As tends to be the case, I went to my parents' house for Christmas dinner this year. My brothers and I give gifts to my sister's kids and my sister's kids give gifts to the three of us. (We stopped exchanging gifts among the adult portion of the family a few years back. Great move, as it turns out.) So the evening went fairly well. Mom made lasagna. Madasyn and Darek got some new toys. Joe, Jake, and Nick got some new trinkets from Santa's Secret Shop at Raupp Elementary. We drank a little whiskey and shared a few laughs, all the while knowing that the whole point is to spend time with family and appreciate the gift that all mankind received from the original Christmas.
We also place a traditional phone call to my grandmother. This would be my father's mother, for the genealogists among you. My mother and father were married shortly before I was born. Then came my sister a few years later. Then there was an unpleasant divorce, followed by my father skipping town to avoid paying child support. The world was quite a bit different in the early 80's, I suppose. In the modern world the states have treaties to deal with this sort of thing, but there was a time when a fella could settle in Arizona and avoid paying for his kids in Michigan.
Despite whatever shortcomings my biological father may have possessed, his mother has always been a different sort of character. A better sort of character, in my estimation. After my mother remarried and my two little brothers came into the world, my grandmother simply had two more grandsons. Of course they weren't related to her in any way, but who cares, right? In point of fact, Jake and Nick have probably had more contact with her than I have over the years. In any case though, they were her grandchildren and anyone who said otherwise could go straight to Hell.
I wish I could say that I can relate, but I can't. It's a foreign concept to me, but I'm glad because she's a wonderful person. My brothers are fortunate to have her in their lives. After I was divorced from my ex-wife, I wanted nothing to do with her or her family. There's absolutely zero chance that I would knock up some other broad and then the ex-wife's parents would see the offspring as their grandchildren. But that's the way it went for ole Grandma Tigue. My stepfather even takes his turn when the annual phone call occurs and the phone gets passed around. She loves him as a son-in-law, even though he's... whatever... the dude who married her son's ex-wife.
So anyhow, she and I were chatting about things that have gone on during the past year. Work, life, etc. Since I'm heading to Ireland next autumn, she took some time to share her thougts about what I'll see and what I should do. Then the philosophical part about time came around. She said that, as she has gotten older, the little memories have become more prominent. It seems like just yesterday that the three girls - Robin (my sister), Lauren, and Andrea - were sitting by her Christmas tree and opening their gifts. We haven't spent Christmas together as a family in at least twenty years, but she remembers those days as vividly as ever.
During our conversation, it occurred to me that she's exactly right. The older you get, the more time becomes a negotiable quantity. When you're young and it's all in front of you, you remember the things that happened last week or last month. Somewhere along the way you start to remember the things that happened last year or the year before. Eventually you end up remembering the things that happened ten or twenty years ago.
I'm not nearly as advanced in years as my grandmother, but I'm seeing the same pattern that she described. The last few years of my life - whatever. But I remember quite disctinctly the Christmas mornings when Jake and Nick would come into my room at 6am and tell me that Santa had been to the house. We would walk upstairs and look in the living room, then wait for Mom and Dad to come out and join us. Nobody cared about the mundane details of life. There was no thought of politics or finance or anything like that. There was just a family gathered around a tree, enjoying the moment.
Now we enjoy those moments through my niece and nephew, but my siblings and I have grown to forget how simple the world can really be. We each have our own brand of bullshit to endure, but for one day each year we can leave it all behind. For one day, time can stop. If I could write the script for the future, I would insert more of those occasions where we can all stop and appreciate the little moments. I'll bet quite a few of you would do the same.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Things I Get a Kick Out Of - Volume Four
Volume Four - Ambushing the UPS Guy
Nah, he doesn't look like that. He's actually kinda tubby for a dude that hops in and out of a truck all day. He has a scruffy blond beard and beady little eyes. Sort of like a young Santa Claus before all his hair turns white or whatever. I just happen to like that chair in the background of this picture. (Admit it - you didn't notice the chair.)
