Oogley Googley

This new feature by Google was in the news yesterday. Here is an excerpt:


{Sometimes I send messages I shouldn't send. Like the time I told that girl I had a crush on her over text message. Or the time I sent that late night email to my ex-girlfriend that we should get back together. Gmail can't always prevent you from sending messages you might later regret, but today we're launching a new Labs feature I wrote called Mail Goggles which may help.

When you enable Mail Goggles, it will check that you're really sure you want to send that late night Friday email. And what better way to check than by making you solve a few simple math problems after you click send to verify you're in the right state of mind?}

This is fantastic stuff. The feature is only available on the weekends during late night hours, times that one may be be more inclined to send such messages. I could name names right now of some friends of mine that this tool would have come in very handy in the past. Facebook and MySpace should definitely jump on board. I thought of some other questions other than simple math solutions that may also help with this preventative measure...

-On a scale of 1-10, how much will your friends laugh at you if they could read this message?

-What does VIP stand for?

Better yet, why not just institute a breathalyzer? This should also be applicable to late night trips to eBay or really anywhere that it's possible to spend money. We have the technology for cars, why not computers? I accept this as my mission. I'm going to write my Congressman and I ask that you do the same.

This One Goes Out To All My Swiss Friends

At some point in my life I would like to make this blog an every day thing. Every article I have read about blogging preaches that regular updates is the best way to keep people coming back. I guess that's the whole point... to keep people coming back. My whole goal, however, is to just keep myself entertained. You're more than welcome to join in on the fun. I figure writing a blog is a little more accepted than carrying around a leather bound journal and documenting every move. Although it seemed to work well for Sebastian.

Oh, so good news. Google Maps now offers directions to destinations if you happen to be walking. Everyone knows it's less dangerous to walk across the country if you don't use Dwight's intertwined baby. Poor Forrest just had to wing it. I remember the good old days. When you could get a milk shake for a quarter, let your kids ride their bikes in the neighborhood, when Barry Bonds had a normal sized head, and you didn't have Google telling you whose farm to walk through.

I went home last weekend. My dad had his retirement party. It's kind of weird when your "old man" actually becomes an old man. Anyway, I was a bit overwhelmed with all the people that came to celebrate. My parents house was bustling and rustling all at the same time. I lived with a family of 6 growing up so you would think I would be used to people all over the place. Yet, I've lived in an apartment by myself for almost the last year and I love it. Not including the walking around in your underwear thing, (which can not be overstated) but it's just nice to have your own space. So here's the question... Would you rather live in isolation for a year with no outside contact or live in a confined space with 100 other people with no respite? I'll go with the isolation every time. I know they* say that people go crazy in isolation, but I think Nelson Mandela turned out alright. That being said, I'm contractually obligated to say that I love my family very much. Except for the adopted ones. Kidding!

*They still haven't figured out who they are. But they sure say a lot of things.

I knew for sure that I was on my cyclical downward trend of fitness yesterday when I had a remote at a fitness center. I was way more interested in the Chick-Fil-A than looking at the new equipment. Also, how silly is it that gyms serve soft drinks? Or is it smart? A fitness center calls in with an uncontrollable evil laugh and says that it keeps them* coming. He also mentions possibly bringing in Philly cheese steaks and German beer.

*Not to be confused with they. Very different.

TGIT. Peace.

Listen Up

So welcome to the new site. After all of the complaining about aesthetics and wanting to make sure this blog looks decent, I disregarded all of those notions and decided to just start doing the dang thing. I'm still trying to work out some kinks and hopefully at some point the blog won't look like it's being done by a Gothic 14 year old. Although I assure you that it would certainly be more creative. I'll put up the links on MySpace and Facebook when I post, but this is where you can expect the daily/weekly/however often I feel like it that particular time rants. You heard?

Oh, and I'm using Google Analytics to help track traffic. If you have a blog or website you might want to check it out. Google is way cooler than Excite. Did not see that one coming.

So if you're new to the show, welcome. You can check out old blogs on my MySpace page.

That couple in all those Sonic commercials would probably be a bit more robust if they really ate there all the time.

I've noticed, especially lately, that I really hate when people interrupt. Nothing is more frustrating. Then again, I think I do the same thing. Everyone feels the need to one-up the other in a conversation. Or talk louder. Talking louder is my favorite move. You know a fun game? If someone starts to play the volume shenanigan with you, see how high you can get the decibel level using the see-saw method. Then when the other person is at the peak just get real quiet and enjoy the entertainment. This is especially useful for older people as they won't have to invest in a hearing aid or the extremely creepy Listen Up device. By the way, if you haven't seen the infomercial for the aforementioned product you are really missing out. It's hilarious in a stalker, perverted sort of way.

Anyway, I think that's why two of my best friends are clinical psychologists. They're professional listeners. They let you get the b.s. out of the way and then, and only then do they tell me that I'm an idiot. That's all I want. To have ample time to prove my idiocy.

For those of you who read my blog regularly you know that I'm obsessed with words - the literal meanings, the root of common expressions, spellings. Anyway, we had an office-wide conversation this morning and I need the answer. The saying that sparked the conversation was "I know ____ like the back of my hand." We've all heard that expression. But my question is which side is the back of the hand? I always assumed that meant the top (not palm) side of the hand. It just seemed logical in my head that the palm would be the front because I always was looking at my hand at a downward angle and seeing the back. And since you see that side of your hand most often, I guessed the meaning implied that you know that part of the body pretty well. But what if that side is the front? What if you actually have to turn your hand over to see the back? I guess that would also make sense. The palm has more discernible features. There are lines, fingerprints, often scars. When you hold someone's hand, you see the top of the hand. So wouldn't that make the palm side the back of the hand? Maybe Mick Jagger knows the answer and just isn't telling. But seriously, I have to know.

You can have your "don't put periods in my name anymore" CC Sabathia, Brewers. Enjoy Mr. Harden, Cubs. The Cards have Mark Mulder going tonight! I mean, have you seen Mark Mulder? Jonah Hill thinks he looks like the first time he heard the Beatles. Mulder can pitch 8 innings, ok 3 innings, and still have that hair looking magnificent. That's impressive. I guarantee that intimidates the opposition. He'll probably throw a no-hitter tonight. Actually, the Phillies will probably have negative hits against him. Mark it down. Get it? Mark? I don't crack myself up.

Alright, that's it. Thanks for checking out the new site. Let me know if you have any suggestions or if you know certifiably what side is really the back of the hand. Good day.