I just passed a coworker who was acting slightly suspiciously. When I asked what they were up to, they said: "Do your best Colonel Klink impersonation... 'I know nothing! I see nothing!'" Sheesh, everyone knows it was Sergeant Schultz (John Banner) that used to say that, not Klink (Werner Klemperer).

Some people.

As I have mentioned before, I tend to have memorable and vivid dreams. At least, I do when I'm asleep. My waking dreams are pretty dull, like dreaming that one day I'll come home and there will be a fresh Chipotle burrito just sitting on my kitchen counter, waiting to be devoured. Not life altering aspirations, but tasty ones.

Anyway, back to my nocturnal fantasies.

The other night I had a whole slew of unusual dreams, probably because I've have a lot on my mind lately (oh, the sob-story posts I could write!) and the fact that I was staying at a friend's place instead of in my own bed. One dream involved me filling the role of some type of government agent in a Las Vegas like setting, wading through a crowded casino in my search for some miscreant or ne'er-do-well. I was carrying a gun and there was some mention of a mind-altering gas, but that's all I can piece together. The other dream I remember, though, is much more memorable if only for the humor potential.

I dreamt I was at work, although the setting looked nothing like my workplace, staring at the computer monitor at my desk. True to life I was multitasking, though in a manner that would be strange enough by itself, let alone at work. You see, in this dream I was sitting at my desk watching what was, apparently, pornography. And not just in one window, no, I was simultaneously watching two videos on my desktop. What can I say, my subconscious apparently can't get enough pr0n (and my libido must be either very high or very low to need to watch two feeds at once). If you were wondering, no, I don't remember what it was I was watching. In fact, in classic dream fashion, there was probably no raunchiness whatsoever, I just knew that's what I supposedly watching (just like my office wasn't really my office, but it was supposed to represent it).

Invariably a coworker walks by and all flustered I quickly reset the computer hoping they won't notice. Apparently they don't. I am told that some supervisors want to see a demonstration of the project I've been working on. No problem, just let me finish this reboot--the software crashes sometimes you see. As my system comes back up I am shocked to find that my pornographic videos have opened again and are playing in plain view of everyone. I scramble to cover the naughtiness with my hands and try to come up with some excuse to save my ass. Then, I wake up.

I'm not sure what that's all supposed to mean, but my stomach has been in knots for a couple of weeks now so an anxiety dream doesn't surprise me. Still, I thought dreams were supposed to be a chance to get a release from our daily stress, not compound it.

Incidentally, I've learned my lesson. I now only watch one pornographic video at work at a time, and have rigged a kill switch to a foot pedal on the floor.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to Nerds Gone Wild: Extreme Beach Adventures.

A couple of weeks ago I finally received a Christmas present that I had ordered in early December. It took between three and four weeks to arrive, not quite the swift delivery I was expecting. When it finally did arrive and I picked it up at the post office I discovered what had taken so long: it was shipped from Venezuela.

Obviously, I was unaware of the country of origin at the time of purchase.

So, if I haven't already made it onto a government watch list, receiving a package from Señor Chávez almost certainly flagged me. If my blogging style dramatically changes or I suddenly stop posting you'll know that I've either been reprogrammed or brought in for questioning.

Speaking of Chávez, did anyone catch what "U.N. Goodwill Ambassador" Harry Belafonte said a few weeks ago when he visited the new head of Venezuela? Check out The Daily Show coverage (found on darrelplant.com). One banana short of a bunch these days, perhaps?

Should I be offended by this Vonage Banner Ad? To think that a technology company would turn on my people--backstab us, even--with this type of advertising, just makes me sad. We have struggled so hard and been oppressed for so long. We fought the countless stereotypes and high school bullies. We (and the rest of the country) suffered through at least four "Revenge of the Nerds" movies. We've even suffered through the tragic Star Trek/Star Wars Wars, a conflict that divided our people and decimated our numbers. I thought we had finally made some progress with geek becoming chic in recent years, but statements like those from Vonage reveal that we still have a long way to go.

The rest of the post originally contained a parody in the form of a press conference that made the Vonage CEO look like a fascist dictator bent on destroying the nerd race. I decided that it would probably only be funny to me, and that it wasn't worth receiving a cease and desist. Feel free to make the joke for yourself at home.

Footnote: I've been trying to determine how one says the name of this company. Oddly enough, in a commercial I saw the other night it was pronounced two different ways. Go figure.

Some (many?) of you may have seen this already, but Robin recently made me aware of CuteOverload.com. Quoting from their site:

At Cute Overload®, we scour the Web for only the finest in Cute Imagery™. Imagery that is Worth Your Internet Browsing Time. We offer an overwhelming amount of cuteness to fill your daily visual allowance. Drink it in!

