Saturday, January 21, 2017

Beloved Acid Assailant. I Varia



You said you love me. But I didn't deserve your touch. I refused to. Your love was so strong that it burnt my face. My beauty could never please your nasty deeds.

I was your dream; but you thought me to be worthless for anything. A green piece of paper bought you my end, which is still sold open in those streets.

I cared, and this is how you rewarded me.
I was lying in the middle of the crosswalk-

screaming.

crying;

covering my face 'cuz ik it was no more a thing to look at.

Somehow in the hospital, they saved me, but I lost my life.

I turned ugly for the world.
The flawless face that once walked proudly on the roads, is now hiding behind curtains.
Glancing on the mirror with the only eye I was left with, even the mirror yelled my pain.



But darling, you burnt my face, but somewhere my dreams were still breathing.
I still stand with the same courage, now even stronger, to face the world with my distorted face your love gifted me.
You thought that 15 acid bottle will ruin me; you were as wrong as your deeds; rather they built me fireproof.



And now I am ready; to fight and defeat you all.
You said am worthless, now you'll see that your 'worth' can't buy my death.
Just look 'round and see my dear, the girl on whom you threw acid is on the top of the world and you, hah! you're still between those nasty streets looking to greet your end.

 Karma's a bitch, baby,
and it stood so true when you saw me succeeding on the T.V. and the guilt surmounted your heart that your soul wanted to leave your nasty frame.

                           Now say,
                                      who won?!



Saluting the Brave Hearts ♥

~Varia xoxo




Wednesday, January 18, 2017

This Time It Will Be Different

As a child you are taught the importance of the accurate measurement of time. The big hand, the little hand, the fast moving, long, skinny hand that they seemed reluctant  to explain, all described in detail. Time was everything, and if you didn’t believe that try showing up late for 1st grade class. Time was a measurement to provide the gauge of just how awful you were.

Time, it was said, was a constant, unchanging motion, or fixture, or state of decay, despite being absolutely distinct from any method used to measure its passage. Sixty seconds would always be one minute, and 3,600 of them are always an hour. And they didn’t want to answer a lot of questions about it. And they hated the really difficult questions; “why is this taking so long?”  “When will this be over?” Those were the kind of things that got you sent to the Principal’s office, where time took forever.

But, you never really understood time until you got a job. Once you are trading it for money things start to make sense. Once that “commodification” takes place then the true value of time becomes apparent.  “Love to come to your pre-sentence hearing, mom, but I have to work.” Time is money, you know?

Once you sit there counting down the days until vacation, or the weekend, the minutes, or seconds
until lunch, or quitting time (which is kind of mislabeled, it isn’t when you quit, I won’t make that mistake again) then you understand the measurement of time. Newton’s first law be damned. The last five minutes of a day can be an eternity. The last day before vacation is a black hole. Slowing time to the a crawl. And if you are lucky enough to make it to the last five minutes on the last day before vacation you might want to bring some extra lunch.

Really, it is no wonder people have been fascinated with time since a long, long time ago. It is the thing that gets us through the day. Watching the clock, counting down the seconds, cursing the dragging, crawling seconds, because you just know the minute hand never changes. Never!

And you wonder “what bastard invented the digital clock, anyway?” At least with an analog clock you see the destination. Five o clock, target acquired, assume attack formation. With a digital clock it is only the present, only just now, and as soon as it is gone there it is again. Damnit!

Really, they should teach you more about time in elementary school. When you are forced to pick it up on the streets the whole thing gets a little weird. But, it is time for me to go to work. See you next time. Have a good time, and last but certainly not least, the always appropriate Bob Dylan “And you better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone, cause the times, they are a changing’”



Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Another Crappy Tuesday.

Mondays were always the worst. That Monday was even worse, and it went downhill on Tuesday. Tuesdays are always the worst, and this Tuesday was the worst of all. It started with rain. Not real rain, just drizzle. Spit from the heavens. And it was gray, not drab gray, dead gray. Everything looked dead, and gray.

Zach was sick of the day. He was sick of his job. Working as a customer service associate in a huge company kept him nameless, faceless, anonymous. He had no control, no authority, and nobody valued his opinion, even a little. The only people who even talked to him were his co-workers, who hated him, and each other, and their jobs.

Their jobs were easy to hate, too. People would make a mistake, in a process that was almost fool proof, then call in and complain. Complain to people working in tiny, bland cubicles, cubicles where even the smallest reminder of a world away from the constant, endless whiny sound from the telephone was prohibited. 