Anyhow, on to the topic of the UPS guy. I don't get a ton of packages delivered, but I do receive my fair share. Recently I had to buy a new bluetooth headset to use while I'm working. New rules coming down from the feds. Who'dathunkit? What's funny to me is that the truck drivers of the country are far more qualified to hold a phone and still drive, given that they get a lot of practice. Now they're facing a ban but the rest of you jagoffs out there can still yap away on your phones and cause accidents as much as you like. If handheld phones are a safety risk, then ban them in all vehicles. Morons.
So anyhow, my old bluetooth headset fell in the toilet one night. It wasn't securely fastened to my ear and it started to slip as I was brushing my teeth. When I reached up to stop it from falling off my ear, I knocked it right off my ear. Nice big bathroom... plenty of safe landing areas available... right into the toilet. By the time I got it out, the thing was toasted. I meant to buy another one at the time but just never got around to it. Until this week.
My UPS guy is an odd fella. On the occasions when I've been home to receive a delivery, I've noticed that he rings the doorbell once and then runs like a bat out of hell. His truck is usually already around the corner from my condo by the time I hit the front door. The FedEx guy waits for me to answer the door. The mailman waits for me to answer the door. The UPS guy just rings and goes.
I received an e-mail yesterday indicating that my new headset would be delivered today, via UPS. Game on, mofos. From my living room upstairs, I can see parts of the road that encircles my condo complex. Basically there is a ring of buildings surrounding a pond, then a road surrounding the ring of buildings. Between the buildings, in a few spots, I can see cars passing by if I happen to look at the right time. I know, from receiving previous packages and from reviewing the tracking notices for other packages that were delivered in my absence, that the UPS guy usually shows up between 1pm and 2pm.
I went upstairs at 1pm and began my stakeout. Fortunately for me, the dude arrived shortly thereafter. I'm not sure that I would have had the patience to wait all the way until 2pm. I spotted the brown truck coming around the north side of the road. I headed downstairs. I awaited the doorbell. No doorbell. Apparently I wasn't the only one getting a package delivered today. Go figure.
Then the moment came. I heard the truck's brakes squeal. I looked out the peephole in my front door. I saw the UPS guy walk up the stairs to my door. I saw him set down the box before ringing the bell, just the way he plans his quick escape. Why bother holding onto the box when he has no intention of handing me the box, right? I saw him reach to his left and press the button. As soon as the bell rang, I swung the door open and scared the shit out of that little bastard. He was in the process of turning to run back to his truck. When he heard the door open, he started to turn back and look. But his momentum was already taking him toward the steps. In a moment of awkward confusion, the dude almost took a tumble. He stayed upright though. And he looked silly. I laughed at him and grabbed my package.
Ambush - successful.
Anyhow, on to the topic of the UPS guy. I don't get a ton of packages delivered, but I do receive my fair share. Recently I had to buy a new bluetooth headset to use while I'm working. New rules coming down from the feds. Who'dathunkit? What's funny to me is that the truck drivers of the country are far more qualified to hold a phone and still drive, given that they get a lot of practice. Now they're facing a ban but the rest of you jagoffs out there can still yap away on your phones and cause accidents as much as you like. If handheld phones are a safety risk, then ban them in all vehicles. Morons.
So anyhow, my old bluetooth headset fell in the toilet one night. It wasn't securely fastened to my ear and it started to slip as I was brushing my teeth. When I reached up to stop it from falling off my ear, I knocked it right off my ear. Nice big bathroom... plenty of safe landing areas available... right into the toilet. By the time I got it out, the thing was toasted. I meant to buy another one at the time but just never got around to it. Until this week.
My UPS guy is an odd fella. On the occasions when I've been home to receive a delivery, I've noticed that he rings the doorbell once and then runs like a bat out of hell. His truck is usually already around the corner from my condo by the time I hit the front door. The FedEx guy waits for me to answer the door. The mailman waits for me to answer the door. The UPS guy just rings and goes.
I received an e-mail yesterday indicating that my new headset would be delivered today, via UPS. Game on, mofos. From my living room upstairs, I can see parts of the road that encircles my condo complex. Basically there is a ring of buildings surrounding a pond, then a road surrounding the ring of buildings. Between the buildings, in a few spots, I can see cars passing by if I happen to look at the right time. I know, from receiving previous packages and from reviewing the tracking notices for other packages that were delivered in my absence, that the UPS guy usually shows up between 1pm and 2pm.