The section on bunnies absolutely destroyed me. It gave me a cavity just looking at the pictures they were so sweet. Like the one used in this post--the bunny is stealing a cookie! If that doesn't just melt your very soul than you are dead to me. Plus it reminds me of the rabbit we once had.

This site should not be confused with Cute Overlord, which features snapshots of baby animals opressing their subjects... in an adorable way, of course.

Just now I was under my desk here at home. I assure you there was no hanky-panky involved (alas), I was instead unplugging a power cable. While I was down there crawling around I came across two sprinkles (what you misguided Northeasterners might call "jimmies") lying there among the carpet fibers, the kind you might find on a donut or holiday cookie perhaps.

And no, I didn't eat them. Though I thought about it.

I was surprised by this find. It wasn't that I was surprised to find them at my desk, however; I eat at the computer on a regular basis, not wanting to interrupt a perfectly good blogging/gaming/surfing session with such trivial matters as dining etiquette. No, I was surprised that two sprinkles ever managed to escape my grasp. I must have been in an awful hurry or tremendously distracted to let even one morsel (let alone two) escape my tremendous maw.

And so, let this be a warning to all future sprinkles: your bretheren got off easy. Next time I will not be so lenient.

For some reason this very moment I really want a cookie. Ever just want a cookie? It just struck me that right now, if I had a cookie, it would make me happy. As a matter of fact, I would want it to be a chocolate chip cookie. That exactly matches my craving. I find this strange, though, as I'm completely full and in no need of a cookie. Yet, nevertheless, my desire for a cookie remains.

Paulius, the blogger Brit turned Yank, has come up with a very witty list of 25 things you didn't know about, well, yours truly. Perhaps it's just massaging my ego, but I thought I'd share the link to his post with those of you that might not have seen it yet.

Good stuff, Dave, thanks a lot.

Kato's Internal PA System: "...my hump, my hump. My hump, my hump my hump... my lovely lady lumps... "
Kato's Brain: Dear god, why won't it stop? Gladys, how long has this been going on now?
Gladys, Assistant to the Brain: A few months maybe? It's stuck good.
Brain: This is happening a lot lately--I can't seem to get these songs out of my head.
Gladys: You have to admit, it's pretty catchy. "...spendin all your money on me, and spendin time on me..."
Brain: You're not helping.
Mysterious Voice: Are you the owner of this facility?
Brain: What? Who said that? Gladys, are you doing one of your famous impersonations again?
Gladys: I only do those at Christmas parties, sir. I don't know who that was. You don't have any status meetings scheduled for another couple of hours.
Mysterious Voice: Can I assume, then, that you are responsible for running this operation?
Brain: Well, yes, for the most part. But seriously, where the fuck is that coming from?
Gladys: Beats me, the guys in auditory a reporting "All's Quiet". We haven't been playing "Let's eat it anyway--only half of it's moldy" again, have we?
Mysterious Voice: Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Judas Killjoy, I am here on behalf of the Recording Industry Association of America as well as various record companies.
Brain: Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Judas?
Killjoy: This is the brain of one Kato Katonian, is it not?
Brain: Well, yes, but how did you get in here?
Killjoy: Mr. Katonian, the RIAA is everywhere.
Brain: But... what I mean is... we're really just personifications of biological and abstract concepts in some guy's head.
Gladys: Careful, sir. Wouldn't want to break that flimsy fourth wall of ours.
Killjoy: You'd be surprised where a little money can get you. Which brings me to why I am here. It has come to my attention that you have been unlawfully infringing upon the rights of our artists.
Brain: If this is about the letters we sent to Mr. Hasselhoff, I assure you it is just a harmless man-crush, there's no need to involved the authorities--
Killjoy: No. I am here because you are violating a recent amendment to the Digital Millennium Copyright Act by storing multiple internal copies of a vast number of songs.
Brain: I see.
Killjoy: Furthermore, you have exceeded the allowable number of repeat playings of various works, in addition to violating RIAA rules pertaining to the number of times a given song can be played in an hour.
Brain: Such as?
Killjoy: "My Humps" by Black Eyed Peas.
Brain: I'd stop it if I could.
Killjoy: Indeed. Finally, you have willfully redistributed this content--the rights to which belongs to the artists--to others, as well as broadcasted it publicly without paying the associated licensing fees.
Brain: Jesus, you guys don't listen to me in the shower, do you?
Killjoy: I am not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations.
Brain: All of this seems a bit unreasonable, don't you think?
Killjoy: We're not in the business of thinking, Mr. Katonian. And no, it is not unreasonable. Your actions infringe upon the rights of our artists. But we understand that it is difficult to do the right thing, and are taking steps to prevent you from further infractions. In order to protect the works of our artists, we will be green-lighting a line of products that will ensure adherence to our copyright laws. In the near future, you should expect to see a new implantable cranial memory chip (which, incidentally, is incompatible with your current memory) on which you can store a limited number of select songs. This chip, of course, is property of the RIAA and will be controlled via the FCC to ensure proper content management. A new, more flexible licensing system for internal ("intra-aural", as we call it) playback will be introduced to accommodate individuals such as yourself to legally replay songs multiple times. Last but not least is the RIAA-approved "This Belongs To Someone Else, Just So You Know, But I Have Permission To Sing The First Few Bars" Home and Travel Karaoke Machine.
Brain: Sounds expensive.
Killjoy: I assure you, one cannot put a price on the intellectual rights of our artists. Though the Karaoke Machine will retail around $250.00 USD.
Brain: What's to prevent me from just listening to a song and remembering it?
Killjoy: We have already introduced legislation in Congress designed to curtail such illegal and wholly amoral activities. From now on, all Compact Discs (and future media distribution methods) will come with a tiny electronic device (the "Song Weasel") that looks a bit like an earwig...
Gladys: *ahem* Wrath of Khan *ahem*
Killjoy: ....It will burrow into your brain and prevent you from doing anything illegal (or unsanctioned) with our, I mean our artists', music. Sony has already released their version with a handful of albums.
Brain: Hmm. Sounds painful and, well, nuts.
Killjoy: Oh, there is nothing to worry about, we certainly know better than you. Of course, you can't remove the Song Weasel and, well, it may leave you vulnerable to hypnotic suggestion...
Brain: Come again?
Killjoy: Also, in order to plug the Analog Hole, we will need to insert--
Brain: All right, I think were done here.
Killjoy: Well then, if you'll excuse me, my poached Dodo eggs are getting cold and I have a Polo match in less than an hour. My driver hates having to leave the engine running and I wouldn't want to keep the Princess waiting. Good day.
Gladys: Well... that was different.
Brain: My head hurts. But at least that song has finally stopped bouncing around in here. Cancel my afternoon appointments, will you?
Gladys: Uh, sir?
Brain: Yes, what is it now?
Voice: Mister Katonian, I represent Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, on behalf of the Motion Picture Association of America. I would like to discuss with you the films you were recently thinking about....

