That's me, the Brilliant Intern

Today after work I had to follow my collegue to make some connections with other people in the company/industry... I wasn't really listening. Anyway, it was a series of champagne (which I kept refusing) h'our derves (which I should have kept refusing, but never did) and bloody feet because I wore the most unpractical shoes I own for the two-hour, stand on your feet event.

Anyway I took pleasure in two things (this might turn into more than two) the h'our derves (the fact that I can't figure out how to spell this stupid work should forshadow a few things.) of course, my mental mockery of boring people trying their hardest to make themselves sound intensly interesting by bragging about whatever economics they do to put me to sleep. Oh and the last thing that made me happy was that the girl I was with introduced me to everyone as 'the brilliant intern.' She would go talk to someone, say and this is the brilliant intern we have had for the last two weeks who has done some excellent work. Then they would look at my name take, take note of my name I assume, and then continue to brag/bore me to sleep. This went on for the duration of the whatever you would call it until the second to last person I was introduced to. He was french canadian, and as I waited for my grandeous introduction to conclude the French Canadian looked at me, looked at my name tag and said, 'jer name tahg iz upside down.' and then walked away.

Leave it to the French. So much for being brilliant, I would rather be an average idiot in comfortable shoes anyway.

Oops, no time for spell check, sorry!

God Bless American Lawsuits

At a bus stop today, I found appreciation for a bit of American culture once scoffed at. I was waiting patiently for bus 468 at the appropriate stop when bus 468 came, and flew right past me. I was a little annoyed, but the Brit chap behind me was livid. His exact words were, "Let's 'ope the bastard dies a long and painful death of cancer." A punishment that didn't entirely fit the crime, but me I've always had a soft spot for unproportionate consequence, so I laughed. He said something else in British gibberish I figured was a continuation of the cursings, so I laughed again. It wasn't until he asked (rather gruffly) if I spoke English that I realized I had heard the words "wife," and "wheelchair." Anyway, after clearing things up a bit I found out that his wife was in a wheelchair for the rest of her life because a bus (like the one that breezed right past me) had taken his wife's ability to walk when it didn't halt at the right bus stop. We chatted for a while on the bus and he told me how the surgeries had amounted to 25,000 pounds and they tried to sue in every way they could and never saw a penny (or a p for that matter).

I once read about a man (probably from Central Illinois because that's where I read the article) who was driving in his new RV down a highway, left the wheel unmanned to go make a pot of coffee, and wrecked the vehicle. He demaned the RV company pay for a new RV, his medical bills, and compensation for emotional trauma because it didn't tell him not to leave the wheel in the manual. He won.

Now if I were in America, I would sue this internet cafe for putting the @ sign where the apostrophe is and the apostraphe where the @ sign is on this ridiculous computer. But I guess if I were in America the @ sign would be where the apostrophe is so.... catch 22.

"You Are Being Highjacked"

Today's "Matt's Today in History Podcast" featured a man by the name of DB Cooper.  (Well that was sort of his name.  Actually his name was Dan Cooper; no one even knew if he had a middle name or not.   The media, playing snobby girl who can't remember names and doesn't use ones she doesn't care for, came up with 'DB' instead.) In 1971 this man hijacked a plane, but he did it with such style and class that it seemed more like an inconvenient detour.  He calmly had the pilot turn the plane around and was kind enough to let every passenger off the plane except, of course, for the pilot and stuartist--whom he needed, and guided the plane back into the air where he extended the detour by mere hours.  Mr. Cooper gave the pilot and stuartist careful instructions (showing his extensive research on 747's), locked them in the cockpit (with the utmost care I can only assume), and, leaving not a scratch on anyone aboard the plane, chuted out with his 200K.  They never found him.  

It makes me mourn the old days when terrorists and hijackers took modest amounts of money, were never greedy with the hostage count (keeping only those they needed) and really doing their homework.  I miss the terrorists with flare.  I miss the terrorists you could really fall in love with.