Fun – Page 2 – Walt-O-Matic

Ok, ow. That hurt.

As I’m leaving the local Sushi bar, one of the cooks notices me limping away and asks, “What happened to your foot?”

My answer back caused the entire restaurant to go quiet, “A firefighter kicked me.” Which, as it turned out, was the gosh-honest truth.

Here’s what happened.

As I’m leaving the local Sushi bar, one of the cooks notices me limping away and asks, “What happened to your foot?”

My answer back caused the entire restaurant to go quiet, “A firefighter kicked me.” Which, as it turned out, was the gosh-honest truth.

Here’s what happened.

A Firefighter Kicked Me, Stealing a Home Run Ball

My brother-in-law was helping to set up a commercial fireworks display for a local baseball game, and I got permission to go on site and take some photography of the crew and the display.

While I’m back there, I hear the crowd go wild, and a baseball comes flying over the fence. It lands and rolls away. After a few moments of talking, I ask, “Should I go get it?” And they indicate ‘why not,’ as that always happens and they pointed to one back over by the wall sitting in the grass.

So, I start walking over to it. As I do, I notice that there’s some lady (a term I’ll revoke shortly) way off in the distance behind me who’s running toward the ball. Turns out, it was one of the local firefighters who’s there every night there’s fireworks.

Figuring she’s had ample opportunity all season to pick up things flying over the fence, I sprint for the ball and easily get to it before her. As I go to reach down and pick it up, she shoves me.

Having a camera in one hand, I knock the ball away from both of us, run over to it, and plant both feet tightly around the ball so it can’t be dislodged.

She comes running over, and while I want to surmise she was “playfully” trying to kick the ball out from between my feet, she ended up kicking my heel in. And, from what I’ve recently learned, those boots have steel toes in them.

Eventually, I relented, deciding that to me it was just another piece of worthless clutter; I stepped back and let her have it. The ball, not with the back of a shovel, like I now contemplate.

Muppet Bodies: The Exhibition

The display you really want to see is “Muppet Bodies,” where they take a bunch of preserved, dead muppets and puppeteers and cut them in half, showing you the insides…

Jerry Carr is a cartoonist, known for monkeys, babes, and the graphic novel Cryptozoo Crew, which looks like it may be made into a movie, amongst other things.

While visiting Jerry’s Facebook page, I saw his status message was set to this:

Jerry is freshly motivated after a day at the Jim Henson Muppets display at the Smithsonian!

Unfortunately, I couldn’t help myself. I had to comment on his wall:

The display you really want to see is “Muppet Bodies,” where they take a bunch of preserved, dead muppets and puppeteers and cut them in half, showing you the insides.

You can see how the tendons connect to the distal phalanges in order to produce more articulated facial expressions.

Note, though, there’s a special baby muppets section, which shows the progression of muppet fetuses, starting from a simple spool of thread and piece of fabric. A word of caution, it’s pretty emotional, because at the end are a small number of muppets with birth defects; it’s very sad.

Forgive me Jerry.

Chase Me, Pervert

A cute little girl asks me to chase her… so, I do. Next thing I know, she’s running to an adult for protection. D’oh.

So I’m visiting my sister’s church, and after the service I go into the nursery to see if she needs help cleaning up. There’s one little girl left who’s about two years old and cute as a button; she takes an instant liking to me, sharing with me her impression of a lion right after accidentally bouncing a toy off my head.

The adults clean the room and my sister says she knows the parents and scoops the kid in her arms, heading back to the sanctuary to find them. The little girl waves to me playfully as she’s carried out the door to come join them.

When we get to the destination, there’s still a lot of people standing about and having conversations. My sister puts the little girl down who then looks up at me with doe eyes and says “Chase me!”

I tell her I’m tired. But, she insists, “Chase me!”

Fine. I take a false step toward her, and she squeals in delight and goes running down the aisle a few steps before she notices I’m actually not in pursuit.

Stomping her little foot, she declares, “Chase me!”

So, complying, I start to chase her at a slow pace where she’s sure to get away safely. She’s giggling and having the time of her life. She turns the corner, looks over her shoulder, and sees me.

“I’m gonna get you…” and I wiggle my fingers at her. She grins and runs off, with me slowly following.

Then the unexpected happens.

She turns the next corner, goes running up to some set of couples in a post-service conversation, and declares “He’s chasing me! Protect me.” Next thing I know, they’re putting themselves between her and me in a very “I need an adult” kind of manner. I quickly discover that this is one of the pastors’ daughter. While, I, on the other hand, am a stranger that no one at the church recognizes.

Great. Just great.

“She told me to…” I start to explain, and now it’s clear that it’s my veracity that is being tested. The fact that people have cell phones in their hands and 911 on speed dial isn’t helping.

That’s when I see my sister and the pastor who’s the father having a really good laugh at my expense across the room.

Once the group saw that, and joined in, the little girl’s asylum was forfeit; now the chase was real.

My Kid Can Talk

The extent one dad will go through to brag about his kid…

So, I’m leaving Rita’s of Ashburn, and outside there’s a dad holding on to a very young child who’s trying to escape his arms to crawl on the table to go after the colored iceies. He, meanwhile, is boastly bragging to the group of people at the table with him how smart his kid is.