I went upstairs at 1pm and began my stakeout. Fortunately for me, the dude arrived shortly thereafter. I'm not sure that I would have had the patience to wait all the way until 2pm. I spotted the brown truck coming around the north side of the road. I headed downstairs. I awaited the doorbell. No doorbell. Apparently I wasn't the only one getting a package delivered today. Go figure.
Then the moment came. I heard the truck's brakes squeal. I looked out the peephole in my front door. I saw the UPS guy walk up the stairs to my door. I saw him set down the box before ringing the bell, just the way he plans his quick escape. Why bother holding onto the box when he has no intention of handing me the box, right? I saw him reach to his left and press the button. As soon as the bell rang, I swung the door open and scared the shit out of that little bastard. He was in the process of turning to run back to his truck. When he heard the door open, he started to turn back and look. But his momentum was already taking him toward the steps. In a moment of awkward confusion, the dude almost took a tumble. He stayed upright though. And he looked silly. I laughed at him and grabbed my package.
Ambush - successful.
Monday, December 19, 2011
SOPA, Stop IP, and so forth...
It appears that our Republican babysitters in Congress, with the assistance of our Democrat babysitters in Congress, are ready to pass the two bills mentioned in the title of this post. They're going to stamp out online piracy and save $100 billion for the American economy every year. Except they're full of shit. Even if one accepts the premise that online piracy costs American companies this much money, it's an illogical leap of faith to assume that the same amount is lost from the economy.
For example, it's entirely conceivable that a given internet user who downloads an illegal copy of a movie was not inclined to purchase the movie in the first place. His motivation for watching the movie may well have been the fact that he found a way to obtain it for free. Net cost to the economy - zero.
Perhaps a different internet user would have paid to see the movie though. Surely his illegal download represents a loss to the economy, right? Maybe, but I doubt it. Once he spent the ten bucks or whatever it costs to see a movie he would have had ten bucks less to spend on something else. His illegal download would represent a loss to the movie company, but the net cost to the economy would be close to zero in most cases.
So they may as well drop the canard about money being lost to foreign countries and call the act what it is - an effort to protect companies who write big checks to people in high places. This is not an unworthy cause, by the way. Property rights are a fundamental building block of the American system and intellectual property is every bit as legitimate as physical property. If piracy is a problem for American businesses, then the government has a duty to provide laws and remedies for those businesses. They're going about it like morons though, as they tend to do.
Theft is an act committed by one party against another. It should be handled as a matter between those two parties and nobody else. Providing a way for websites to be shut down for speculative reasons is a disaster for those of us who think of 'freedom' as more than a catchy slogan. Many of you probably either weren't reading my blog at the time or simply don't recall every load that I've hauled, but I recall very specifically a Christmas trip through Wyoming almost four years ago. Yep, I drove through Meeteetse and I was reminded of Beavis. So I found a clip and posted it. Apparently this was a copyright violation though, as I was told a few days later.
Herein we see an example similar to that of my first hypothetical downloader. I didn't cost the American economy a single cent and I didn't cost the owner of the material a single cent. Posting that clip didn't keep me from buying the movie. I already had the DVD and I never intended to buy it again. If anything, maybe my post planted a seed of thought in someone else's mind to go and buy it. Free advertising, if you will. But Paramount saw things differently and made YouTube remove the video. Apparently some people in Congress think that YouTube was complicit in piracy as a result of my actions. Let's just say I disagree.
As I think back on the 1,300+ posts that I've made here, I seem to recall posting a lot of photos, videos, links and other assorted material. Quite frankly I have no idea whether any of it was copyrighted or not. I don't have a legal department working on that stuff because I really don't think it matters. This blog is not a money-making venture and I'm not a significant writer, so I assume that nobody actually cares what I post here. What if they did care though? By virtue of hosting my blog with what may be infringing content on some of the pages, should the whole Blogger.com platform be considered a rogue site? Apparently some people in Congress think so. Let's just say I disagree.
