King of the Pushups

Dang, I posted this one late. Time for me to DOZE OFF!

–Atlas Sleepski

I’ve left Sterling Cooper for another job because Sterling Cooper wasn’t as advertised. I’ve been away from the office for about a week now, but one of my former colleagues sent along an image her latest project:

This would make me want to cut my wrists

According to Peggy, she has to cut 22 triangles out of 800 cards. That’s 17,600 triangles, or 52,800 cuts. This is perhaps the biggest reason I left Sterling Cooper in the first place: All I was ever asked to do was stand and cut shit out. And boy am I glad I left before THIS shit started. I don’t know what happened to the “participate in critiques” and the “work on design projects” spiel that was posted on the Sterling Cooper web site because “bitch work” is all I was ever asked to do.

The new gig is off to a good start, but I already miss Miss Holloway. All the time we spent together coming and going, in and out and in and out and in and out at the office…

*Sniff*.

Goodbye, Miss Holloway, you will be missed.

Afishionados,

Behold! The new box art for Microsoft’s upcoming¹ Windows 7! At least, what the box art would look like if I were designing the packaging.

I have installed Windows XP on my otherwise-fully-functional Mac because I’ve grown quite fond of some of Telltale Games’ adventure games. While they are far from resource-intensive pigs, they do require Windows in order to run. Sadness, I know .

Anyway, after infecting installing Windows XP, I was all set to go (or so I thought) until I tried to join my wireless network, which failed every time I tried to connect. Windows could see the network and the computer connects just fine under Mac OS X (so it wasn’t a hardware issue). However, Windows XP continued to fail for unknown reasons.

After a quick Google Search™ for a solution via the iPhone, I found a Microsoft support document² with information and a download to resolve the issue. I restarted into Mac OS X in hopes of downloading and applying said patch but was greeted with a lovely “Windows Genuine Advantage” screen instead of a download link.

For those not in the know, Windows Genuine [Dis]Advantage is Microsoft’s way of ‘protecting’ the consumer from fraudulent copies of Windows. At least that’s what they want you to think. In reality, it’s Microsoft’s way of making sure you aren’t running a pirated copy of their shitty operating system. You can’t download updates for Windows if it doesn’t pass the test.

Well, you can see how this is quite the conundrum. Obviously Mac OS X wouldn’t pass the WGA test so I couldn’t use THAT to download the file. And Windows has to verify itself as legal, authentic, legit, etc. over the Internet in order to obtain this file, yet the whole PURPOSE of the patch is to fix my inability to connect in the first place! Boggles the mind.

I ended up running an ethernet cable (so 2008, I know) from the router directly to the the computer, booting into Windows, and authenticating my copy for the download. Happily³, all is well in the world of Windows XP Professional and connecting to my wireless network.

Oh, I nearly forgot what is arguably the best part: My copy of Windows XP Professional is not ‘authentic’ by any means. Nor is my copy of Windows Vista Ultimate [Piece of Shit]. But you can bet your ass BOTH of them pass the WGA test every time I install them, so you can see how effective THAT fuckin’ system is.

I will never in a million years understand how anybody can stand to use Windows, let alone try and defend it as superior to the competition.

And speaking of the competition, Google has announced their own operating system. Is it just me, or does their logo look like a goddamn Simon?

¹Well, Microsoft claims Windows 7 will be released on time. Skeptics, get out your calendars…
²An oxymoron if ever there was.
³As happy as one CAN be when using Windows

Afishionados,

I’ve been preparing for a psychology test tomorrow and to say that it’s been an excruciatingly dull couple of hours does not do proper justice to the the abysmal magnitude of boredom that I have experienced. I began with the history of psychology…. ZZZZZzzzzzz….. Oh, shit, sorry. I fell asleep again. From there, I moved on to a repeat of 8th grade anatomy of nerves and how senses work. Apparently nothing has changed since then, as my visual senses have demonstrated. The only redeeming portion (if such a thing exists) is the bit about Freud. The guy may well be full of shit, but at least his bizarre theories of sex and aggression are more interesting than reading about how the sense of smell is converted to a neural pulse. Unfortunately, the textbook leaves out all the good parts about Freud’s cocaine use.

The material is so uninteresting to me that I have created this chart to help you better understand:

The designer in me wants to make this into a shirt and wear it to class just to see what would happen.

