iEATcars!

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes.

The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them.

About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.

How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.

While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

Dear Sun,

Despite how much Florida likes to romanticize its painfully suffocating relationship with you, you are seriously getting on my nerves.

In the mornings, I somehow manage to make it to work, playing bumper-cars on I-4 while fighting the sleepies and the blinding radiance that you exude. Then after spending countless hours working for the man, I drive home, reversing my path on I-4, fighting a miserable clusterfuck of traffic with squinted eyes as I curse your existence and my inability to escape you while I am driving.

Neither my car visors nor my sunglasses, which I love for the fact that they have darker-than-normal lenses, provide any true relief from your torture on my eyes.

I hate you.

-Will

[9/6/2011 3:00:17 PM] 
Hi! So this is a first…..there is a small dead possum to the right of the(by the brown door) building door entrance facing the courtyard. A bunch of flies are there and it’s gross. If you need me to point it out, I can. Thanks!

As I was stepping out to take a lunch, I passed the VP of Sales on his way back in, and he stopped me.

“Let me read your shirt.”

We both stood there in the parking lot, silent, while he looked over my shirt with scrutinizing eyes. Now, mind you, this is not a guy that is normally known for being a nice guy or someone you’d honestly want to be stuck in a conversation with. And the last few times that I made contact with him, fixing various PC issues that he had at the time, he only referred to me as “boy”; like I was his pet labradoodle.

“Ok, sir. You’re all set.”

“Good boy.”

And here I was, standing toe to toe with a VP while he eyed over my shirt. I was just waiting for him to shake his head in disappointment that I would wear such a shirt that was not more work appropriate. It wasn’t that my shirt was bad, but it’s when you’re in these situations, that you think the worst.

This same VP is the one you always hear stories about how he got so-and-so fired, because he didn’t like him for whatever reason. He’s an old timer in the company that supposedly has enough pull that he can get you fired with the snap of a finger. Maybe he does. Maybe it’s just office ghost stories. I certainly never want to try and prove it one way or the other.

Then there’s the real stuff you hear about. How he’s in court for allegedly man-handling a (now) former employee during a disagreement they had at his desk. Maybe that’s not true either, but again… who wants to find out, right? Not that I think this guy could take me, but who really wants to get attacked at work?

More importantly… this dude was taking up my precious lunch time to do this.

And that’s when it happened. The silence was broken with a sudden outburst into laughter. Serious, gut-tugging laughter.

“Oh my God. This is fucking hilarious!” he shouted as he continued to read.

I smiled back at him, and made a little nervous laughter.

“One man wolf pack!! Hilarious! Where did you get this shirt?”

“Casual Male”

“It’s fucking funny, man. I really like that.”

“Well, I’m glad that my shirt could entertain you.”

“Oh, it did. Fucking funny as shit. Has anyone else stopped to read your shirt?”

“Um, maybe a couple of times.”

I lied. Sure people have read bits here and there, but nobody has ever just stopped me and made me stand there while they read it. At least, not that I recall. But I wasn’t going to say that to him for fear that I would make him feel as awkward as I did while he stared at my torso for what seemed like an eternity.

“Well, I bet they were fucking dying. It’s funny. Well, I’ll see you later.” he said as he walked away and I wiped a little sweat from my brow.

So a thanks goes out to the guys behind The Hangover for the points I just scored with the VP. That shirt has proven to me more than just a shout out to an incredibly funny movie. It’s the shirt you wear while climbing the ladder of success.

Download

Listen on Spotify

No SoundCloud option this time. Sorry.

1.   The Truth – Handsome Boy Modeling School
2.   The Perfect Occasion – RJD2
3.   Hypnosis Theme (feat. Marina Quaisse) – Wax Tailor
4.   One Past – Chinese Man
5.   Witness (Slugabed Remix) – Roots Manuva
6.   Used to Drive a Tractor in Negrille (Remix) – Lee “Scratch” Perry
7.   Culture of Fear – Thievery Corporation
8.   Murder Weapon – Tricky
9.   6 Underground – Sneaker Pimps
10.   E=MC2 (feat. Common) – J Dilla
11.   Grown Man Sport – Pete Rock & InI
12.   Summer’s Gonna Hurt You (Diplo 2010 Remix) – Diplo
13.   1,000 Cigarettes (feat. Freeway)[Bonus Track] – MSTRKRFT

[7/28/2011 11:47:32 AM]
I need a new fuzzy thing to cover my mouthpiece

[7/27/2011 2:51:19 PM]
When trying to access the minesweeper game on the computer, I get the following error message:

‘This operation has been cancelled due to restrictions in effect on this computer. Please cotact your system administrator.’

Please advise.

Subject: Application is borked

Description: Exceedingly slow. Search does not appear to function. Causes timeout. Suggest teaching the computer some respect by applying a blunt object at high speed to the side of the chassis.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s my dimple. Maybe it’s my (usually) calm demeanor. Hell, maybe it’s just because I’m super awesome, but for whatever reason, grandmas love me. And you’d think, “Well, they’re grandmas. It’s in there nature to love us.” But that’s not it. No, grandmas love me.

Sure, it started out innocent enough with the occasional “Oh, he’s such a sweet boy”, but more recently it has really gotten out of hand. Let’s review some real-life situations, and you be the judge.

1.  Quite possibly the oldest person in the building in which I work comes up to me and wants a hug. Sure. I oblige. While in mid-hug, she takes a big whiff and says, “Wow, you smell sooo good. Mmm Mmm. And such a great hugger. So nice. Mmm.”

2.  I walk into a training room, and two older ladies immediately start saying things like, “Oh, who’s this handsome fellow?” and “The computers must looove him, the way he touches them in just the right way.”

3. An older lady kept calling me on the phone, telling me they had a “package” for me to come and pick up. I kept forgetting to make it to their desk, so they would send me emails or tell the other guys I work with to let me know. Eventually, I made it down there and the package was a bag of two shirts that they said their son “couldn’t fit into anymore” and maybe I would like them. They were brand new and totally different sizes; almost like she was trying to guess my size.

4. ”Oh, nice britches. I like those.” I’m told by another older lady walking by, as I’m bent over, under a desk, pulling cable. Sure, that could have just been a simple remark to comment on the fact that my boxers were showing at work, but if only I could type that statement in a way to convey the way she said it. It was creepy.

5. “Oh, what strong muscles you must have, lifting all those heavy boxes. Wouldn’t you mind stopping by my place sometime to move my box,” another older lady slyly asked me while giving me the ol’ winky-winky.

Ok, so I made up that last one, but believe me, I wouldn’t be surprised if that happens at some point. Now, this is just at work and only a few instances that come to mind. So you tell me, people. Am I crazy?

As I hand him his change, he looks at the crinkled-up ten and asks, “What’s up with this bill?”

“I dunno. Does it smell like strippers? That’s the ten they gave me.” I respond.

“Actually, strippers always smell pretty nice. It must be a requirement.”