Does the World Really Need This?

The AP reports that a "doctor" in North Carolina has developed a donut that contains caffeine.

Each piece of pastry is the equivalent of about two cups of coffee.

I simply do not understand.

That Explains It

Monday, 22 January, is the most depressing day of the year according to the Samaritans.

As part of a campaign to raise the awareness of the charity, Dr. Cliff Arnall of Cardiff University first defined blue Monday. He devised the mathematical equation:

[W + (D-d)] x TQ
    M x NA

The model was broken down using six immediately identifiable factors: weather (W), debt (d), time since Christmas (T), time since failing our new year's resolutions (Q), low motivational levels (M) and the feeling of a need to take action (Na).

The equation calculates that Monday 22 January is officially the worst day of the year. (Recruiter Magazine)

Yup

Great

History reveals nearly two thirds of this area's measurable snows, sub-freezing and sub-zero temperatures have occurred beyond January 10.
-- Chicago Tribune, January 10, 2007

Disarray

So here’s the latest thing that’s thrown my mental life into disarray. Casual Fridays: Can you tell me the "best" email sign-off? Thanks!

A few months ago I made the conscious decision to switch the closing of my emails from “Cordially,” which I’ve used since college, to “Best.” Now I find out that “Best,” as an email signoff, is considered brusque.

Brusque!?!

I thought is was a good shorthand for “All the Best” or “Best Wishes” or even “With every best wish.” But no, it’s brusque. Crap!

According to the chart, “Thanks” is largely innocuous, and thus right for any situation.

Ugh!

I’m thinking of switching to something obscure like “Valediction.”

At least I’ve never been a “Cheers” douchebag.

That's My Kind of Headline

Most people who know me realize that I have a lot in common with Marvin the Paranoid Android from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Well, it appears that the Chicago Tribune has hired either Marvin or me to write headlines for them: Miserable week ahead: Rainy, windy, chilly--snow, too

What?!!?

Has it really been that blog since I've come here to vent my spleen?!? Well, that deserves a spleen vent!!!

Cheese whiz!

And then when I do try and post—last night—I get an error message. Fantabulous!

How Bad Do I Look?

All day people kept asking me if I was ok. They said I didn’t look well. Maybe I should get some sleep.

They Cannot Be Serious

Cat Hammock

Fun Facts

Count on Wired to carry the kind of cheerful facts and stats that ye olde Spleen Venter loves to toss out at cocktail parties. First up is an article entitled “One Million Ways to Die,” which includes “a handy ranking of the various dangers confronting America, based on the number of mortalities in each category throughout the 11-year period spanning 1995 through 2005 (extrapolated from best available data).”

S E V E R E Driving off the road: 254,419 Falling: 146,542 Accidental poisoning: 140,327

H I G H Dying from work: 59,730 Walking down the street: 52,000. Accidentally drowning: 38,302

E L E V A T E D Killed by the flu: 19,415 Dying from a hernia: 16,742

G U A R D E D Accidental firing of a gun: 8,536 Electrocution: 5,171

L O W Being shot by law enforcement: 3,949 Terrorism: 3147 Carbon monoxide in products: 1,554

---

Next, from the August 2006 issue, “Deadly Poisons, Ingested or Inhaled.” It’s a list of the top ten most deadly poisons. The list includes botulinum, anthrax, cyanide, and something called compound 1080 (sounds like a band that really sucks). My favorite line from the article accompanies the entry for strychnine.

it gets style points for causing one of the most horrific deaths of all: Every muscle in your body spasms violently until you die from exhaustion.

Wow!

Think of this post as the antidote to Slate.com's Weekend Cocktail Chatter, "a quick and easy guide to help you fake your way through overly cultured cocktail parties this weekend."

Or not.

Burick Update

The side-view mirror on the driver's side is now cracked straight down the middle.

Double Spleen Vent

I just found this post from June buried in the drafts folder - doh!

And I see that the link no longer works - double doh!

But I think there's enough information here for the joke to still work - yea!

Is This My Problem?
Intermittent explosive disorder affects 1 in 20. I frikin’ hope not. For all our sakes.

My Spleen: Soon to be Frozen?

The local paper reports “The Old Farmer's Almanac, which boasts an 80 percent accuracy rate for the annual weather guide it has been publishing since 1792, is predicting a colder and snowier winter for most of the U.S. this year . . . temperatures will be as much as 8 degrees below the 30-year average, with the coldest weather coming in February.”

