Writing Code

Today's an edgy day in the cubicle. Maybe it's the weather. Or the budget. Or the reorganization. Or the extra summer staff. Whatever.

I've found myself using some code regardless. We all have code, mostly to keep our jobs, marriages, and police record intact. If I weren't so edgy today, I'd say that code is a kinder, gentler way of communicating. But it's really just intended to keep me from creating a wider splatter pattern than necessary.

Here's some of my code... if anybody READS this nearly-nonexistent blog, add some of your own--with explanations if necessary.

Thanks for your input. (Next time keep it to yourself.)

Help me understand... (...why you're not so smart.)

Tell me more about what you mean by "it doesn't work". (Or let me just wave my magic wand over it and "fixit" for you.)

Are you sure this is an argument worth havin'? (Think carefully, because if I'm askin', I can guarantee it's not worth what it's ultimately going to cost.)

I can hear you over my headphones. (Shut up.)

"strongly suggest" (In any sentence, that means you better damn well do it my way.)

What if we thought about that in a different way? (Let's try one that makes sense this time.)

Why, no, officer, I didn't know I was speeding. (Because my speedometer doesn't go that high...)

I'd like to promise I'm going to post more often, but it's summer. Although things are usually curiouser in the summer, so maybe.

Life Lessons, State Fair Version

Every year at the State Fair, I learn new things, and RE-learn other things. Perhaps if I had a better memory, I'd do less RE-learning, but such is life.

Contrary to all logic, the pigs on the list, the pigs on the truck, the pigs that unload, the pigs that get killed, and the pigs that get paid for... will NOT all be the same number. You'd think it would... pigs are "things". Supposedly, they can be counted. Apparently not.

There has never been, nor will there ever be, a perfect catalog. Dairy cows are reincarnated overnight, heifers become steers, and black faced lambs develop speckles. No one knows why.

You will get old faster, and crazy worse, if you expect these two things to change.

The probability of mistakes exponentially increases every second past 8:30 PM. By 10 PM, you're lucky to be at 50-50. By midnight, everything you do is going to be wrong, and will likely short circuit all the power to the midway.

Every single person at the fair, involved with the livestock shows, knows for a fact that they are the ONLY person there, their animals are the ONLY ones there, and that we all have plenty of time to see that their personal needs are met and exceeded.

Every single livestock crew knows that there are no other shows, check-ins, or sales going on at the same time as theirs. WHERE ARE OUR CHEESEBURGERS???

The fact that you can find other animals, other exhibitors, other shows at the same time is evidence of mental deficiency or better living through chemistry. I prefer the latter.

For every person who causes you grief, there are at least a dozen others for whom you should thank your lucky stars. People rise (or sink) to the occasion in direct alignment with their basic nature.

Life would be so much easier with these two simple words: "terminal show"

There's another post brewing--priceless quotes compiled over eleven years...