". Brilliant is what I say now (after a bottle of wine) when earlier I thought it was just intriguing.
Daydreams. What do I daydream about? Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Wine. The freeflow of ideas should be more insightful with you on board.
Simple things at first. DisneyWorld. Yes, I really do in fact daydream about Disney World. I have been approximately six times including my honeymoon, and I do find it to be the happiest place on Earth. Thinking about it is always relaxing because I dwell on how the entire facility, or complex if you will, is designed and devoted to entertaining me in minute detail. Everything is thought of to make me happy while I'm there and things I never would've thought of are taken care of too.
Quick sidenote: I have to thank my terribly hot cousin for the term flights of fancy that she uses in her writing because that is what I'm thinking this is. (Drunkblogging is such a medieval phrase, and yet, 'flights of fancy' is picturesque. However make no mistake, I am drunk) *hic*
So, on with my daydreams/flights of fancy:
A controversial matter. Can I think of one. Not yet. I daydream about why I have no ability to read people. Why can't people say what they mean. (Oh my, this is such new ground we're breaking!) I confess I'm tired. It's been twenty years since the Eighties, which I believe wholeheartedly was my best decade overall. Each of us has a best year, mine was when I was seventeen, and then logically we have a good or best on average decade. Again, mine was the Eighties.
Oh, shifting gears again, I was saddened the other day watching The Godfather and The Untouchables which are the best, top dogs, cream o'the crop, movies, and I was saddened because they are huge movies and even High Definition TV is never going to equal the magic, yes I used the word 'magic', of seeing a huge picture in a darkened movie theater. With the giant movie screen filling your peripheral vision. There just isn't anything like it, and I can't share that with my kids, which bums me out.
I daydream about how technology makes the past so present but really it's not. I'm over 45 (under 50), so the Fifties and earlier are like when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. It's all an abstract concept. And even in the early Sixties when I was a little kid any memories I have are like not world events like Viet Nam, or Civil Rights, just shit around my house that was happening to me, grade school and such. No world events. Nowadays I wonder with all the statistics on sexual abuse, who in my class in elementary school was being abused. Thinking back on the girls who were I thought aloof at the time, maybe at least a couple of them were being abused, and I didn't know. I was a geeky kid (then and now) and as much as I miss those grade school days, I'm glad they are gone. I think I missed a lot of what was going on and I protected myself with TV.
I was going to make a point earlier about how those of you in your twenties would view the Eities and before as when the very same dinosaurs roamed the Earth, but the analogy is lost now. The wine is good but not for writing. I don't know how Hemingway did it (although I'm quite aware he did it better than me. He wrote whereas I type.