My Phone Sees Things...

... and so can you.

My cell phone has this little camera thingy on it. It takes crappy pictures, but it comes in handy once in a while to take note (well, picture, really) of something that grabs my attention.

For instance, in my office building, I recently came across this:

 

Part of it's a little hard to read, but I think you can get the idea. When I saw this, I couldn't help wondering how in the hell a door can be out of order. Seriously, does that mean it won't open? If so, the sign's pretty useless, don't you think? I mean that would be pretty obvious when it didn't open (although I suppose such a sign would keep people from calling the management, as the sign would indicate they already knew about it). Or does it mean it won't close? No, that's clearly not the case, as the door is currently closed in the picture. I suppose it could mean that, if you do open the door, it might fall on you and possibly kill you. Or it might be broken such that it will only open into another dimension where you are likely to fall prey to the Dreaded Ass Bite of the Evil Buttmunchosaur, at which point out of order doors will clearly become the least of your concerns. If it were one of these last two things (or something else along those lines), doesn't it seem like a more ominous and official-looking sign would be in order (sorry for the pun -- couldn't help myself). Something like "Beware the Dreaded Ass Bite" would likely keep me the hell away from that door. As it was, I opted to pay no heed all the bad things it did to the proverbial cat and indulged my curiosity by grabbing the handle and opening the door and walking right through and watching it close. A few days later that sign went away, and I have no idea what changed.

I was going to put up some others, but I'll hold off on those for now. We'll call this Part One or something. I hope your Monday is as good as can be hoped ... and devoid of out of order doors. But maybe you should Beware the Dreaded Ass Bite, just in case.

Photo Bombing Fun

Non-somnolent reader FJ just emailed this photo essay to me, and I had to share it right away. Just marvelous.

Fast and Loose with Definitions

Driving home from a round of golf yesterday, one of those signs with removable letters on the front caught my attention. I didn't notice the building it was in front of, but I have to assume it was a church. It said:

THE BIBLE HAS A WORD TO DESCRIBE "SAFE" SEX. IT'S CALLED MARRIAGE.

I don't know a whole lot about defining words, and I certainly don't know how the Bible does it, but I'm not sure how exactly the word marriage describes sex -- at least in the context of intercourse -- be it the safe or some other variety. A co-worker of mine (the same one who likes to ride tricycles), upon hearing about the sign said, "That's not describing sex; That's describing abstinence."

Not in My Office You Don't!

A friend recently emailed this rant of his to me, which I have copied here in its entirety:

I’ve decided today that I have had just about enough of people bringing in their damned babies that are too young to do anything but sit there on one parent’s shoulder, make awkward faces, and shit in the doorway of my office.  I’ve had enough of their parents standing there waiting for me to give the appropriate level of praise (“Good job, Chris, you really knocked the bottom right out of your wife the right way this time, huh?”).  I’ve had enough of the weird small talk and not knowing what to say (“Wow, Melissa, you must have some Asian in your family tree somewhere, because your daughter doesn’t look anything like your husband”) or whether to touch the thing or tell them it looks like one or the other of them or whether I should know if they’re old enough to be sleeping through the night.  I’ve had enough of being introduced to random spouses that I’ve met 5 times already and wasn’t impressed with the first 5 times, or who I wondered how the hell you managed to convince her to stick around with you long enough to procreate – maybe next time I’ll ask them how the conversation about you wanting to hire the smoking hot au pairs went.  So please quit wasting my time, take your puke factory home where it belongs, and get back to your office and do your f-ing job.

Thank you.  And if I at some point procreate and drag that child into the office, please forward this back to me.

I very much enjoyed that rant, but as a fellow non-procreator at this point in my life, sending it to me was pretty ineffective aside from its obvious entertainment value. But I'm glad I don't work in his office because a) I would share a lot of his feelings about the baby parade, and b) I might be inclined to visit him sometimes if I worked there, and it might be hazardous -- I don't consider myself a germophobe or anything, but his office doorway must be filthy.

Bitter Much?

The letters have eluded me lately, and I should probably offer an explanation for that, but those letters seem to be eluding me, too.  Instead, I'll offer a link to a fake personal that made me chuckle once or twice.  Hope you enjoy it.