TATTOPITW
there are two types of people in the world - sometimes updated weekdaily

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Established 1776

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  • Only dogs are meant to be walked
  • Different coloq’s for different folks
  • Knowledge is fear
  • That is not “your” lane
  • Dress for the job you hate
  • Huge print job people
  • On applause
  • Everyone says “Jesus”
  • Doctors want to kill me
  • Need directions?

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Only dogs are meant to be walked

People who walk their dogs

People who walk other animals

If you live in a reasonably large city, you’re bound to see some ridiculous things happen, especially if you step foot into a city park.  Truthfully, I had this idea sent to me by someone a few months ago, but for lack of personal experience, I shrugged the suggestion off, all the while hoping that I might one day witness the sacred “cat walk.”

The only three letters in the engligh language that can describe this are W, T, and F

Now, we’ve all seen movies where some rich dude takes a tiger for a walk, or some poor girl living in a huge, cluttered New York apartment takes her ferret out for a walk (how do poor female artists in movies always have huge Manhattan lofts?), but I haven’t actually come across this in real life until recently.  And it was a real blessing to my eyes.

So I guess the idea here is that there is only one animal that is appropriate for walking, and that’s a dog.  And I mean a real dog.  If your dog’s legs are less than 4″ long or 1″ thick, you don’t have a dog, you have a genetic Pollock that had to be classified into the dog family for lack of biologists creating a “food for real animals” category.

Don’t mistake this for two types of behaviors.  This really is two types of people.  The type of person (normal) who would walk their dog for exercise / female attention, vs. the type of person who is so out of touch with reality that they think walking a parakeet is any less crazy than dressing up like a ballerina and whirling a baton around Piedmont Park.

Different coloq’s for different folks

People who say “bucket”

People who say “pail”

So the example here is illustrative (did I just say the example is an example?).  It extends to many things:

• “soda” vs. “pop”
• “cart” vs. “buggy”
• “dinner” vs. “supper”
• “line” vs. “queue”
• “bitches” vs. “hos”
• “Setting money on fire” vs. “US Automaker Bailout”

In each case, there is the normal way of saying something and the stupid way of saying the same thing.  This might be over-generalizing, but I’m pretty sure that people who use the words “pail,” “pop,” “buggy,” and “supper” were either raised by a family whose collective grins revealed 5.2 teeth, or they were born in Minnesota.  Deciding which of these things is worse is something I’ll leave up to you.

Just a taste of my condescending attitude to get your day started…

Knowledge is fear

People who are blissfully unaware of the constant danger they’re in

People who have been educated into fear

So I’m going to let you all in on a little secret today.  I’m a huge dork.  Big nerd.  Yes, me.

Last night, I went to see a great show (Cut Copy) at a Masquerade, a venue here in Atlanta that is far less gay than it sounds.  It’s actually an old factory/warehouse where many people undoubtedly lost their limbs in the very threatening looking mess of gears and rope that apparently used to do something.  The building is old, very cool looking, but old.

So when a group like Cut Copy gets a crowd of a few hundred people jumping up and down in unison, the building - which is old, by the way - feels the stress, which was communicated back to me last night by the floor in front of the stage flexing no less than 4-5 inches underfoot.

The average person may say, “Wow, that’s really weird.”  To someone like me who took engineering classes in college, it says, “We are about to die.”

Here’s a look into my head, in the middle of a very good show:

Because my mouse drawing isn’t too good, that is me, mentally back in engineering class trying to solve for how much weight you can put on a beam before it breaks and we all die.

I found that a couple of beers could wash the engineering classes away, so I pursued that avenue.  Seemed to me that if someone nearby had known that I was having my own private Statics class in my head in the middle of this concert, they would have slapped me, and rightfully so.

I can imagine that lots of people go through this all the time: airplane engineers know all the things that can bring a plane down, train engineers know that we’re riding on 2 inches of faith, drug scientists know that if one molecule goes wrong in the batch of Advil, 100,000 people will probably die, trampoline engineers know that they’re probably going to kill a few children with their miscalculations - but consider it all worth it for those times when a cheerleader hops on for a try.

So where in your life do you know enough to be scared shitless?

That is not “your” lane

People who let others change lanes

People who cut other people off when they try to change lanes

Short and sweet today.  I believe that if there is adequate space between my car and the car in front of me, anyone who needs that space is entitled to it.  I’m not some fucking manimal going around pissing on trees and defending my right to a 1,000 ft section of highway.

