Gear

May 30, 2009

Folosesc asta cu asta atasat (2 baterii). Am vandut toate obiectivele adunate cu timpul (si obiectivul kit) si am ramas doar cu asta. Pe timp de noapte sau zi folosesc asta cu mici accesorii. Am renuntat la restul de strobs si lighting accesories (rar foloseam). Aici se aduna pozele (vreo 3 bucati). Toate se arunca in back-pack(no name si nici nu gasesc link). Majoritatea pozelor sunt procesate pe un deskcomputer (configuratie cat sa ruleze Adobe) mai vechi, on the go folosesc si asta iar totul se stocheaza (ca back-up) pe asta. Adobe sau Lightroom (CS4 si 2.1), un account pe flickr si alte cateva site-uri.

Next post: o sa explic de ce alea si nu altele. De nu fac upgrade si de ce bla bla bla

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A Little Revenge

December 7, 2008

Now, I’m sure many of you have encountered little shits in supermarkets. Little kids running about and knocking things over, being rude, walking all over their parents, you know the kind. But the worst are the biters. Yes, those little cunts that feel it is okay to bite you whenever they feel like it. Okay, here’s the best part. A biter got me today when I was grocery stopping. He broke the fucking skin, too. This was when the gears started turning, the moment I saw a tiny sprickle of blood on the little shit’s teeth as he was grinning at me like the little cunt he is. I made my eyes get wide, and started screaming “SHIT! SHIT!.” Now, my good friend, Tom we’ll call him, was there too, and he instantly picked up on it. He started shouting “FUCK! MAYBE HE DIDN’T GET IT! FUCK!”. By now, the kid is scared shitless and starts crying, and instantly, Mizz Mom appears out of nowhere and starts getting pissy at us for yelling at her kid. Here’s the kicker, I look her straight in the eye and say, “Ma’am, get your son tested as soon as possible, he just bit me and I’m… I’m FUCKING HIV POSITIVE.” And now there is silence. Not a peep in the entire store. The brat knows he just fucked up big time because his mom isn’t defending his ass. She just stares at me wide eyed. I walk away from them, buy my shit from the wide eyed cashier, all the while blood is dripping from my calf, making a nice little trail on the floor. And, just as we leave, we start to hear the mother sobbing. Sobbing like the cunt she is. I have never felt any more satisfaction than the moment I heard that sob. I’m not really HIV Positive, but that little shit must’ve gotten in a fuckheap of trouble.

Baby Funeral Shenanigans

November 25, 2008

So today I was walking to work when I saw a funeral in progress at the cemetery. Since I was already wearing a suit (required for my job) and I was pretty early for work, I decided to pop in to see what was going on. I walked up the marble path, up to a rather large memorial service (about 250-300 people) for what appeared to be a baby that had died shortly after birth. The family really went all out, the tombstone was massive and the coffin had gold embroidering, really nice. The people looked about what you would expect, all dressed up, mothers were crying, and even a few fathers couldn’t hold back their tears.

Well about 15 minutes in, after the opening hymn, people started to filter up to the microphone to express their condolences to the family. The grandfather said some words about how everything is a blessing even if it doesn’t seem like it, the brother of the father reassured the family that, if they ever needed anything, that the family was there for them.

Then a man walked up, about in his late 40’s, and said “Although I don’t really know the family, or the deceased that well, I want to say, I’m sorry for your loss. I too have lost a child.” He walked from the mic, over to the families, shook their hand and walked away.

He didn’t know the family? So, it seemed ANYONE could say something at the funeral.

I straighted my tie, put on my most sorrowful expression, and walked towards the front. I approached the man holding the microphone and, in my most solemn tone, asked if I might say a few words. The man smiled warmly and handed me the microphone, completely oblivious to what was about to happen.

I turned to face the crowd, all intently looking at me with the most melancholy and tearful eyes you’ve ever seen. I cleared my throat and said my piece:

“What’s the difference between a dead baby and a sandwich? I DON’T FUCK A SANDWICH BEFORE I EAT IT!”

The crowd was horrified. The sound manager tried to unplug the speakers before I could finish my joke, but to no avail; he didn’t react fast enough and couldn’t get himself together before the punchline rang through the cemetery.

The crowd went fucking batshit. The reaction started with sheer shock and horror, and ended in a blind rage, with everyone, even some of the WWII veterans and grandmothers in the crowd, trying to tackle me to the ground.

With that said i started running as fast as i can, I was much faster than everyone there to my surprise. Good thing too, God knows what would have happened if they caught me. Probably have thrown me into the grave with their failure of a living baby. I had to run around for a bit, but I eventually made my way to the exit. I’ve never had so many lulz in my entire life.

What did you do today ?

Se face pentru Erika

November 18, 2008

Cabral poate … si el e negru. Tu ce o sa faci? Stai acasa sau vii la ceva frumos pentru ceva nobil?

Pentru cine se intreaba ce are mai exact Erika, uite aici o explicatie amanuntita. Ai nevoie de mai multa motivatie?

We need phone, we fill phone, with numbers, with people, close people, people we might want sometimes … never, people we have a crush on, people we forget so we remove from contacts. Send message, we check for message, we check for message, we recive message, we smile, we accidentally press send. Funny information, rude information, intimate information, we check outbox OH NO … oh well. We listen to voicemail, we make calls , we decline calls, we regret,we put phone to sleep, we sleep on it. We take pictures: embarrassing, private, not to be deleted, never to be shared or very public. We get seen by many, hardly any, we film, we flirt, we fail, we press play, we listen to music … phone rings, we talk, we scream,we weep, we giggle, we’re lost for words so we never call back, we shoulda call back, why don’t we call back? I should have called back … We call back at 5 AM, we forget, we lose phone, we don’t know what to do, we worry, we think…

If you found my phone, would you go through it?

Urasc blogurile. Asta a fost prima impresie care s-a afisat cand am citit primul blog. Era un “uite furnica,scriu despre furnica,uite norul scriu despre nor” (cum ar spune Cabral) gen de blog. Le am pe ale mele nu ma intereseaza de ale voastre. L-am descoperit apoi pe Zoso (nu,nu de la Mircea Badea) si s-a mai atenuat din rautate. Si uite asa cu blogroll de la zoso am descoperit si restul de blogeri buni, sau cum isi doresc ei sa se numeasca. A trecut o galagie de vreme de la primul Zoso-ism citit si s-au schimbat lucruri, majoritatea in rau.

Din anumite motive … fusul meu orar e un pic pe dos. Adica dorm ziua si citesc noaptea(nu ma judecati,stiu in ce oala sunt). Problema e ca: ei sunt oameni normali (sper) care face nani si la 4~5 dimineata, eu nu am ce sa rasfoiesc. Am un folder imens de bookmark-uri cu bloguri indraznete,geniale,pertinente, usor plictisitoare, amuzante, informative etc. Recunosc, jumate din noapte e acoperita de lectura lor si de link-uri, dar se sfarsesc prea repede.

Nu, nu ei sunt problema. Oamenii scriu  mult, constant si bine. Eu sunt ala ciudat. In concluzie, stie cineva un bloger (sau mai multi) care scrie noaptea si doarme ziua? (blog U.S.A. exclus)

p.s. am incercat forumuri si social networks, dar toate ajung in acelasi punct. singurul care e treaz cu mine ar fi 4chan.org dar cine a fost acolo stie de ce nu vreau sa ma intorc. (you have destroyed my humanity /b/)

M&M Duel

October 28, 2008

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them breaks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.”

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.