I keep writing posts but about halfway through I get bogged down and just stop. Right now there are 16 half-written posts waiting in WordPress for me to finish them. I think I need someone to give my creative juices a swift kick in the butt.
HEY! That was supposed to be a rhetorical kick! Ow!
I got a new monitor.
It’s hard to write at the moment, possibly because each letter I type is about three inches tall on my new 26″ Planar PX2611w monitor because I can’t get my computer to properly sync with it. For some silly reason it keeps defaulting to 1280×720, which makes everything on the screen HUGE!
Wow, writing in all caps DOES hurt.
Anywaste, now that I have this monster I’m looking forward to working on the computer more since everything will be so much… bigger. Bigger is gooder. Mmmm… juicy bigness. Must resist urge to fondle giant monitor…
Man, this thing is huge.
OK, after futzing around I figured out what the problem is, and it suxxors to be me. Apparently, my graphics card is insisting on lowering the resolution of my new monitor to match the resolution of my old monitor, which is 1280×720. This is a bummer since I was hoping to have dual monitors which would have made my life much easier, especially when using Photoshop. I’m going to have to look into this a bit more since I believe I should be able to use different resolutions on two monitors (I know I’ve done it before) but I can’t seem to figure it out right now.
On another note, what the heck’s up (down) with the stock market?!
[edit]
OK, I figured out the problem and now I have two monitors set up as one GIANT monitor! Yay! Also, I am now blind.
So, I’m going insane… insane-er.
The reason I haven’t been writing lately is that every time I start writing I make the mistake of looking at news sites or turning on my TV and I see stuff that makes me unable to write anything funny. A real estate meltdown, a presidential debate, a bank collapsing, a failed bailout, etc. No matter what I start writing about it almost always turns into a diatribe on current events, which is something I didn’t want to ever do. So, instead of writing something fun, I just didn’t write anything at all.
But now I’m bored with not writing.
So, in the hopes of getting SOME sort of writing done on this site, I figured I’d allow myself some small amount of serious posts here and in so doing hopefully write other, more funny, stuff all the other times I post. I have no idea what I’ll be saying, but truth be told, I have a lot of topics to choose from so almost anything goes. I’m not saying these ‘other’ posts won’t be funny or silly, I’m still The Mighty Geek, but they might not be.
You have been warned.
Here’s a little something on a more Geeky note. I’ve been playing around with Google Maps for the last day or so, and I’ve created one that I think might be fun. It’s called “Where in the World is GeekMan?” and it’s a map showing all the hotels I’ve stayed at during my travels. Now, it’s FAR from a complete listing since I’ve only included about the last year and a half of my travels, plus a few others that I remembered off the top of my head, but I’ll be adding every place I travel to from now on and marking where I am with a green thumbtack. Plus, I’ll keep adding all the places I’ve been to in the past as soon as I can remember all of them. And hey, if you see a green thumbtack in your neck of the woods, drop me a line! You never know… you might be lucky enough to score a drink with The Mighty Geek!
Ahem.
The drink would be a very manly Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri, of course. With a little pink paper umbrella. And a crazy straw with a loop-dee-loop. And a cherry on top. But no whipped cream, because I’m lactose intolerant. Huh? What do you mean, “Why a daiquiri?” It’s obvious, isn’t it? Because only a real Man can handle such a manly drink, that’s why. And I’m the fricking Mighty Geek, baby. That’s right. You know you like it. Who’s your daddy? Who’s your Daddy?
I am. I am your Daddy. Boo-Yah.
It be Talk Like A Pirate Day, me maties.
This be arrrrguably, th’ most important date on me calendarrrr. ‘Side me weddin’ t’ me lovely lass, o’course. An’ th’ birth o me darlin’ baby girlie. An’ p’raps th’ time aye found me a shiny new silver pence just lyin’ thar in th’ middle of th’ street jus’ when me ole stomach were grumblin’ fer a bit o Miss O’Shaney’s tasty arrrrrtichoke salad. But never ye mind all that bilge, jus’ ‘member th’ bit that be important. This here be Talk Like A Pirate Day, so when yer at yer office or in yer class or out with yer friends, throw three sheets to th’ wind and talk like a pirate! Yer maties will laugh and join in th’ fun, fer that’s what maties do. And those which don’t give a hearty what for when ye squint one eye, strike a sword-fightin’ pose and go “Arrrr!” in th’ middle o’ th’ comp’ny meeting?
Keelhaul them and plunder their cubicals! ARRRRR!
I got me a new toy.
I’ve been playing with my new Logitech QuickCam Pro 9000 for a few hours now and I’ve got to say, it’s pretty darn cool. I’m amazed at how well it works in low-level lighting situations and the built-in microphone is nearly as good as having a handheld microphone. I originally got a pair of them for the sole purpose of making video calls home to see HoBiscuit and the Mighty Baby whenever I was away for work, but now I’m thinking I might do a few video webcast-type posts. What do the kids call it these days? Podcasting? Vlogging? Idiots with webcams and nothing better to do? Well, whatever it’s called look out interwebbing.
