So we’re all getting our butts creamed
So we’re all getting our butts creamed trying to get some stupid-ass marketing web app into production, live and in color, by 8:00 p.m. tonight but the developers are still working on the freaking code. Mind you, I work for a bank, not a dot-com, so the whole code-and-play-with-people’s-money-on-the-fly thing isn’t really supposed to be done around here… and we’re trying to get virtual servers set up to host the aforementioned stupid-ass app, and two of the guys on my team who are helping me with the SSL crap suddenly segue into this whole debate about the relative merits of Emeril vs. the “Italian guy who eats Italy”and their competitive 2-year old fruitcake hijinks.
Apparently there’s a whole cult following among 30-something married men who watch the Food Channel. Who knew?
So I just got treated to a blow-by-blow rundown of how the arrogant Italian chef snubbed Emeril’s Christmas cooking special. Whew! Boy am I glad I wasn’t watching that day or I would’ve given that Italian dude what-for! It’s probably better if I stick to bass-fishing shows for my viewing excitement: the eons-old battle between man and beast, the turmoil of once-serene waters raging with the reflection of a beautiful wild creature’s desperate flopping about for air, the violent churning of those itty-bitty bass fishing boat engines with their cute little propellors… ahem. Or bowling. Bowling’s nice. With beer. Lots of beer.