Zach went to get a cup of coffee. Brian and Bill were standing, just almost in the way of the coffee maker, so close that you could squeeze past and grab the pot, but it was difficult, and they were talking about sports. And they were talking in a manner that made them sound as though they were experts.

"They need to run the ball more effectively on first down. Then the pass game will be more effective. The way it is now, they set themselves up for failure. Everybody knows what they are going to do. The defense can just pin their ears back and come at Jeffson with abandon."  Brian said, sagely.

"Yes, and they need to spread the field, and make them cover them in space." Bill said, wisely.

"You know what, why don't you guys shut the hell up, and get out from in front of the coffee maker." Zach said, with anger.

"Not a Fillmore fan?" They both asked, incredulous. 

Wanda, from accounting, walked past and bumped Bill from behind. He stumbled into Zach, spilling his coffee down the front of Zach's shirt. "Oof," Bill said, in a way that showed he was not guilty, and did not have to apologize.

Dammit. I just washed this shirt.” Zach said.

He pushed Bill down, and reached for his gun.

Brian and Bill saw him pulling out his weapon and dove behind Wanda. Zach fired wildly, missing everything except for the vending machine.

Ted heard the gunfire and pulled his piece. He jumped out from his cubicle and squeezed off a few rounds before a can of Fizzy cola in the vending machine behind him burst, spraying him with sticky, sugary liquid and scraps of a candy bar that was in the slot beneath the cola.

“I’m hit,” Ted croaked, weekly, falling on his back and reaching slowly toward Heaven.

Wanda pulled a pistol from her ankle holster and sprayed the area with bullets before jumping behind the mail cart.


Soon, the entire 4th floor was filled with the sound of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder, the floor was covered in little, empty brass cartridges.

Down on the street, Big Jim from Jim's Big Sandwiches, a cart in front of the building heard the gunfire. He dropped to the sidewalk, rolled under his cart, and pulled a light antitank weapon from a concealed compartment.

To be continued.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Coming Attractions

Since it is almost the end of the year it is almost time for my "year in review" post. It is an annual trip down the path we have just traversed together. A chance to enjoy our victories and blame others for our defeats.

Sports officials are normally very prominent in the "blame" column. Particularly in years where my teams are coached by people I find more honorable than the coaches for all the teams for whom the officials are so actively cheating. Which is almost every team I dislike. My convictions are very firm, I only root for teams that are not despicable. Or coached by despicable people.

Politicians are normally not included in my list at all. They get enough press. Normally more than enough. The old saying "any publicity is good publicity" was invented by a politician. It is almost impossible to avoid news about the president elect, the lame duck president, the cabinet, congress, the senate. If government officials worked as much as the press who cover them a lot of our problems would be solved. Or, maybe worse, who knows. It doesn't matter, they are not going to work any harder. If they wanted a job they would not have gone into politics.

Natural disasters, and man-made disasters are occasionally included. Not too often though, disasters are awful, and I like good news. It is hard to put a happy face on a forest fire, hurricane or tsunami. I would rather pray silently, try not to cry, and let someone else talk about that.

To be honest my year in review list, like most everything I write, is a little short on real substance. It will not have much depth. It will be mostly good things with a little petty whining to convince you I am not a robot. And then it will end with a hearty salute to the coming year.

We all have something to look forward to now. If you have anything you think should be included then write your own list. People love lists, they can't get enough of them.

Until the next time, take your vitamins, get enough exercise and sleep, and think happy thoughts.


Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Management by Santa.

Christmas is coming fast. A runaway locomotive barreling down the Main Street of your life. Ignoring the stop lights, and lane signals, crushing the smoothie stand (erected and staffed by the happy memories of your life) at the intersection of Third and Main. Scattering the pedestrians and civil servants who help maintain the sanctity of your life. A cruel, careless, rampaging bull. Seeking, in its blind rage the total destruction of the happiness you have managed to cultivate and harvest throughout the year. And it is almost here.

Now, in the face of the looming tragedy you have to find the perfect gifts for all the people who have treated you so callously. It falls upon your frail, stooped, tender shoulders to find something that will make all of the ingrates, the ne`er-do-wells, who have spent the last 330 days undermining everything you wanted to accomplish, a nice present. How do you do that?