“Well, my kid isn’t even one, and he can talk.”

The other members of his group are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

Then, suddenly the dad, barks a command at the kid, jolting everyone – “TALK!!!”

The kid, who’s reaching for a red slush freezes in place, silent, unsure if the appropriate response is to burst into tears at being startled.

Then, as if on delayed command, the kids speaks. One word softly: ‘ow.’

Completely seriously, he exclaims, “There, you see! I told you he was smart.”

As I’m stepping off the curb, I hear someone else at the table say, “Dude, come on. First of all, that’s not even baby talk. Second of all, I saw you pinch him.”

I was pwned by an 8 year old.

Yes, it’s true. I was pwned by an 8 year old.

I went to visit my niece this weekend; we were out in the court to try her new Estes Hydrogen Fuel Rocket.

This thing is amazing as it is educational. It splits water into hydrogen and oxygen, and then electronically ignites the gases in an enclosed space, sending a rocket soaring into the air 200 feet or more. No special igniters. No solid fuel cells. In other words: safe, reusable, fun.

Well, right in the middle of the launch sequence, she looks at me and asks, “is that your phone ringing?”

I was pretty sure I had my phone on vibrate, but I pulled it out to double check. “Nope…”

Before I could continue, she said, “It must be mine,” and she pulled out a cell phone from her back pocket, nods that it was her, opens it, and excuses herself to take the call, stepping back toward her driveway.

Meanwhile, the rocket was still bubbling and the launch pad was spewing out verbal facts about Hydrogen.

But I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to figure out if she had her mom’s cell, but she didn’t. It certainly wasn’t a toy. And at that point, I’m pondering between the wisdom of giving a child a cell phone to call home or be reached, versus the certain insanity that would result come billing cycle if a child didn’t understand cell plans.

She comes back, closing the cell phone and putting it in her pocket, “it was my friend; she was letting me know she’s has a sleep over. Where are we at in the launch?”

I had to pause, we weren’t at the launch phase yet, “Uh, maybe another minute.” I was still thrown off guard that she was that entrusted.

Then I got to thinking, why don’t I have her number? Or why doesn’t she have mine, for that matter.

“What’s you number?” I asked.

“Huh?” She shrugged. “I dunno.”

Ah! Perhaps that what the parents did. They got some special plan where she can receive inbound calls or something. Now I was determined to figure out what it was.

“Do you have my number in your phone?”

She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You want it?”

“Sure!”

I pull out my cell phone, retrieve my number and show it to her.

“I don’t know how to add it to my address book.”

Fine, what I was really after was her number. I’d get her to call me, caller ID would save the number, and I’d save it.

“Can I get you to call me.”

“Ok.”

She looks at my number, types it in, and holds the phone up to her ear.

My phone’s dead and lifeless.

“Ring ring.” She says, waiting.

I’m still waiting for the call to connect.

“Ring ring.” She’s looking impatient.

Still nothing.

Before I can deduce that perhaps she misdialed the number, she starts giggling. “Why aren’t you answering?”

“My phone isn’t ringing.”

“Yes it is, I’m saying ‘Ring ring’.”

Then it hits me, her parents gave her a dead cell phone to play with. And at this point she realizes I thought she was serious the whole time and bursts into laughter at my foolishness.

“I thought you said you had a cell phone!” I exclaimed, trying to dig myself of out the trap with a logical justification.

“I do,” she said, “my parents gave it to me.” And with that, I realized I’d been set up from the beginning.

She hit the fire button, and the rocket shot upwards with a loud bang, startling me. I had been paying more attention to the phones than the rocket. Clever kid.

This is why I love Coastal Flats

Coastal Flats has a great sense of humor.

Coastal Flats has an enjoyable sense of humor.

I walked up to the hostess desk, and they recognized me immediately. Jokingly, I was asked, “What name shall we put you under as, Walt?”

I attempted to make up a name that would require horrific use of Unicode, if not make it look like a terrorist convention was occurring.

I got a smile as they handed me the pager.

But as I passed by their computer, I noticed they planned to turn the joke at my expense. Here’s how I was paged…. and, boy, did the staffer who seated us look confused.

Did I Dial The Wrong Number?

The phone rings, and the caller asks me… “Did I dial the wrong number?” I gave the only reply I thought was appropriate.

Moments ago the phone just rang, and the caller ID showed some fairly foreign sounding name.

Me: “Hello?”
Them: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes. Hello?”
Them: “Uh, did I just dial the wrong number?”

Me: “I don’t know, that would depend if you were trying to reach me or not.”
Them: (long pause)

Them: “I think I dialed the wrong number.”
Me: “Well, thank you for calling, as I was kinda bored any how.”

Them: “Oh….” (And then she just sat there on the line saying nothing and then decided to hang up.)

Too bad, she seemed quite nice.

Never Visit the DMV Again!

I looked down at my license, jumped in the air, and clicked my heels. Why?
I WILL NEVER HAVE TO VISIT THE DMV EVER AGAIN!!!