Just when you think it's safe to go in the water and trust that the Goddamned Republicans have gotten the message, they go and remind you of what they really are - the other side of the Democrat coin. After three years of unintended (and/or intended in some cases) consequences resulting from every big government idea that the Democrats could throw at us, one would think that the "conservative" party would have learned something. Nope. Screwing with the internet would lead to an endless cascade of unintended consequences and apparently these jagoffs are ready to charge right ahead. Not all of them, incidentally, but enough of them.
Some British dude can explain concisely in twenty minutes what our own elected representatives here in the states are unable to comprehend. Funny, ain't it?
For example, it's entirely conceivable that a given internet user who downloads an illegal copy of a movie was not inclined to purchase the movie in the first place. His motivation for watching the movie may well have been the fact that he found a way to obtain it for free. Net cost to the economy - zero.
Perhaps a different internet user would have paid to see the movie though. Surely his illegal download represents a loss to the economy, right? Maybe, but I doubt it. Once he spent the ten bucks or whatever it costs to see a movie he would have had ten bucks less to spend on something else. His illegal download would represent a loss to the movie company, but the net cost to the economy would be close to zero in most cases.
So they may as well drop the canard about money being lost to foreign countries and call the act what it is - an effort to protect companies who write big checks to people in high places. This is not an unworthy cause, by the way. Property rights are a fundamental building block of the American system and intellectual property is every bit as legitimate as physical property. If piracy is a problem for American businesses, then the government has a duty to provide laws and remedies for those businesses. They're going about it like morons though, as they tend to do.
Theft is an act committed by one party against another. It should be handled as a matter between those two parties and nobody else. Providing a way for websites to be shut down for speculative reasons is a disaster for those of us who think of 'freedom' as more than a catchy slogan. Many of you probably either weren't reading my blog at the time or simply don't recall every load that I've hauled, but I recall very specifically a Christmas trip through Wyoming almost four years ago. Yep, I drove through Meeteetse and I was reminded of Beavis. So I found a clip and posted it. Apparently this was a copyright violation though, as I was told a few days later.
Herein we see an example similar to that of my first hypothetical downloader. I didn't cost the American economy a single cent and I didn't cost the owner of the material a single cent. Posting that clip didn't keep me from buying the movie. I already had the DVD and I never intended to buy it again. If anything, maybe my post planted a seed of thought in someone else's mind to go and buy it. Free advertising, if you will. But Paramount saw things differently and made YouTube remove the video. Apparently some people in Congress think that YouTube was complicit in piracy as a result of my actions. Let's just say I disagree.
As I think back on the 1,300+ posts that I've made here, I seem to recall posting a lot of photos, videos, links and other assorted material. Quite frankly I have no idea whether any of it was copyrighted or not. I don't have a legal department working on that stuff because I really don't think it matters. This blog is not a money-making venture and I'm not a significant writer, so I assume that nobody actually cares what I post here. What if they did care though? By virtue of hosting my blog with what may be infringing content on some of the pages, should the whole Blogger.com platform be considered a rogue site? Apparently some people in Congress think so. Let's just say I disagree.
Just when you think it's safe to go in the water and trust that the Goddamned Republicans have gotten the message, they go and remind you of what they really are - the other side of the Democrat coin. After three years of unintended (and/or intended in some cases) consequences resulting from every big government idea that the Democrats could throw at us, one would think that the "conservative" party would have learned something. Nope. Screwing with the internet would lead to an endless cascade of unintended consequences and apparently these jagoffs are ready to charge right ahead. Not all of them, incidentally, but enough of them.
Some British dude can explain concisely in twenty minutes what our own elected representatives here in the states are unable to comprehend. Funny, ain't it?
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
It took this long, but...
Is it possible that, after many years of calling the guy a kook, I might actually come around and give in to the RƎVO˩UTION? It's too early to tell, but I'm not immune to the 'anyone but Romney' syndrome that appears to be afflicting quite a few Americans these days. Unlike most of the bandwagon-jumping wannabe pundits chiming in on the current race, however, I have a long history of backing losers. Add one more pelt to the collection, apparently, since ole Mr. Cain managed to flame out in spectacular fashion. I still happen to think Ron Paul is a kook, but it might be time to pull a Lee Corso and say, "Ahh fuck it."