GeekManCam is coming!
My fellow Americans.
How can anyone, no matter what their personal beliefs may be, vote for or against someone based solely on ad campaigns of rhetoric and propaganda without researching for themselves what that person really believes? Please people, I beg of you. Gather information, sift through the talking points, ignore the pundits and find the person worthy of your vote. Most of all, remember that voting with the herd can lead everyone over the cliff.
SmartVote2008
I hate telemarketers.
I especially hate when a telemarketer manages to somehow take me by surprise and elicit a response from me that allows them to launch into their sales pitch before I can diffuse the situation by blowing my ever-present air-horn into the phone and then hang up as the blood shoots out of their now burst eardrums.
Sometimes, I even laugh evilly as I hang up.
However, this morning I received a call from a telemarketer that caught me by surprise and before I realized what was happening, this person had launched into their well-rehearsed spiel. Luckily, I am almost always prepared for just such an emergency, but this time I decided to use a different tactic. This time, instead of playing their game, I decided to make up some new rules and completely confuse the living daylights out of them.
I pretended to speak in tongues.
Oh, I started simply enough, responding to his questions with seemingly innocent answers, but by the time he was asking if I was interested in hearing more about the available plan choices I was replacing every fourth word with a random word I spied in one of the magazines on my desk. So, instead of saying, “I’d love to hear some more about this but I’m a little busy right now.” I actually said, “I’d love to museum some more about jelly but I’m a little kettle right now.”
Of course, the guy just plowed on so I got more inventive.
My response to, “Are you interested in hearing some more about our platinum level membership rewards?” was a rather confusing, “Some dust bunnies ignore the traffic lights when speeding.” This caused him to stutter for a moment before he tried to continue with, “Ma’am,” (I really HATE that people think I sound like a woman on the phone!) “Becoming a platinum level member costs just $59 a year, would you like to sign up now?” So I hit him with, “Rain makes my animal cracker shoes soggy.” About then, he realized he wouldn’t get anywhere with me, but I give him credit for trying one last time with, “If you’ll just give me your credit card number I can sign you up right now.” To which I replied, “Avast! Tall timber falls for which witches falsetto timbre?”
Silence, followed by the disconnection click of victory.
I hate cable.
I’m in the process of researching my next big purchase, a giant flatscreen TV and a home theater PC for my living room, and I’ve run into a wall. A big, stupid, content protection scheme wall and it’s harshing my buzz. All I want to be able to do is connect my HD cable box to the HTPC so the HTPC can control/record anything I want AND let me surf the web or play video games on the big screen TV.
But the cable company doesn’t like that.
Apparently, I’m allowed to connect NON-digital cable to a PC without a problem, but trying to connect cable’s digital signal or HD content to a PC is evil! There are only two methods I’ve been able to discover for getting HD content on a PC, and they both suck donkey tail.
Sometimes life is so very, very cruel.
Inconceivable!
Have you seen the latest commercial for the Chevy Traverse that is being shown during the Olympics? If you haven’t here’s a somewhat clipped version of it. For those too lazy to click the link and watch the video, let me describe it to you via my inner monologue the first time I saw it.
“Commercial time! That means I can go to the bathroom before they get back to showing the women’s beach volleyball quarter finals…”
“What the hell…?”
“Why is there a guy with no shirt on my TV?”
“And why is he ironing something with a PINK iron?”
“What?! Six month anniversary?! Looooserrrr!”
“…”
“That’s a kids dress! For a little girl! Like a child!”
“Holy crap, this guy’s a pedophile!”
“What’s this commercial for?”
“A CAR?!?!?!?!”
“What the HELL does a p-whipped guy ironing little girl clothes have to do with a car?!”
“By the unholy alliance of mayo and pickles, what schmuck in marketing at Chevy thought it was a good idea to greenlight this commercial? How exactly does making Chevy the official pedophiles automobile of choice make any kind of sense?”
“And OMG, now he’s on his knees cleaning the toilet.”
“I think I’m going to need to douse my eyes with bleach to remove this from my head.”
“Chevy, you are sick, sick people. Seek professional help before someone gets hurt. Please.”
It’s haunting my dreams. I’m scared to sleep because if I close my eyes the scary pedophile in the bright red Chevy Traverse is going to drive into my head and steal my soul. I’ll never, ever be able to see a black toilet again without thinking of some shirtless pervert cleaning it. And don’t even get me started on how scary pink irons were BEFORE I saw this commercial.
Somebody hold me.
If you think it tastes just like chicken, why not just eat chicken?