thepeopleseason: (Default)
Often when I see a child playing, I long for the days when my life was easy, when simply spinning around in a circle could keep me occupied and laughing for what seemed like hours. I get the same feeling wishing I could walk around all day with bubble-wrap on my head.

And finally... )

You fired!

Apr. 7th, 2008 11:24 am
thepeopleseason: (Default)
Why hasn't anyone ever told me that there's a band out there which consists of four dudes with cellos who like to play Metallica covers?

You are all fired.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
doesn't mean they're not out to get you:
Recently, James' mother replaced the batteries in "Elmo Knows Your Name" and is now convinced that the doll is homicidal.

You see, James' mother thinks that Elmo is saying "Kill James."

From: The Consumerist
thepeopleseason: (Default)
I've lived with Engrish/Chinglish all my life. I still have a pencil box from grade school emblazoned with the phrase "Space Shuttle shall be realize to answer your dream." Engrish.com catalogs some of the more amusing offences (To everyone thinking they'd never do something so foolish, however, turnabout is fair play)

This (long, slightly complicated article) is a pretty amusing account of how poor software and lazy proofing (update: and the simplification of the written Chinese character) are combining to create something that China definitely wants to eradicate before the Olympics come to town.

Poetry

Jun. 19th, 2007 09:52 am
thepeopleseason: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] batnandu: yeah
batnandu: if i grew up exposed to that language [Ogg Vorbis audio link -tps]
batnandu: i'd probably be all into lego video games too
batnandu: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lion-Eating_Poet_in_the_Stone_Den
batnandu: your people really freak me out
thepeopleseason: (snowman)
On my drive home just now, it was snowing in Midtown Atlanta.
thepeopleseason: (gir)
Happy Birthday, [livejournal.com profile] bratsey!
[livejournal.com profile] flattop: dude.
flattop: i had the strangest dream last night,
flattop: you were a spider.
flattop: that sang.
flattop: i don't know how i knew it was you, seeing as you were a spider.
flattop: whatever paul newman puts in that pasta sauce really did a job on my brain last night.
And finally, a short video of a small man laughing at a camel )
thepeopleseason: (o shrrie)
One of my cow orkers has the domain control-escape.com, and he recently implemented a redesign of the site. As part of the redesign, he created a new logo out of his domain's eponymous unicode symbols. I, however, maintain that the Unicode standards body got the symbol for "Escape" wrong--the arrow should be pointed down to the left. Can anyone guess why?
thepeopleseason: (burrito)
I'm probably way behind the curve on this one, but it's just so hypnotic. It's a good thing I have headphones, otherwise my cow orkers would probably kill me.

Dear Santa...

[livejournal.com profile] fiyero2005 gives me the following quote which reminds him of me:
Veronica, I think when you get out in the world a little more, you'll discover that not all well-dressed, articulate, detail-oriented men are gay. Many of them are just...Asian.
-- Mr. Wu, Veronica Mars
And [livejournal.com profile] batnandu and I watch way too many movies:
[livejournal.com profile] thepeopleseason: Dude.
[livejournal.com profile] batnandu: dude.
[livejournal.com profile] thepeopleseason: dude.
[livejournal.com profile] batnandu: dude.
[livejournal.com profile] thepeopleseason: ok I see your point.
thepeopleseason: (push you down)
Chatting with [livejournal.com profile] countessmary last night, we discussed the sadly-absent, random links I used to send to her when she was online for the majority of the work day. Well, Mary, I now present to you, the random link to out-random all other random links (Found on boingboing.net).

Also, GIP: an icon for the Pink Gator (to make up for the Steve Perry one).
thepeopleseason: (gir)
For some idiotic reason, I have the magic words "Inuk-Chuk" stuck in my head.
thepeopleseason: (burrito)
Woke up this morning after a very weird dream.

I was working as a production assistant on Alton Brown's Good Eats, and for some reason we had a gigantic blowtorch going--imagine you can feel the heat of this thing from like ten feet away. The guy running the blowtorch, was pointing it here and there to singe stuff on the set. At one point he gets careless, however, and manages to burn someone up on a ladder, and to correct himself, he swings it my way. I fall to the ground shielding myself with my arm. Other people manage to shut it off, and I feel alright, perhaps a bit in shock/numb, despite looking at my arm and finding that most of the hair is gone.