Heavy sigh

And I Thought Things Were Bad at My Job

At least no actual dead bodies have shown up: “A man's body floated up near where a crew was filming a scene for the crime show ‘CSI: Miami,’ authorities said.” Who wants to go on location now? Yikes!

Venting My Spleen for Pomonkey

As you may know, my life-partner lady-friend, Pomonkey, is having a tough time at work. So here’s a spleen vent just for her.

To Pomonkey’s coworkers:
What the heck is wrong with you? Can I get you to just do your frikin’ job?!?! How difficult is that? Stop with the excuse making, pull yourselves together, shut yer yappers and do your jobs!!!

Wouldn’t That Make Me A Bit Of A Dandy?

Today’s Wall Street Journal reports (suckscription only) on the latest trend in men’s fashion: “shorts -- dressy and tailored -- with suit jackets, sport coats, dress shirts and even ties.”

Why on earth am I going to wear a tie with shorts?!? Free the knees yet bind the neck meat? Yeah, I don’t think so.

I’m with Tony Green (whoever that is): “Shorts with a suit jacket would make me feel a little too Little Lord Fauntleroy.”

The great thing about a blog is that if this does really catch on I can come back here and eat my friggin’ words.

Good News for Mister Ginger

USA Today reports on a new study that claims "the crabbiest people are the smartest," at least in the over 60 set. If Mister Ginger can manage to survive until he's 60 . . . well, he's already got crabby down! Mister Ginger was recently described by a friend as "57 year old man trapped in the body of a 30-something." What would the study say about that?

Spleen: Vented

I feel as if I’ve literally had my spleen vented. I spent about five hours the other night sitting on the toilet hugging a trashcan, uh, well, venting. As far as I know nothing came shooting out of my ears, but otherwise . . .

Unbelievable

The office building in which I work has classroom space adjacent to our suite of offices. This space is available for various groups to rent, and each summer a music school meets in that classroom and other available spaces in the complex of buildings around us. This year the classroom nearest my office is the site for the percussion class. Yes, it’s as bad as you think it is.

And they’ve lined up against the wall nearest us.

And this is one of our busiest times of the year.

Are we being punished?

Tryin’ to Impress the Lady

As some of you know, my life-partner lady-friend has been “on assignment,” as they say, which means that I have been on my own for five days now. One of the things I have taken the time to do while she’s gone is straighten the table by the door where I toss my watch, wallet, and keys when I come into the apartment. Over the past few months, a number of miscellaneous items from my pockets (business cards, notes to self, headphones, change, newspaper clippings, frequent buyer membership cards, receipts, a padlock, bar coasters, the hood ornament from my car, a light bulb—you get the picture) had accumulated into an unsightly and precarious pile. (OK, I admit it, I like to stack stuff. Don’t make this into some kind of Pilers Anonymous meeting—Hi, I’m Mister Ginger, and I like to stack stuff into piles).

I have a nice basket with a lid in which I am supposed to pile this kind of miscellaneous junk. So yesterday I got it all straightened, cleaned up, thrown away, and consolidated into the basket. My life-partner lady-friend will be so impressed!

Today about 12:30, I decide to walk over to the snack counter at work to buy a sandwich. It is then that I realize, I don’t have my wallet. I left it in the farkin’ basket. Oh, great. Now I can’t go to the store and get q-tips on the way home either. Crap!

Oh, and I just dropped a blue highlighter in my lap. Now I have a big green dot on my khaki pants. Crap, crap!

Fall Beans

I have no q-tips. Yesterday I stopped in a store (rhymes with fall beans) to pick up some q-tips, but what I found was a nonsensical store layout, not q-tips. I walked up and down every aisle twice before giving up and leaving. I found the aisle that has the paper products and pet food (dog, cat, and bird). The toy and small appliance aisle. The aisle with tampons, nasal spray, eye drops, and crutches. The aisle with shampoo and diapers. But no friggin’ q-tips. I would have asked an employee, but fall beans is surprisingly busy on Father’s day, particularly the greeting card, foot care, and diarrhea aisle. I’d like to meet the group of drunken monkeys that came up with the planogram for this place. And I’d really like some frikin’ q-tips!