In Atlanta, however, it is seemingly as illegal to let someone into your lane as it is to buy a beer on Sunday.  Irrespective of the amount of space between two cars, when I put my turn signal on to change lanes, whoever’s driving the car behind me will literally slam on the gas to close the gap and prevent me from coming into their lane.  It wastes gas, and you’re an asshole.

So today, I’m offering a suggestion.  If you have EVER cut someone off in your life who tried to merge into your lane, make a reservation for dinner tonight.  Go out and enjoy a nice steak and a bottle of wine.  Make sure you’re wearing something nice.  Then jump off of a tall building and make the world a better place.  You’re not going to change.  You’re not going to reform.  Under a microscope, your chromosomes spell “ASSHOLE”.  Thinking you can change is like thinking Mike Tyson is capable of not hitting a woman who lives in his house.

Before you go, if you could write a large check to a charity, that would be a bonus.  Other than that, you won’t be missed.

G’day.

Dress for the job you hate

People who dress for the job they want

People who dress to express disdain for the job they have

Ever heard the one about how you should dress for the job you want, not the one you have?  I don’t believe it happens this way.  I think there are those people who dress for the jobs they want, and the rest of the people dress to express total apathy.  If there is a range of footware that goes from leather lace-ups to flip-flops in your office, you know what I’m talking about.

There’s a reason that people ask you if you’re a glass half-full or a glass half-empty kind of person.  Nobody says, “I’m a glass at 50%.”  You either look up or you look down, and the way that people dress at work is a key expression of this.

If I work really hard, I can become Vice President some day!

If I work really hard, maybe they’ll let me plug in the yellow cables!  Fuck, I hate this job.  If that bitch who’s sleeping her way to VP calls me about her Blackberry not working in the subway one more time, I’ll kill her.

Huge print job people

People who send huge print jobs to the only printer in the office (or near your desk) during the middle of the workday

People who have a shred of consideration for their fellow worker

So this is one of those things I’ve been meaning to bring up for a while and it just refreshed its relevance the other day when I was trying to print out a quick 1-pager.  I walked over to the printer, and here was this girl printing out 5 copies of a presentation that itself was probably 50 slides long.

“It might be a while,” she says. “Big print job.”

“What is that for?” I ask, pulling up my calendar on my phone, ready to change my status to Tentative for whatever meeting is going to subject me to a 50-slide presentation where I’m told that one thing went up and another thing went down.

“It’s a budget meeting.  Tomorrow, with Bill.  I think you’re in it, right?”

Tentative set.  “I’m not sure. I might have a conflict.”

Sorry dude, I’m printing War & Peace real quick. It’ll be a minute.

I’ve come up with a few names for this behavior, just now:

• Hewlett-Packing - “Dave is Hewlett-Packing again today.  You might want to use the Bizhub if you need your print this year.”
• Canon Blasting - “Is that you Canon blasting the multifunction?  I’m just trying to make a copy, bro, and  you’ve got that thing busier than the free condom bowl at the Tri-Delt house.”
• Mi-nolta gonna get your print today
• Being an asshole

I do realize it says a lot about how nerdy I am that I can come up with such pun-tastic explosions of hilarity on the spot…about office printers.  I’m okay with that.

On applause

People who are “safe” clappers

People who are bold clappers

I just got out of a conference today that was about as fun as when the school bully would stab your soccer ball.  The conference was held at the Georgia Aquarium, so here you are thinking you’re going to be able to watch whales swim around while you eat free food and learn about something new, when you walk in the room and see the truth of the situation.  By, “at the aquarium,” they meant, “in a conference room in the parking garage of the aquarium.”  Soccer ball stabbed.

So, here we are in a typical meeting room with those vinyl chairs that make you sound like you’re farting every time you move, no whales, no fish, nothing.  Fortunately, the topic was somewhat interesting, but the speaker went on talking past that point where it doesn’t matter how interesting things are, you have no attention left to give. If a neon orange monkey flew in the room and killed the lecturer, I literally might not have noticed.

Finally, the speaker wraps things up and then comes that magical moment when people ask themselves, “Was that good enough to clap for? I’ll wait and see what everyone else does.”  Then, the pioneer (bold) clapper, whoever they are, gets the round of applause going.  The middle (safe) clappers join in, sensing the time where the clap is running out of gas, and then quit.  Then, the wrap-up (bold) clappers finish it off like those last few kernels of popcorn in the microwave.