When it comes to describing the DMV, Dane Cook’s description perhaps does the most justice.

That said, I went in to renew my license today. It was my third try.

The first time I went to the DMV in Sterling, and it had a line of people wrapped around the building, despite the website saying it was a 21 minute wait. So I threw in the towel.

Yesterday, I took off work to go visit, only to discover that they were closed on President’s day. Something about the empty parking lot should have clued me in.

Today, I went to the one in Leesburg, VA, and was quite surprised to find the parking lot was pretty sparse.

It seems the advice of the day is wait until the day after a federal holiday, then go to the DMV. Your co-workers will be putting in face-time immediately after a holiday, and that’s enough to thin things out in the morning.

As I got there, there was a lady in a leopard coat trying to pull her huge SUV out of a parking space, but was having problems turning the steering wheel one handed while she talked on the cell phone. This just cements what’s wrong with drivers these days.

As I entered the building, a kid walked out cursing he hated the place.

But my experience was much different. I have to give the DMV credit where credit is due, and don’t think saying that doesn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

I was second in line at the Information center, and with two windows open was seen immediately. I got my number, and no sooner than it was literally in my hand, several windows down immediately called it. The information person walked me to the correct window.

All I said was “I’m here to renew my license and possibly get a vision test,” and instantly I had a form in front of me, highlighted fields, was handed a pen, and I filled in out in 30 seconds. The vision test was immediate and consisted of reading 12 characters and detecting blinking LEDs. Done. Passed. Finished.

I handed over a crisp $20 bill, got a receipt, and was told I’d have my picture taken in a moment. I barely had time to take my coat off. The picture was digital, and therefore quick. The license was printed and handed to me, and I was out before I knew it.

I then looked down at my license, jumped in the air, and clicked my heels. Why?

I WILL NEVER HAVE TO VISIT THE DMV EVER AGAIN!!!

The renewal date for my license is 2013. And we all know the world ends on Dec 21st, 2012.

Fast Food Social Engineering

Some tales of social engineering games at fast food places. (pictures)

While visiting Wendy’s, my friend and I noticed that there was a small line going from the cashier to the door.

It was evident what had happened. The cashiers were slow, and being pre-lunch time, the first few people in line simply stood around the little sheep herding devices.

Most likely, this was caused by a welcome sign slightly blocking the entrance to the guides.

As we stood in line waiting, it got closer to lunch time, and a long line of people started to arrive, extending out the door.

It was at that point I turned to my friend and said, “watch this.”

As we approached the herding device, I deliberately took the long way around.

Now the interesting point about this was that I ended up exactly in the same spot that I would have been standing if I had just taken one step forward.

However, the guy behind me, and everyone else, blindly followed my path like ants on a sugar trail.

The line rerouted itself into the marked area, clearing the log jam of people.

But, I couldn’t leave well enough alone…

During the course of our lunch, I figured I’d take things one step further. “Watch this,” I said as I left the table and approached the counter. I had noticed the line had disappeared from a lull in traffic.

So, I went to the wrong side of the crowd herding devices and waited.

When the next two people walked in together, the moment they saw me, I made sure they saw me nod to the cashier, and I stepped up pretending that I was ordering, by pointing at the menu, but in the end getting a refill. They, in turn, took the position “in line” that I had just vacated.

And, because I’m evil, I held up the line enough for a few more people to arrive, thus establishing a line that ended up looking like this…

And, that’s how we left Wendy’s. A long line of people trailing out the other door, and people arriving getting into the queue backwards.

Meanwhile, over at Chic-Fil-A…

Chic-Fil-A has a bunch of stand alone tables in groups of two.

When I last went there with a party of six, rather than trying to squeezing into a booth, I decided to conduct an experiment and alter the environment.

I simply rearranged the tables at our end into an elongated configuration that suited our party. And, rather than putting them back the way they were done, neatly pushed in the chairs so that they could accommodate another party of that size.

The obvious advantages were two fold. One, there was a larger aisle allowing for more room, better passage, and improved safety. Two, by sliding the tables up and down the line, any size party from 2 to 18 could conceivably be constructed.

And that’s how I left things.

Upon returning about two months later, I found something interesting had happened. The tables had all been rearranged in the configuration I placed them.

And, to the best of my knowledge, this is the only Chic-Fil-A in the area that has them setup this way. It’s also the most comfortable to eat at.

Wii: 141 in hoops, with a blindfold

Having gotten a decent score using a mirror, Rob practiced and then tried the Party Game hoops using a blindfold. …and got on the high score list with 141.

Having achieved 74 hoops using a mirror, Rob figured out how get the controller just right that he was confident he could pull a decent score blindfolded. We were shocked when he actually started making baskets, stunned when he passed his prior mirror score, floored when he crossed 100 points, and were astounded when he kept going.

Yes, the video is real. Yes, it’s really him. Yes, he’s holding the real controller doing the shooting. Zero trickery involved.

[QUICKTIME http://www.wwco.com/~wls/livejournal/WiiRobHoopsBlindfolded.m4v 360 500]