Everyone looking at me is deeply concerned, however, so I find a mirror and look into it. Somehow the flame has managed to melt my face into two faces--another face sticking out the right side of my proper face, frozen in a look of shock from being hit with the blowtorch. All around the edges of the second face are the trademark swirls of skin that's been through severe fire.

I turn back to the set, trying to get anyone to help me out, but they've all gotten back to work.

I think to myself that this can't get any worse, when a man, high up in some scaffolding falls to the floor of the stage and in my mind, dies.

I reconsider my position on how bad things are.

And then I woke up.

This is what comes of eating dairy and sleeping in weird hotel beds.
thepeopleseason: (shimmy)
Tylenol PM which expired a while ago will do nothing to help you get a full night's rest, unless your intention is to wake up at your usual 6:00 AM with an additional stop at 4:00 AM, along with the requisite Harry Potter-esque dreams, where you've gone into hiding in your old Miami neighborhood with a female Minister of Magic.

Yeah, I don't get it either.
thepeopleseason: (gir)
You remember learning how to play soccer during P.E. in grade school? You remember how they told you if you wanted to stop the soccer ball's motion in any direction, you could pretty much just step on top of it?

I learned a long time ago that doing that with an out-of-control superball will just leave you with a formerly-spherical crunchy mass of rubber.

So if you're going to drop two hundred fifty thousand superballs down a street in San Francisco to make a commercial, you should be sure you know a way to stop them all.

I challenge you to watch the commercial without smiling.

Sweet: a 2.5 minute long version of the commercial

Want

Sep. 29th, 2005 01:04 am
thepeopleseason: (gir)
Via Boingboing.net, forget the dog--I want a pet tortoise.
thepeopleseason: (snowman)
The icemaker here makes ice that smells like garlic.

Go figure.
thepeopleseason: (snowman)
My dad called me as I was driving back from lunch today.

He had just received a call from a woman named Nicole, asking about me and something about "final affair." He had some pointed questions for me--did I know what she was talking about? Have I done something to be concerned about?

Now I suspect the presence of the word "affair" in her query makes him think that I'm up to my old imaginary lifestyle of whoring and womanizing that he's long suspected me of leading when living some 650 or so miles away from him. "Final affairs," however, to me suggests something entirely different, unless you're a complete sicko perv.

I call him back after I get to the office so I can get Nicole's number to call her and figure out what's going on. After bouncing around on hold, I finally get her on the line.

"Hello, this is Nicole."
"Hi, Nicole, this is James Hsiao. You placed a call to me earlier. Can I help you?"
"Umm... yeah. According to our records, you're deceased."

Apparently, I'm dead.

She asked me to verify the last four digits of my SSN. I wonder what would have happened had I said that she had a match...
thepeopleseason: (sincity)
Last night, I met up for dinner with a friend from out of town (let's call her Shana). Shana recently moved away from Atlanta to the left coast to go to grad school--she's getting an MBA with an eye toward taking some law classes as well. Since she basically knows no one in California, she went to one of those MBA program to get hooked up with a roommate.

She decided, when looking at her prospects, to go with a particular guy (let's call him "P"*), because he's Chinese (she's Chinese, too). From what she's told me, however, he's quite standoffish--he doesn't ever interact with her unless she initiates the conversation. She's told me that their MBA program colleagues have invited the two of them out through him, and he made it a point not to mention anything to her. She did mention that he doesn't quite approve that she's dating a white guy (because growing up in Miami and living in Atlanta gives all of us Chinese people ample opportunity to interact daily with dateable members of the opposite sex of our own race--pfeh).

So, in the course of our conversation, she happens to recount a story about bathroom garbage. In their apartment, they have separate bathrooms ("thankfully," according to Shana), and because P was in the process of taking the garbage out to the dumpster, Shana asked him if he would wait a second and allow her to add her bathroom garbage to the bunch Note that my recounting of this tale is hardly verbatim, names have been changed to protect the innocent, I don't even know what a poopaw is, yadda, yadda, yadda. )

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