I typed the phrase “Cuente con el pana” into google and it offered me "count on the corduroy". In Ecuador, this phrase actually means “count on the friend”. I am pretty enchanted with the corduroy translation, though. I am going to start using in English. As in, tonight I am going to a movie with a corduroy of mine. Or, I ran into some old corduroys at the bar yesterday. Try it! It’s very fun.
Jobdango is a local employment website, posting ads and hosting resumes for job in the Pacific Northwest. It is the epitome of awful marketing. The “dango” just sounds to jovial to attract any promising employers.
Yesterday, while I was walking own 5th avenue I saw a guy driving a Jobdango Segway. This further solidified my impression of the company’s target audience, future telemarketers and, on a good day, circus performers. As always, Segways make me day.
I was just asked if I read Public Utilities Fortnightly. Did they even have utilities when this word was part of the english lexicon? I am having visions of Robin hood: Men in Tights with solar panels.
Patrick Swayze (1952 - 2009) RIP
All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two, take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it’s absolutely necessary. And three, be nice. [Road House]
If you want the ultimate, you’ve got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. [Point Break]
I want you to believe in yourself, imagine good things and moisturize, I cannot stress this enough. [To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar]
Yesterday on the radio the DJ announced that Cane West and Ree-Ha-Na would be coming up in the next set list. I guess it’s possible to work for a major radio station and not know anything about the artists. Hopefully Kanye and Rihana’s people weren’t listening. This DJ is clearly a pop culture dropout.
Yard work has long been my least favorite kind of work. Since I bought my house, I have been in trying to improve and maintain the small garden patch I call the front yard. I have no allusions of gardening grandeur. My only goal is not to be the worst yard on the block. I am perfectly fine with being the second worst. As long as someone else’s yard is a little more awful, the neighbors won’t think to mention mine.
I have been busy the last couple weeks. The weeds have taken up residence. right next to the blackberries. Last night, I realized I was not going to have any free daylight hours in the near future due to my schedule and also fall’s eminent arrival in Seattle. Fall means turning leaves, pumpkin flavored everything and "daylight hours" from 8 AM to 5 PM.
For all of these reasons, I decided to take care of the weeds when I got home last night, around 8. While I was weeding in the glow of the streetlight, REM’s Gardening at Night kept spinning through my head.
My conclusions are two fold. First, gardening at night is very impractical as it is hard to tell which plants are weeds and which are not. This can be frustrating. Someone should invent night vision weed goggles. I bet you could sell a ton on skymall. Second, more odd concepts from songs should be acted out to evaluate practicality. Next up, seeing my reflection in a snow covered hill.
This week I declined to sign a arbitration agreement. The agreement would have entitled me to $540 next year in exchange for giving up my right to file suit and have the argument heard in court, forever.
I have long said a (liberal) convictions are expensive. Buying local, eating organic, putting up solar panels, etc. can absolutely break the bank. I remember joking when I graduated from college: I am not willing to sell my soul, but I am willing to rent it out for a while, at least until I get the mountainous school loans under control.
Today I am making a note, negative five hundred forty dollars - preserving article 8 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
In the last week I have ordered three meals that usually come with cilantro. Despite my polite request to omit the herb, all three arrived with cilantro; an offensive of varying degree.
The first was a Vietnamese sandwich with three sprigs. I removed them easily and continued my meal. The second was a pico de gallo situation, meaning it chopped up and harder to avoid. The third was today Thai spicy salad, in which the cilantro was EVERYWHERE.
If it were just a preference, I would make a big deal out of it. But it’s not a matter of like or dislike. It more a matter of it makes me feel sick for hours. Eating lunch today meant tiptoeing through a culinary minefield.
With the salad, which was delicious in every other way, I got a fortune cookie. It reads: “You will finally solve a difficult problem that will mean much to you.”
I am hoping that the problem to be resolved will be cilantro. My first choice would be that we make up and become great friends. If that is not possible, the second and more realistic wish is that everyone would stop setting us up on play dates.