Thursday, January 29, 2009

Another work story

When I asked him his name for the drink ticket, he said it was "Orion."

"Like the constellation?"
"Yeah."
"I bet there's an interesting story behind that."
"LSD."

His parents were at a concert, got high on acid, and then conceived. He said God told his mom to name him Orion.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

This week at work

Last week at the coffee shop was eventful.
  1. We caught someone trying to steal coffee. He had taken one of our mugs out with him and brought it back another day, hoping that we would think he had already paid for it. Nice try, buddy.
  2. There was a couple who was making out nonstop in front of the register.
  3. And, lastly, the baristas and kitchen staff on shift had about a 45-minute conversation (while maintaining productivity, of course) about whether or not you could physically bite your own finger off. Our good man David Hall hypothesized that it was physically possible (the pounds per square inch created by your jaw could take off the finger) but that your brain would prohibit it from actually happening by shutting down the muscles. From there, we progressed on to asking if you could take a bite out of your own bicep. No conclusions were reached, but it was entertaining.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Resolute

My resolution for the new year: Don't throw up as much.

I've found myself saddled with the nickname "Puddles," which was given to me so lovingly by my roommates to commemorate the roughly five times I spewed last semester.

Twice I threw up because of an upset stomach. Three times I puked at athletic events (an early morning 5k race and two soccer games). I've decided that this is because I still think I can run like I could when I was a senior in high school. Woefully, I'll never be in that kind of shape again. I'm still doing research on how to pace myself in sports. Test results remain inconclusive.

Interestingly, vomiting is different from regurgitation, says Wikipedia, although the two are often used to refer to the same process. (Vomiting is the involuntary purging of toxins, whereas regurgitation deals with undigested food and can be controlled.)

There you have it. So far I'm doing really well, but my stomach just growled.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Strategery

My family enjoys strategy games: Risk, Settlers of Catan, etc. When I go home, we usually are able to fit in a few lively rounds. I'm not really sure why I keep participating--as long as I can remember, I have never won any of these games. Ever.

My brother-in-law, however, is the master when it comes to these battles of the mind. He's a lawyer, well educated and very smart. I can usually hold my own, though, so it's not often that I get completely embarrassed.

We played--my brother, sister, brother-in-law and I--last Tuesday night. Risk. My mission was to control the North American and African continents. From the beginning, I was poised to decimate.

I had two countries in both South America and Australia, so I loaded up the majority of my troops in those areas so I could clear both continents, securing myself four more troops each round for the decisive invasion of my targets that was to follow. The next round, I swept through Africa, only losing one soldier in six battles.

After a series of heart-stopping skirmishes on the eastern border of Africa, I held my own against my sister, who was the only person that could have stopped me from perpetrating total chaos on the rest of the map.

So there I was, in the third round of the game, controlling South America, Australia and Africa, getting ready to ransack North America. My army was about 20 strong, and I surged into the continent, laying waste to everyone in my way.

With only three countries standing in between me and victory, I set up to do battle with my brother. It was his last remaining army on the board, and with a roll of the dice I eliminated him from the game.

At that moment, my brother-in-law yelled.

"Aha!" He threw down his mission card. "Winner!"

He proclaimed it triumphantly. His mission had been to destroy my brother. He had won the game. It was unbelievable. One minute, winning was a sure thing, but then I had inadvertently handed supremacy over on a silver platter. (Ironically, my brother's mission had been to destroy me; I completed the opposite of this.)

Victory, which had been so tantalizingly dangled in front of me, was cruelly snatched away by the one person who never needed any help winning.

My roommates and I have begun picking up new games, mostly old-man games (backgammon, cribbage, and the like). This will likely (read: hopefully) result in the creation of a regular game night. We also have Risk. Someday I will return from exile and conquer my family to end this blight on my strategy game record.