*we put the "mmm" in communism


This is the personal blog of Tim. Here, Tim writes on anything he has enough inspiration to finish a post on. That usually ends up being matters of science, pop culture, technology, religion, and philosophy.

This blog is around nine years old, which is over a third of Tim's current age. Back in 2003, it was called "Of Tim: Tim's life - or lack thereof", and it was as bad as you might expect the blog of a freshman in high school to be. Tim hopes that his writing is a little better, these days.

Tim welcomes any input that you, the dear reader, might have. Comments are very much appreciated, especially if you have a dissenting opinion. If you'd like to learn more about Tim, you might want to see his facebook or google+.

Also: Tim is a very avid consumer of various sorts of music. You may be interested in his playlists!

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The Sad, Sad Clown
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I don't normally post so often, but the hilarity of this situation will be lost if I don't act soon. I worked for Mr. semi-famous old guy today, and I've been pushed to the brink. I shall try to detail the events as humorously as possible.

Today, after school, I was "chilling" amongst the 40 degree rain with my "homeez" before I checked with Mr. semi-famous old guy to make sure I wasn't skipping work. Understand, I didn't really expect to be doing yardwork in 40-degree rain, I almost didn't call because of my confidence that he would not be needing my work today. Nevertheless, I toddle into the nurse's office. At the time, it had stopped raining only five minutes before.

Apply a very, very thick Russian accent to everything, and picture a stout man that is 4 feet tall, and the humor begins to take shape.
Me: "Hello Eugene, I'm checking up to see if you still want me to work today. It got awfully cold and rainy outside today."
Mr. semi-famous old guy: "It stop raining. Let me see."
(i wait approximately 1 minute, with only the noise of many things crashing on the other side of the phone)
Mr. semi-famous old guy: "No, it's fine. Come!"
Me: "'s kind of wet, but, I'll be there in a bit. Thanks."
(the phone clicks off without him saying goodbye)
I make my way on up to his house, which is about ten minutes away. Upon arrival, he sees my attire of shorts and a fleece jacket, and a new dialogue ensues.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: This is not proper attire. You need pants and coat!
Me: It's fine, I'm not that cold, let's just get to work.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: I don't want you catch cold!
Me: No, really, it's fine.
At this point he gave me the directions for planting the tulips around, but glaring problem stood in the path of doing this. He wanted me to plant at least a dozen tulips in a garden I'd already thoroughly planted in. There was practically no room left.
Me: I'm not sure there's going to be room in here. If I dig, I may hit the bulbs I've previously planted.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: What bulbs? I don't remember this.
Me: It was a few weeks ago, I don't remember the names. I planted them all over, though.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Uh..throw out these annual greens and plant next to them.
When he shuffles off, I'm a little worried. This now leaves an entirely barren patch of garden, filled with three kinds of bulb-type annuals. That's gonna be one screwed up garden come next year. As he comes back out, he's carrying a beige trenchcoat.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Put it on, if you will.
Me: Really, I'm fine! I'm only here for another fifty minutes, I'll be perfectly okay!
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Please, I don't want to you catch cold!
Me: I'm certainly not cold, especially my upper body. I have a jacket on.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Wear it, I don't want you catch cold!
Not wanting to give the guy a heart attack, I figured I would appease him. How cumbersome could a trenchcoat-jacket be? I begrudgingly put it on.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: You should zip it up.
Me: ...
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Do you need help?
Me: No, it's fine, I can zip it up myself.
As I start to break ground (it's now been 10 minutes since I got there), the first ground I hit contains an old bulb. After discussing the significance of this for at least five minutes, he does not relent and I keep going. He wanted me to stick the tulip right on top of the old bulb. Maybe he should stick to math, and not gardening. He shuffles away again and I manage not to hit any more old bulbs, thanks to the clear space provided by the now shredded Begonias and furry green things. He comes back out, this time carrying jeans. These are not just any jeans. These are jeans with a waist size of 50. My waist is a 30.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Be a good boy and obey me just this once, and put these on.
(i give him a blank stare)
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Please! Put it on!
Me: We're wasting time. Just let me work.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: You'll catch cold!
Me: I'm not gonna catch a cold in the forty minutes I have left.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Please put it on.
Wanting to ensure that I get payed, I obliged him. Overestimating the width, I didn't take my shoes off before attempting the feat of putting these gargantuan pants on. They got stuck at the very bottom, and I spent three minutes doing the one-legged dance attempting to pull my shoes out of the jeans, while not getting my socks wet, and then getting the jeans on over my shorts. At this point, I must have looked like some kind of clown. I have waist size 50 jeans on, a bullet-proof trenchcoat, and massive gardening gloves on. As expected, they immediately began to fall off, and I did the "no-belt waddle" to prevent them from just falling to my ankles.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Ah, you need a belt.
Me: Naw, really? Please, just let me get to work.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: You waste time trying to keep them on!
Me: We're wasting time now! I only have thirty-five minutes left!
Mr. semi-famous old guy mumbled and shuffled back inside, and I managed to work for another ten minutes without interruption. This time, he held a striped belt.
Mr. semi-famous old guy: You need this.
(at this point, i was mildly afraid he would start beating me with it)
Me: No. I don't. Just let me work! We only have a little time left!
Mr. semi-famous old guy: Please, put it on.
He put the belt on a nearby chair and shuffled away yet again. I was able to work in mild peace for the next twenty minutes, until my dad showed up, and that was that. I'll probably write him an email tonight, with one of two options for him. Either I quit, or he pays me two (maybe three) more dollars an hour.

I feel kind of bad giving that kind of option to an old guy well-versed in a field I'll eventually need to be heavily acquainted with, but that was just ridiculous. I mean, really.

EDIT: Since people seem to not be noticing the link to the wikipedia article (wiki is slow today), the guy is a semi-famous mathematician, he's 80+ years old.

Also, I hold in my hands a check for seven dollars. Clowns get payed more per hour than that, right?
posted by MC Froehlich at

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