As I look at the remaining Republican field, I can only conclude that Mr. Corso's three words summarize things pretty succinctly. I'm not going to delve into a dissection of each candidate's pros and cons here. That would take a long time, would bore the hell out of me, and would break no new ground for anyone. These people have been debating for what seems like ten years now. If you care to know where they stand, then you know where they stand.
What I am going to do is take a second to quote a bartender that I met in Manhattan several years ago. I was visiting New York with my then-girlfriend and we were having a very good time. After watching the Radio City Christmas Spectacular (at Radio City Music Hall, natch) we went for a carriage ride in the park. I had checked all of the 'romantic' boxes on my end so I knew how the night was bound to wrap up. We wanted to grab a few drinks before heading back to the hotel though.
We wound up at a bar on the East Side. There were only a few people inside. One was our chubby Hispanic waiter. One was the cross-dressing piano player. The rest were local residents who liked the friendly atmosphere. Everybody was really nice to us and we enjoyed an hour or two.
Upon waking in our hotel room the next day, we discovered that something was missing. We had bought a nutcracker doll for the aforementioned girlfriend's little daughter while we were at Radio City. The nutcracker was nowhere to be found. Normally I'd just chalk it up as another $20 down the drain, but we were absolutely certain that the kid would absolutely love that nutcracker. We needed to find it. Re-tracing our steps from the previous night led us to the conclusion that we had the doll during the cab ride to the bar. We had the doll at the bar. We couldn't recall whether or not we had it in the cab on the way back to the hotel.
Given that we didn't know where the bar was, we were facing a bit of a challenge. We caught a train over to Second Avenue and started walking. It didn't take as long as we had feared to find the bar. We walked inside and found a weathered woman in her early fifties tending the bar. My companion eagerly explained our predicament. The image of that woman's expression is seared into my memory forever, and it emerges every time I read a news article about Newt Gingrich leading in the polls.
She gave us a summary about how she comes into work every day and finds things that people left behind. If they go unclaimed, she or someone else at the bar get to keep the items. Fur coats, Rolex watches, you name it. On this particular morning she came in and saw our nutcracker doll. Her first thought then - my first thought now - was expressed with a classic New York flourish. She threw her hands in the air and said, "HERE I AM THINKING - WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE!?!"
Yep. That's about where I am right now. She was exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to leave behind what was an obvious gift for a child. I'm exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to back the fat white Republican version of everything that is wrong with American politics.
I'm not entirely past the kook thing yet, but it might be time to embrace Mr. Reagan's 80% rule and also acknowledge the fact that Mr. Paul wouldn't actually have the power to do most of the shit that he says he would do anyway. He would have the power to veto reckless spending and I'm pretty sure he would use it. That might be a start. Somebody get him squared away regarding the Middle East though. He's dead wrong.
As I look at the remaining Republican field, I can only conclude that Mr. Corso's three words summarize things pretty succinctly. I'm not going to delve into a dissection of each candidate's pros and cons here. That would take a long time, would bore the hell out of me, and would break no new ground for anyone. These people have been debating for what seems like ten years now. If you care to know where they stand, then you know where they stand.
What I am going to do is take a second to quote a bartender that I met in Manhattan several years ago. I was visiting New York with my then-girlfriend and we were having a very good time. After watching the Radio City Christmas Spectacular (at Radio City Music Hall, natch) we went for a carriage ride in the park. I had checked all of the 'romantic' boxes on my end so I knew how the night was bound to wrap up. We wanted to grab a few drinks before heading back to the hotel though.
We wound up at a bar on the East Side. There were only a few people inside. One was our chubby Hispanic waiter. One was the cross-dressing piano player. The rest were local residents who liked the friendly atmosphere. Everybody was really nice to us and we enjoyed an hour or two.