I bet the girl in red is a first-clapper.  Most people hate first-clappers.

Now, that’s a standard case, and more or less the way it went today.  But my favorites are when the bold clappers get slapped down.  You know, those times when one person gives about 2 and a half claps and then realizes they are alone.  That’s priceless, as it’s humiliating for both the clapper and the speaker.  Sadly, that did not happen today.

Bold clappers come in a critical third variety (beyond beginning clappers and popcorn clappers): the loud/distinct clapper.  These are the people who cup their hands like they’re trying to crush an ostrich egg or the ones who are capable of making small nuclear explosions in their palms.  The loud clap is not a talent, it is just an ability encoded in the DNA of assholes.  I petition you now: please stop clapping like an idiot.  The beginning/ending clappers have their place in this world: they fill a necessary role.  You bring nothing to the table, just like your father told you when you were 7.

Everyone says “Jesus”

People who say “Jesus!”

People who say “Jeeeesus!”

Have you ever met anyone in the world who doesn’t say “Jesus” at least 10 times a week?  I haven’t, and neither have you.  Don’t you love questions you don’t have to answer?

Everyone says, “Jesus.”  Everyone.  The meanings might be different, but you can’t avoid the guy.

Jesus.

Jeeeeeeeesus!

So good.  We’re all in agreement that everyone says, “Jesus.”  But here’s the catch.  Two people say the same word, and both think that the other person is making a huge mistake.  One is saying, “You’re an idiot for believing something like that.”  The other is thinking, “You’re going to hell.”  It’s a lose-lose relationship for those two.

Doctors want to kill me

People who are cool with going to the doctor

People who think that getting blood drawn might actually kill them

So here’s a shot aimed squarely at myself.  I had to go to the doctor this morning to have some blood drawn.  This appointment has been on the books since about 10 days ago, meaning that I had 9 days to imagine just how bad it was going to be when the nurse started fishing around in the crook of my elbow for an un-findable vein, eventually moving the needle around so much that it would cut my arm in half and send a blood shower across the room.

The events that transpired this morning were a little less exciting than I had originally imagined.

In case you were wondering who I’m expecting to see in the exam room when I’m sitting in a hospital…

I am a complete chicken when it comes to doctors and hospitals.  I build it up in my mind that everything is going to hurt super bad, that little needles are going to tear my flesh open, that when I stick my tongue out and say, “Ahh,” the doctor is going to say something along the lines of, “MY GOD!  Dr. Linda Sashimi (only women and Asians get into medical school any more), get in here!  We have a case of Multiple Parkinscoliosisitis of the tongue.  We must operate now!  The procedure is going to involve tearing your arms and legs off with no anesthesia, dipping you in gasoline, and lighting you on fire as you listen to When a Man Loves A Woman.”

I am one of those people that avoids talking to the doctor about my problems because I’m worried about what the answers might be.  Sort of like those people who don’t open their bills, only it concerns my mortality.

If there are any doctors reading, I have a numbness in my left thigh.  What is it?  Only tell me if it’s not serious.  Otherwise, I’d honestly just rather have it kill me.

Need directions?

People with a good sense of direction

People who couldn’t find their way down a hill if they were strapped to a skateboard

Do you know anyone with a terrible sense of direction?  I live with one. My wife, who I love dearly, could take a wrong turn on a chairlift.  I bought her a talking GPS for her car, and I often imagine it saying, “Shit, woman.  Where the hell are you going now?”

Come on, everyone!  This way to the bottom!

I was born, as you might expect, with an excellent sense of direction (as I was born with many gifts, you see).  Now before you go into this nonsense about how all men think they have a good sense of direction, let me stop you.  It’s true.  Your jealousy will get you nowhere.

I’ve put together the following 3-question test to help you determine if you are a good or bad navigator:

1. Do you get off the elevator and turn the wrong direction to go to a place you’ve been before?  Score 3 points if there are elevators on both sides of the hallway.  Score 1,000 points if the elevators only let out on one side.
2. Can you point to your mailbox from any room inside your home?  Yes?  Go check if you’re right.  No? Score 5 points.  Point in a direction more than 90-degrees off? Score 1,000 points.
3. Have you ever actually driven or walked in a complete circle, recognizing a landmark you saw earlier?  Score 1,000,000 points.

How did you do?

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