Previous glimpses into my mind: What was in that burrito?, What was in that chalupa?, What's he building in there?, The truth reveals only further questions, Of frozen food and Renaissance art.

The person who lives below me has (an) annoying dog(s). They, like many members of their species, feel the need to bark whenever they hear the slightest noise at all. This can be quite annoying, especially when it happens, you know, all the time. But I'm secretly getting back at them.

The dog(s) seem(s) to be most perturbed when someone walks up or down the stairs outside the apartments, though the opening and closing of car doors and garages has been known to set them off as well. This means that whenever a neighbor leaves early for work (say, 6am), everyone in a three apartment radius is made well-aware of the fact as Barky the Wonder Dog (and possible companions) feels the need to inform us all for a good ten minutes.

Keeping this in mind, I have taken to making as much noise as possible when I come home. No swift pitter-patter up the stairs for me, I trudge my way up as if my shoes were lined with concrete. This, of course, whips my canine neighbors into a frenzy. I smile every time, knowing that no matter how annoying it is to hear it from my apartment, it must be at least twice as bad to be sitting right there with them every time.

Passive aggression rules.

Not long ago I caved to the recent flurry of advertisements and word of mouth telling me that it was imperative that I check my credit report. Initially I rejected it, not wanting to jump on the bandwagon, but before I knew it I was entering my information in on some web page and poring over my (not particularly exciting) credit history.

There were no surprises. With only a credit card and a car loan to my name, both in good standing, it was a rather uneventful expenditure of my time. I did notice, however, that there was an account tied to mine that I did not own. Fortunately it wasn't delinquent or anything so I wasn't particularly concerned, but I figured it best to fill out claim to have it removed. I assumed that in a few weeks it would be removed from my credit report and that would be that.

A few weeks later I received a letter from Equifax. Here's what it said:

Dear Kato Katonian:

Below are the results of your request for Equifax to re-investigate certain elements of your Equifax credit file. Equifax contacted each source directly and our investigation is now completed.

We have researched the credit account. The results are: Equifax verified that this item belongs to you.

Thank you for giving CSC the opportunity to serve you.

Did I mention that the credit account in question was opened in 1975? I was born in 1978. 'Nuff said.