Upon waking in our hotel room the next day, we discovered that something was missing. We had bought a nutcracker doll for the aforementioned girlfriend's little daughter while we were at Radio City. The nutcracker was nowhere to be found. Normally I'd just chalk it up as another $20 down the drain, but we were absolutely certain that the kid would absolutely love that nutcracker. We needed to find it. Re-tracing our steps from the previous night led us to the conclusion that we had the doll during the cab ride to the bar. We had the doll at the bar. We couldn't recall whether or not we had it in the cab on the way back to the hotel.
Given that we didn't know where the bar was, we were facing a bit of a challenge. We caught a train over to Second Avenue and started walking. It didn't take as long as we had feared to find the bar. We walked inside and found a weathered woman in her early fifties tending the bar. My companion eagerly explained our predicament. The image of that woman's expression is seared into my memory forever, and it emerges every time I read a news article about Newt Gingrich leading in the polls.
She gave us a summary about how she comes into work every day and finds things that people left behind. If they go unclaimed, she or someone else at the bar get to keep the items. Fur coats, Rolex watches, you name it. On this particular morning she came in and saw our nutcracker doll. Her first thought then - my first thought now - was expressed with a classic New York flourish. She threw her hands in the air and said, "HERE I AM THINKING - WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE!?!"
Yep. That's about where I am right now. She was exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to leave behind what was an obvious gift for a child. I'm exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to back the fat white Republican version of everything that is wrong with American politics.
I'm not entirely past the kook thing yet, but it might be time to embrace Mr. Reagan's 80% rule and also acknowledge the fact that Mr. Paul wouldn't actually have the power to do most of the shit that he says he would do anyway. He would have the power to veto reckless spending and I'm pretty sure he would use it. That might be a start. Somebody get him squared away regarding the Middle East though. He's dead wrong.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Phase One - Where to Stay?
Phase One - Complete
The home base for next year's visit to Ireland has been selected and secured.
The travel package also took care of our football tickets at the sparkling new venue, a few guided tours, and a rental car. Nine months out, it looks like we're in pretty good shape.
Now we'll have to work on that foreign driving business. I'm pretty sure I can adapt to being on the wrong side of the road. I can probably even get used to sitting in the wrong side of the car. Shifting with the wrong hand though - we'll see.
Any suggestions (driving or otherwise) are always welcome.
The home base for next year's visit to Ireland has been selected and secured.
The travel package also took care of our football tickets at the sparkling new venue, a few guided tours, and a rental car. Nine months out, it looks like we're in pretty good shape.
Now we'll have to work on that foreign driving business. I'm pretty sure I can adapt to being on the wrong side of the road. I can probably even get used to sitting in the wrong side of the car. Shifting with the wrong hand though - we'll see.
Any suggestions (driving or otherwise) are always welcome.
Monday, November 28, 2011
This post is a disappointment.
It all started back on Wednesday morning. I was lying in bed, dreaming (most likely) about what I would say to Rachel McAdams about her various hairstyles (spoiler alert: rave reviews all-around), when my phone rang. I struggled across my bed and looked at the caller ID display. "Quickway"
Well, fuck me. Those of us on the afternoon shift get a two-day holiday break for Thanksgiving. Our terminal doesn't run an afternoon shift on Wednesday and then Thursday is the actual holiday. Two days off. Woo hoo!
So my guess was that I probably didn't want to hear whatever they had to say. I grabbed the phone and answered the call anyway. Screw it. Let's see what's up. There was a load available if I wanted it. It was a run down to our terminal in Newark, Ohio. Nine hours or so of drive time, plus a drop/hook, for a pretty decent payday. There were enough people below me on the seniority list to ensure that I had the option to say yea or nay. I said nay. Screw that. I'm going back to bed.
After I got up and moving later in the day, I received another call from Quickway. At the time I was upstairs doing whatever I was doing. My phone was downstairs. I went down to my bedroom to round up some dirty laundry a short time later and saw that I had missed a call. I had a voicemail message informing me of Friday's work assignment. Well, shit. (More on this later)
I did some laundry and then went out to buy a few groceries for Thursday's dinner. My father was up north, my older little brother had to work on Thanksgiving, and so did my sister. This meant that we had a three-person dinner planned. Since Mom was by herself in Lincoln Park and my younger little brother and I were out here, it was decided that Thanksgiving dinner would be held in Northville this year. No complaints from me. Mom said she was bringing the food, plus I would get another day to sleep late and relax. I just needed to make sure I had some things to drink, plus a few munchies to get us through the early part of the day.