Malicious (Malicios?) Intent is a blogger who’s been known to visit Old Fish and Lemonade from time to time. I think she musta fell into this shithole while dodging the cow pies in a Melbourne pasture. Anyway, she has her own blogging award that various folks have earned¹, the most recent recipient being Catalyst.

Now, one of Mal’s favorite² bloggers is Joey Polanski. And it was he who noticed that her name was, in fact, spelled wrong on the award. Can you believe that a friggin Polack was the first to notice this?

Now, neither Joey nor myself has been bestowed with a Malicious Intent Award of our own, let alone granted access to Malicious Intent’s super-secret blog (though we have passed out on the doorstep after feverishly ringing the doorbell to be let in). But, if there’s one thing we’re not, it’s a sore loser. And just because the two of us can’t catch and keep her attention, that doesn’t mean that everyone who has been able to needs to be stuck with an award containing a typo.

And so, without further ado, I humbly present each and every Malicious Intent Award winner with the updated award. Please replace those you have won with this, the correct and final version. Thank you, and congratulations.

¹I can only presume that they are earned and not simply handed out. Without proper access to the blog and not having received one of my own, I regret to inform you that Old Fish and Lemonade is unable to authenticate how the award is, in fact, dispersed.

²She’s a huge fan. Really.

Shaving has got to be one of the biggest annoyances in the morning. I don’t like the skin irritation or the mess, so I’ve only been shaving once every week or two these past few months, and even then I’ve been using an electric razor. Unfortunately, it seems I may have to give it up altogether, as my sink is now clogged and is putting up the good fight against the Drano.

Oh, well. It was damn hard getting my legs up on the counter, anyway, let alone fitting them in the sink. I guess my legs will just hafta go hairy from now on.

Afishionados,

I’ve got a bad cold, and so I decided to make myself some chicken noodle soup. Microwaved from a Campbell’s can, just like mom used to reheat. This part went rather well, actually. I also filled a glass with ice cubes, as a means to chill my delicious Coca-Cola (I’m am addict). This part went okay, too. The problem came when I went for the pour. Because my eyes, with tears flowing like water from Niagara Falls, and my runny nose, with snot running like water from Niagara Falls, I felt my way to the open can of Coke like Ray Charles in a maze (not at Niagara Falls) and went to pour it into my frosty glass. But I missed the glass and poured it directly into my bowl of chicken noodle soup instead. But, I’m so sick, I didn’t even fucking care. I ate the soup anyway. It’s not like I could taste anything anyway.

Afishionados,

Target gift cards specify “Ages 1½+” in the lower right-hand corner. And, honestly, what child wouldn’t want a nice plastic gift card in place of a toy? Remember, your kids are never too young to start being a part of corporate greed!

This post comes with fine print. You must agree to the following terms and conditions before reading this post. If you do not agree, click here to go to a happy place.

By reading this post you agree with everything written, said, and/or posted on this blog. By reading this post you acknowledge that you might be one of (though certainly not limited to) the following:

Article I.

1. An Ubercunt.
2. An alcoholic.
3. An Evil Bitch.
4. A drug addict.
5. An absolute waste of human life.
6. A vindictive asshole.
7. A hypochondriac.
8. A liar.

By printing this post or any part of Old Fish and Lemonade and mailing it to ANY attorney you agree to ALL of the following:

Article II.

1. You agree to pay me $15,000 in cash.
2. You’re not worthy of the air you breathe.
3. Everything that I say is always right.
4. You’re completely incapable of doing anything for yourself because you can’t stand up to your parents.
5. I am absolutely fucking awesome.

If you do not agree with ALL of the above you are in violation of the terms and conditions hereby in effect immediately by order of the Awesome King as of this moment on Friday, November 30th in the year of our Lord 2007.

These terms and conditions do not apply to “Fellow Inmates” with the exception of Article II: Section 5.

::Whew:: Sorry about that. It seems that my Fairy Tale post has ruffled some feathers so I had to add a disclaimer for this one. Now, on with the post. And remember, NO PRINTING AND MAILING to attorneys without agreeing to the terms and conditions of this blog. Any similarities to persons or things in real life, no matter how guilty those persons or things’ consciences may be, is pure coincidence.

Once upon a time in Magical Happy Land there lived an Evil Bitch. She was annoying, had short hair, and hunched a lot.

The Evil Bitch could never do anything without the permission of the mentally unstable Ubercunt. No matter how much she thought she was independent, the Evil Bitch was not capable of thinking for herself or making decisions on her own, for fear of upsetting the Ubercunt. Upsetting the Ubercunt would only lead to panic attacks, severe dramatic upchucking, and a fast, albeit pointless, trip to the Room of Emergency.

