Deep in the night I am awake. Voices, I overhear voices caught up in low, earnest argument. There is an issue of some import being hashed out in this, the witching hour. My mind fires up with all sorts of drastic ideas. Is my room-mate confronting her husband about an affair? Are they discussing a top secret operation? Are they planning the murder of my rather vexing kitty cat?
I turn over and try to ignore the voices as they grow more and more insistent. I am about to drop off into an exhaust induced slumber, when suddenly Meredith shouts, “She’s on drugs! That’s all it means! Nobody even listens to Paula!”
*sigh* Oh, that. They’re still discussing the slip up on American Idol. Everyone’s so eager to paint Paula’s bizarre comments into a scandal; likely households across the nation have been divided on what amounts to a moot point.
Apparently, (cus I don’t watch the damn show, and do my best to tune it out) Paula Abdul made comments about a performer’s two songs when he had only performed one. Some people are taking this to mean the show is scripted, and the judges’ judgments are pre-arranged. Others believe this is evidence that Ms. Abdul is judging the contest drunk.
No one seems to have arrived at the obvious conclusion, which is that Paula Abdul is batshit crazy. I already discussed this in a former post. One needs only to watch a single segment from the brief reality show series ‘Hey Paula’ to understand that her comments last night aren’t the intriguing part, what’s intriguing is that Miss Abdul hasn’t stood on her chair, stuffed a banana in her cleavage and performed a lap-dance dedicated to the childhood memory of her imaginary friend, Stevedore, so far during a live taping.
If you happen to catch a recording of the comments, don’t pay attention to her face, look at Simon and Randy. They exchange a significant and not unsurprised look. The look does not communicate ‘What the hell is she talking about?’ No. It’s simply a ‘Crap, how do we manage this one?’ Simon might be a dick and Randy might be a caricature of what a black man would say if a black man were a caricature, but they are also the support pillars, the buffer zones who manage, rather deftly, to defer America’s understanding of how crazy the lady is in the center seat.
But moving on to matters of actual import…. where do you suppose the term ‘cockles’ came from? (Dare I ask?) It’s a fairly weird term. “Ah, that warms the cockles of my heart…”
It doesn’t really sound like something you’d want in your heart. What is a cockle? Can they move? Curious.
Finally, I get some marvelous comments on here, and sometimes I’m rather astounded by the *craftsmanship* that goes into the feedback on this site. Here’s the comment of the day, in case you didn’t see it under the e-Bay post.
You’ve probably shipped it by now but I used to sell this kind of thing in a retail environment and normally things like external hard drives are designed to be shipped simply in the package they are sold in. Often they would have a sleeve over the box to protect the graphics from damage, but a lot of the time we’d get the box with a shipping label slapped on it, especially if we hadn’t ordered more than one of them at at time.
In fact I would often advise people to save the packaging “in case you ever decide to ship it somewhere.”
But a little more bubble wrap in the world never hurt anything. Perhaps it will provide valuable entertainment for the receiver. Even better, it may be in just the right place at the right time to save his or her LIFE.
Maybe the buyer was sitting on the floor watching Deadliest Catch when they opened their package. They absentmindedly began popping a few of the bubbles while Edgar and Sig on the Northwestern tried to figure out who could go longest without sleep.
After the show was over, they got up to use the bathroom and left the bubble wrap on the floor. Just after they left the room the front door slowly creaked open and a ninja assassin entered! His mission was to kill the person living there and steal the documents on the hard drive of their computer… the very documents your hapless buyer had intended to back up onto the hard drive they had purchased from you.
As the ninja began to creep across the room the buyer came back from the bathroom and there was a moment of pause when the ninja and the ebayer locked gazes. The ninja drew his sword and began moving slowly towards the new owner of the slightly used but in excellent condition external hard drive, who began backing up at the same pace, mind whirling in terror with hopeless plans of escape.
The ninja accidentally stepped on the bubble wrap, still lying on the hardwood flooring of the living room. The big toe of his Tabi Boot popped one of the bubbles, which emitted the sound of a woman moaning in ecstasy. The ninja involuntarily glanced down, giving the ebayer an opportunity to grab a vase off a nearby shelf and smash it over the ninja’s head. He crumpled into an unconscious heap to the floor, causing the bubble wrap to make 13 more pops and a fart noise. The ebayer called the authorities and entered into a witness protection plan. They also left you good feedback on ebay.
“Excellent product, fast shipping. Packaging materials saved me from ninja assassin. Would buy again. A++++++.”
(Clarity on the woman moaning bit: http://www.boingboing.net/2007/09/20/electronic-bubblewra.html Thanks, Paul)