When Simple, Single Purpose Tools Fail You

You get pissed off. You mistreat the things on your desk. You close the door to your office so you can swear more loudly. And you sure as hell give that quirky optical mouse a reason to jump up to right corner of your screen. And eventually, you visualize beating the figurehead of the company responsible for the tool nearly to death with his own defective device. Or an umbrella. Or perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you drink decaf and are in bed by 8:30.

I won’t tell you which style I prefer, but I will tell you that I’m never in bed by 8:30 and I don’t drink decaf. And very simple, single purpose tools are failing me today, left and right. For no good reason. And I’m tired of teaching my quirky optical mouse a lesson. He doesn’t seem to learn, and he should have a Ph.D. by now. And its hardly fair to imagine pummeling Bill Gates when you’re writing Java with open source tools. You just can’t blame the guy for the things his competitors do, no matter how hard you try.

So with my productivity officially shot for the day, I seek solace in ridiculous quizzes on the internet to tell me things that I didn’t know about myself. Things like, what will my last words be:

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:


“So, you’re a cannibal.”

I can buy that. It’s got a certain implied Indiana Jones quality that seems very applicable to my current career of I.T. consulting. I am, after all, great with a whip.

Here’s a list of equally possible final words I might say.

  • Bubble, bubble-bubble, bubble bubble-bubble-bubble. (In the unlikely case of a water landing.)
  • Hey, you said you weren’t married!
  • Honey, I just got another box of cigars in the mail!
  • Dude, check this out. (Alternately, “Hey, lemme try that.“)
  • Is this “Bankhead Highway“?
  • Aw, dammit. (This is probably the most likely, especially if I see it coming.)
  • You will find the Holy Grail in the Castle of Aaauuuggghhh
  • *Huff* *Puff* *Huff* *Puff* (Either running up stairs, or from angry indigenous peoples with a priceless artifact.)

So to sum up: Simple tool breakage causes anger, asinine online test-taking, silly speculation on your own mortality and delusions of grandeur. Be prepared, bookmark some online quizzes now, you never know when you’ll need them. No need to thank me now, I’ll assume the check is in the mail.

What, you were expecting some profound conclusion? The best I can do today is a Simpson’s quote. (I’m still nearly incoherent from inhaling 700 miles of Georgia and Florida.)

“It’s true… I’m a rageaholic! I just can’t live without rageahol!” — Homer Simpson

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Atlanta’s Accidental Herf: Southern Georgia

Don’t Mess With Smokey, He WILL Eat You.If this post sounds a bit unusual, you should know it’s because I’m high. I’ve been smoking the worlds largest cigar all morning. It’s so big, I’m actually smoking it with a lot of people at the same time. A lot of people. Curious? The cigar is the southern part of the state of Georgia. And right now all of Atlanta is taking part of in a giant, unplanned herf.

As a guy who’s all about turning lemons into lemon vodka, I’ve decided as long as I’m puffing away on southern Georgia, I might as well review the experience. Hey, I’d do the same with any bad cigar.

Cigar Stats
Size: Nearly 700 square miles
Wrapper/Binder/Filler: Georgia swampland and Florida
Price Tag: $30 Million plus.

The Pre-Smoke
Nobody was aware that yesterday was the pre-smoke. And as such, I took no notes. There was nothing especially noteworthy about the air quality yesterday, and the sky was clear. Nothing I noted yesterday prepared me to be punched in the lungs with burning swampland this morning.

The Burn
As far as burns go, this sucker is more like a cigarette than a cigar. To say it burns fast is an understatement. This is one beast we wish would go out in the ashtray.

The Flavor
I seriously evaluated the scent on the way into the office. Since it’s impossible for me to know exactly where we are in the burn, I can’t give a third-by-third analysis. I definitely detected wood and peat and something tangy that I suspect was furry woodland animals. The wood part was almost pleasant (if a bit over powering) while the peat was kind of like inhaling Talisker single malt scotch through a straw. The cumulative effect is like a flying elbow to the sternum.

The Verdict
Don’t light fires in your state/province/principality/whatever. Be sure to stomp out your cigars, cigarettes and camp fires, douse them with water and/or urine and bury them. This is one herf you don’t want to attend, and one you definitely don’t want to be responsible for causing. And no, I don’t think the differences in your location will lead to a better quality of smoke. If you do start one, I will personally help Smokey the Bear maul your ass. (He has a passport, so don’t think you’re off the hook over there across the pond.) And taking time off work makes me grouchy, so I won’t be much for polite conversation either.

More information on the fire here, here, here and here. (Yes, I know, I’m goin’ to hell for this post. But if you laughed or cracked a smile, I’ll see you there. I’ll be the guy with the cigars.)

My Actual Cigar Reviews

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