Blitter Twogs

I've had some stuff wandering around my brain that, while amusing (at least to me) was too short for a whole post here, and too long for Twitter. Others call it their 'Sock Drawer' or some kind of 'Meandering', I call it 'something to do to look like I'm working while I pass the time at the office because no one wants to work and anyway my boss is making me breakfast even as we speak'. Which is admittedly unwieldy and not particularly clever. I had intended to have some interesting photos each week also, but lately the camera has stayed in its case because there is precious little of interest going on while I drive the same stretch of NYS Route 17 trying to find a radio station that isn't playing country-music Christmas songs that pick me up and toss me into the gaping maw of depression. (What is WITH that, anyway? If I want separation and death I'll watch a Disney movie.)

(Pause to take a big bite of a bagel sandwich with cheese and Canadian bacon and a perfectly cooked egg)

Where was I?

Oh, okay. So this morning I'm driving to work, listening to NPR. Because that's what I do, Obama lovin' tree-hugger that I am. Since National Public Radio is, as the name implies, public, it is supported by various foundations, charitable trusts, and, say it with me, "Listeners like YOU." Every morning, the important-sounding fellow says something like 'Support for NPR comes from (fill in the foundation, charitable trust, or vague guilt-inducing implication that you should send us SOME MONEY)'

Today was special. "Support for NPR comes from the Department of Homeland Security."

What??

Yes, I'd heard correctly. Apparently they are hiring, because I was encouraged to 'visit their website at http://www.dhs.gov/ '.

Thanks, guys, but my past is sufficiently checkered that you would probably give me a pass. But you already know that, don't you?
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The other day I was sitting at my desk watching a co-worker earnestly try to fill out an online form. (I wasn't spying on her, she has a giant flat-screen monitor.) I didn't know what it was about, only that she'd been flogging away at it for a good half hour. When I got up to get coffee she waved me over. She was trying to enter a contest online that she'd read about in Cosmogirl.

"I'm so frustrated! How can I get this password to be orange? I don't have the toolbar to change it when I'm in this form!"

"Why does it have to be orange?"

"Because look," she says, pointing to the page in the magazine, "the directions say to go to this website and enter the password in orange."

"I think they are showing you what to enter, not what color it has to be entered in."

"Oh."

This woman is thirty-two years old.

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I listened to a story earlier that started out:

"This guy and his wife were over my house one night...and she ain't got any teeth either...."

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I was drivng back from Syracuse the other day listening to 80's music, contemplating the awesomeness of this lyric:

You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute, I want to tell her
that I love her but the point is probably moot......

Never at any point during my big-glasses and docksiders time of life did I stop and say, jeez, this has got to be the stupidest song I've ever heard. You know why? Because its awesome. Give it a listen while you make stuffing or whatever-it-is you are supposed to do the night before Thanksgiving.

Also... Rick Springfield was SMOKIN' HOT. I forgot about that.