We, here at Whacko Nation, are here to help. We have scoured respected, scholarly sources for the answer to this pressing question. Finally, we found the solution. It was buried in a university reference source, hidden, secret, safe, until we cracked the code.

It seems that Santa has an apparatus, a method of avoiding giving gifts to certain people. People who don't fit in with Santa's way of thinking, people unwilling to follow "the Santa example. This device, is revealed here, to the public for the first time. It is almost certain we will need to find sanctuary after exposing this revolutionary discovery.

"He's making a list
He's checking it twice
He's going to find out
Who's naughty or nice"

What a stroke of North Pole Genius. Take the people who are hard to shop for, or want expensive crap, and transfer them to your naughty list. Problem solved.

Of course, there is some recent research indicating this is an excellent method of organizational behavior modification (OBMod). Post a "naughty and nice" list in the break room. You will want to start with everybody on the "naughty" list. This forces an adaptive scenario wherein all the associates will scramble to be moved over to the "nice" list. There is even anecdotal evidence of people sabotaging other employees to make themselves look "nice" by comparison.

Clearly, Santa is on the cutting edge of human resource management practices in the new millennium. It explains how he can get so much work out of a small, "undersized" staff. There is a lot we can learn from the Jolly Old Elf.

Tune in tomorrow for "the Tooth Fairy, a study in the economics of supply and demand" here on Whacko Business Television.

Friday, November 18, 2016

Horoscope, if you were born today.

Today's Horoscope, brought to you by Dr, 👀

If you were born today you might as well stop and get a couple of donuts, a sausage sandwich and a creamy, delicious mochaccino with extra whipped cream, it is not going to be a very good day. It will start out smoothly enough, but about halfway to work the car audio system will start to get a little fuzzy. Soon the audio book on the power of positive thinking that you have been listening to in an effort to improve your puny, meaningless life will stop altogether.

Replacing the mantra "I am a success, and I can achieve" will be a countdown, beginning at 15, and slowly working toward 0. As it gets closer to bottom a large black cloud with fiery tendrils will darken the bright, cheerful morning sky. Cars will careen into each other, and soon the freeway will look like a battlefield with burning, crushed wreckage from one side to the other. Due to your cautious, defensive driving you will make your way through the flaming hulks, and the screaming frightened people littering the road.

Only to find the building where you work laying in a smashed, shattered heap of twisted metal and broken glass. Your phone will ring, and when you answer it your boss will tell you to take the day off, with pay. And you will thing "dangit, I could have slept in!" Your drive home takes two and a half hours. Life is so unfair.

Your lucky number is 73 and your lucky letter is Q. It is not a good day to invest your time in foolish pursuits, like that ever stopped you.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Blogging measurements, and how to avoid them


I like to think of myself as a fairly successful blogger.  If you were to measure success by number of posts I am the Dude. Likewise, if you measure success by duration I am doing alright. So, the measurement I choose is number of blogs, or years blogging. Easy to understand, easy to implement, no code to install, no sites to visit.

Still, once in a while an article will grab hold and force investigation.  “5 Metrics Every Blogger Should Measure.” But, in the end it will be a lot of words, strung together in some things that look like sentences, and assembled into what appear to be paragraphs. However, since most of the words make very little sense to me, the sentences are a little silly, and the paragraphs might as well be written in machine code.

For one thing, why “metric’'? Which is defined by the Cambridge Dictionary of English and Grammar (a free app on the Windows Market Place Store)  as “of or using the meter or a system of measurement based on it.”   Why use a meter, some vaguely European unit of length? And how do you measure a blog one meter at a time?

Additionally, most of them insist you add some “simple line of code” to the “HTML” of your blog. What? I don’t know anything about code, and HTML, I tried to add Google analytics to one of my blogs, and it about melted my brain. Plus it kept saying no one was looking at my blog, it was like the flat line in a medical drama. I kept seeing a doctor pounding on the lifeless chest of my blog, as a nurse said consolingly “he’s gone, Jim, you did everything you could.”

Naturally, I didn’t look at that again. Even if no one was reading my blog I certainly didn't want Google rubbing my face in it. And I am pretty sure at least one or two people said "hey, I read your blog," once in a while.

 I went to a Tae Kwon Do class for several years and every class ended with the entire student body screaming “I am a success, Sir” to make us feel good about ourselves, even the class where I separated my shoulder, which did not make me feel successful at all ended in the scream of self assurance. So when I look at my blog, I thing “wow, that is a lot of posts.” And it makes me feel like a champion.