Irony:Sarcasm :: Witty:Douchey


View from Central Park
Her:…the usual: burgers, hot dogs. Oh and there’ll be softball…
Me: Nope.
Me: Nope.
Me: Nope. (pause) But if there’s a competition to compute pi to the 27th digit, I’m all in. You can be on my team.
Her: (later) Maybe you shouldn’t come.
Me: (nodding)

Heartgirl and I went for a stroll in the lovely weather through Sheep Meadow. Realized that she’s younger than a little girl that I used to tutor in English; taught that girl the word, kiosk and how to do analogies for the SATs.

Suddenly, I feel very old. And slightly pervy.

Speaking of the SATs, there’s a difference between ironic and sarcastic. Irony is sarcasm without the meanness.

Lemme ask you something; since when was sarcasm perceived to equal to intelligence?

Meet so many douches these days that are 24/7 sarcastic that’re actually quite stupid. But they’re so very proud of their stubbornness, so smug in their assurance that they’re right, that they can’t see that they might be wrong. And they often are.

Look, I’m all for some sarcasm, but it’s called the the lowest form of wit for a reason. Irony‘s clever. Sarcasm‘s just hoping that if you sound pissed off or certain enough, no one’s gonna call you out that you don’t, actually, know a damn thing.

Unfortunately, now people got Twitter, blogs, status updates, and texts to show off how little they actually know about anything in angry little sarcastic rants.

Endless waves of twitter, blogs and status updates mucked with vitriol and sarcasm doesn’t make a stupid person sound intelligent; I’m afraid. Cause a tech-savvy bore is still a bore.

Apologies. Had a long day…

Lelaina: Can you define irony?
Troy: Its when the actual meaning is the complete opposite from the literal meaning.
Lelaina: My God, where were you when I needed you today?


Location: 40 mins ago, my old office, shredding
Mood: hungry
Music: along sheeps meadow Never know what we will see. Come take a walk with me


She and I (did what?)

When to use “I” and when to use “Me”

Second Ranty post in over two years.

I is only ever the subject of a sentence. It is NOT correct to use I as the object. Ever.

To figure out when to use I, subtract the additional person and conjunction to see if it sounds ridiculous. eg:

  • She and I went to the store.
  • She and me went to the store.
    • I went to the store.
    • Me went to the store.

Ergo: She and I went to the store.

  • Here are pics of my girl and I drinking rum.
  • Here are pics of my girl and me drinking rum.
    • Here are pics of I drinking rum.
    • Here are pics of me drinking rum.

Ergo: Here are pics of my girl and me drinking rum.

While on the topic of crap grammar:

  1. ie means, in other words – you can remember this because both begin with i
  2. eg means, for example – you can remember this because it begins with e
  3. gyro is pronounced jai-ro not yee-ro – you can remember because this you’re not a pompous jerk:

Pompous Jerk: You mean a yee-ro?

Me: No, kid. If we were in Athens, I’d mean yee-ro. But we’re in a tiny hell-hole greasy spoon in Queens (turning back to counterman, “No offense, dude,”). We don’t say, “res-toe-ran” for a “restaurant,” we don’t say shed-du-el for schedule. You don’t say yee-ro-scope, do you? Why, outta 880,000 words, the special exception for a meat sandwich? So please back up off my grill and lemme order my jai-ro, in peace.


Sorry, I’ve been irritable – the weather’s lousy, my girl’s on a different continent, my right arm is killin me, I can’t eat for the next 20 hours, I’ve not slept and my secretary just quit. Again.

I want a whole wheat donut.

What I’m gonna get, however, is a glass of tap water, a vitamin pill and two tabs of naproxen.

Location: 5 mins ago, in the shower
Mood: irritated
Music: I’ll just be waiting here – right here


Logan hates mice and AT&T

Also, here’s a vid of Pixar’s Lifted


Right now, I have two major distractions from my daily ruminations on insomnia, girlies, scratch, and the accident:

  1. I hate Cingular / AT&T; with a passion. Pure…white…hot…hatred.
  2. I have a mouse, in my house.

Regarding point one, and without getting into details, I’ve demanded that they write in bold letters in my account notes: We have screwed this man blue (they actually wrote, Client is justifiably upset with our level of service).

Could hate them more – I just don’t see how.

Regarding point two, my kitchen is like the DMZ. I’ve got baits, traps, poisons, and at least one Rube Goldberg/Tom & Jerry contraption – all of which, I think are just amusing them.

Mouse1: What’s that?
Mouse2: He put out peanut butter.
Mouse1: SWEET!
Mouse2: No, it’s that healthful crap. The kind where the oil and stuff separate…
Mouse1: What the @#$! is wrong with that guy? He needs to get some sleep.

Swear those little bastards are drinking my rum too.

Location: 7PM, yesterday, The PIT
Mood: busy
Music: Get on the highway point yourself my way


Mr. Fix-it

It’s easier to start new things than try to replace old things

My tub faucet sprung a leak the other day so I decided it was time to fix it.

I’m always trying to fix things in my life.

My car, my finances, my computer, my body, my love life – the list goes on. I decided just the other day to repair my relationship with my lower abs. We’ve kept in touch but I’ve just not seen them in six months.

Spent almost all of last summer trying to fix my hellish relationship with my ex.

As an aside, it would have been nice if she told me that it was not only broken but that she had already given speaking lines to three other drivers (whom I don’t think have seen any of their abs in decades, one word: flexbelt; of course, it’s not just about looks, to their credit they’re also dull as rock soup).

Sorry, just snarky because I’ve got a drip that’s driving me mad.

Point is, fixing is different than building. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to build. This spring I’m building things with old friends and new.

But for now, oh man, where’s that #@$@#$ wrench?

Location: @2:30PM yesterday, on Broadwayasd downing a burger
Mood: insanely busy
Music: Sunlight on my face I wake up and yeah, I’m alive

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business personal


I’m always second-guessing myself

Just finished my exams. My brain is full. Don’t think I passed all of them but I’ll take what I can get.

It’s funny; I passed the bar on my first try, mainly because the law is fascinating to me – the law itself, that is. I find the practice of law not as interesting although it has its moments. These exams were not law related and dreadfully boring.


On a different topic, I’d like to talk about THAT guy. You know him.

He’s the guy that gets up an hour-and-a-half before the exam ends, puts on his baseball cap and whistles on his way out.

Can’t stand that guy.

If you are that guy, please know that we despise you and wish you ill. I hope a truck drove past you on the way out and splashed your Gap khakis with mud.


Who wears khakis in the winter?

I’d like to point out that I’m the other guy. The guy that’s the last to leave the exam. The guy that makes the proctor go, “I said, ‘pencils down…sir.‘” (I’m old enough now that I’m scolded with the identifier “sir.”)

I leave last because I’m always changing my mind. I’m always second guessing myself.

I do it in life all the time. Why should being on the clock be any different?

UPDATE: 20070228 01:27
When I say “guy” I mean in the gender neutral manner. Such as: “I hate that guy (or girl) and hope that s/he never realizes how big his/her butt looks in those khakis.”

Location: @13:14, in Long Island figuring out standard deviations
Mood: exhausted
Music: get this feeling I’m in motion, a certain sense of liberty