One day, the Ubercunt got it in her head to continually pester the Awesome King by making shit up and sending him copies of his fairy tales by means of a Loiyar. Though the Ubercunt considered herself a super hero, the reality is that she was nothing more than a fat Ubercunt in really bad tights.

One of the claims of the Ubercunt and the Evil Bitch was that the Awesome King had been “text messaging derogatory messages” to the Ubercunt’s phone. This was not at all true, however, and the Awesome King would be MORE THAN HAPPY AND WILLING to submit the last few records of his cell phone statements as proof. After all, the Awesome King only gets 200 text messages a month with His Majesty’s Service Plan, and why would he waste them on the Ubercunt when he’s since met so many beautiful women at college and work?

The Ubercunt and the Evil Bitch also feared that a specific line from the Awesome King’s Fairy Tale was a threat to their life. “If only they could be silenced forever”. The Awesome King was confused by their reaction to a fictitious tale, and certainly never planned to take the lives of anyone. Especially not with gas at $3.15 a gallon. Sadly, the Ubercunt and Evil Bitch were gravely mistaken if they thought that the Awesome King cared enough to travel so far to do such things. No, children, the Awesome King would never do that. The Awesome King never meant it as a death threat. But no one ever said that the Ubercunt or the Evil Bitch were intelligent and that the Awesome King’s schedule certainly did not revolve around them and their guilty consciences.

In the end, the Awesome King also reminded the Ubercunt and the Evil Bitch that there existed, even in Magical Happy Land, the Bill of Rights. The Bill of Rights happened to include the First Amendment, which states:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

This gave the Awesome King the ability to continue to write his fictitious stories and share them with his followers and admirers throughout all of Magical Happy Land.

And so, the Awesome King continued to live a happier life with his newfound friends from school and work and the memories of much, MUCH happier times.

My sister, her husband, and their children are in town for the Thanksgiving holiday weekend. My nephew is 4 and my niece is 1-and-a-half. I love them and usually it’s good to see all of them, but there are moments when I wish that the kids were still in Cleveland where they belong. For example:

My nephew, Austin, is mostly potty trained. I say mostly because he can do everything except wipe his own ass. A skill that, in my opinion, is essential to human survival and one that everyone should possess. Unfortunately, Austin hasn’t quite reached this milestone yet.

A few days ago, I found myself alone in the house with just Austin and Kevin, my other sister’s fiance’. Kevin and I were sitting at the kitchen table surfing the Internet when Austin decided to run like hell to the bathroom (which is just outside the kitchen) and shut the door. Aside from the speed at which the child had moved, I didn’t think much of it. And then the door slowly creaked open, and the a small, squeaky voice announced, “Uncle Atlas, I pooped!”

At first I thought that perhaps Satan was just a soprano and was playing an evil trick on me. And then the voice spoke again. “Uncle Atlas, I said I poooooooooooooped!” I looked at Kevin and he looked at me. His ashen face was like that of a deer’s just mere moments before a van drives into it at 100 MPH.

“Not it,” he said to me as Austin continued to stand in the doorway, pants around his ankles and continuing with the updated status reports of what he had just accomplished.

Kevin is a doctor and a future pediatrician. Apparently, the noxious fumes from Austin’s festering floaters had permeated his brain, causing cell damage and creating a momentary lapse in memory and judgment. Clearly, Kevin was misinformed. And so I took it upon myself to correct his misguided outlook.

“I’m a graphic designer. You’re the pediatrician. If Austin needs crayons or coloring books, I’m there for him. But if there’s chunks in his cheeks, that’s your line of work. Start wiping.”

In the end (no pun intended), Austin wiped his own ass and Kevin gave a thorough inspection. Austin had done just fine by himself, washed his hands, and stepped out from the bathroom. As he approached the table, I congratulated him on his success. “Good job, Austin. Today, you became a man!”

I had a similar experience with Austin this past summer, when I really was the only one (besides him) in the house. My sister and my mother had gone out shopping, and Austin told me that he had to poop. So I did what any paranoid man would do: I sent a text message to both their cell phones.

“Austin has to poop. Come home soon.”

Thankfully, my ingenious plan worked and they arrived within minutes. Of course, I was prepared and had a backup plan in place. If mom and sis had not returned in time, Austin would have been stripped naked and placed safely and securely in a bathtub full of water until someone (anyone) came home.