Once Thursday arrived, I was well-rested from a lazy day on Wednesday and ready to enjoy a second day of relaxation. As an added bonus, Mom brought Molly (the family dog) with her. I had assumed that ole Molly was up north with Dad, but not this time around. She's a big dumb lovable black Lab and it's always fun to have her around. We were all set up for a good Thanksgiving.
After an excellent dinner, we sat around and watched football for a while. Then Mom and Molly went home. My brother and I watched a few episodes of the new Beavis and Butthead and then called it a night.
And now we get to Friday. My typical Friday involves either one long run or two shorter ones most of the time. I'm generally home before midnight. Not this week though. This week I got to drive to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Don't bother checking a map. I'll save you the trouble. That's an overnight round trip. Normally I don't mind an occasional night out of town. When the 'overnight' part bleeds into my day off though, it annoys me. Nah, screw that. It pisses me off. Especially when the 'day off' in question is a Saturday during football season.
I went into work on Friday like a good little trooper. I needed directions to the consignee, given that I had never been there. The dispatcher had a map already printed out and the route looked prettty simple, so that was good. He gave me an EFS check for tolls and a motel and then sent me on my way.
My scheduled pull time was 1pm. My load was ready at 2pm. Fantastic.
My mapped route was I-76 to Carlisle, then I-81 up to Harrisburg. Perfectly logical, but I had been given only enough toll money to take I-80 into Pennsylvania and then angle down on US-322. I should have noticed the discrepancy ahead of time, but I was just rolling along and not thinking about the money. Then, when I got my toll ticket and saw that the trip from Pittsburgh to Carlisle was $90.65, I had a problem. I called the night dispatcher and he told me that I shouldn't have been given the map that showed the I-76 route. Fantastic.
I would have to take US-322 to I-80 on the way home, but there wasn't much I could do about the rest of the trip to Harrisburg. Just gonna have to pony up the cash and get the load delivered on time. They'd cut me another EFS check to make up the difference at my next fuel stop. I arrived for my 12am delivery appointment at 10:30pm. The OTR flashbacks commenced as I saw numerous trucks lined up along the edge of the customer's lot, awaiting their door assignments. Much to my suprise, I was sent to an available door right away. Four hours later I was empty and sent on my way. OTR flashbacks indeed. Fantastic.
I had just over an hour left on my 14-hour clock by the time I got out of Harrisburg. Fortunately there was a motel with truck parking in Mifflin-something-or-other, around 40 miles up the road. I pulled in and settled into my room, then managed to fall asleep some time around 5am. Then I had to get up at 10:30 to catch a shower and pack up before the 11am checkout time. I can swing a short night's sleep without too much difficulty, as long as I manage to sleep past the civilized hour of 10am. What I couldn't do, however, was drive my truck after that short rest. [Obligatory rant about jackassed federal regulations goes here.] Apparently it was safer for me to sit around and stare at a clock for another two and a half hours than it was to simply drive home after I awoke. Fantastic.
The drive back to Livonia wasn't too bad. It was long and tedious, but good enough I suppose. I had told everyone back home not to tell me anything about the Notre Dame game. My original schedule would have had me home in time for kickoff. Then reality got in the way. An extra hour at the shipper followed by four hours at the consignee, and then the mandatory ten-hour break at the motel, were enough to make sure I would miss most of the game. So I would have to do the next best thing. I called my brother and told him to set the DVR to record the football game for me. Then I would just avoid any mention of the results until I had made it home and watched the recording.
Late in the evening, finally, I was back home in Northville. The endless bullshit of the weekend would soon be forgotten. I grabbed a cold beer. I plugged in the lights on my Christmas tree. I kicked back on my comfy recliner. I pressed 'play.' Game on!
A short time later I would surely be sitting here and writing a post about my Irish and their marked improvement throughout the course of the season. Surely I would be forced to make the obligatory and unoriginal wisecrack that Stanford's "Luck had run out." Michigan State couldn't possibly have been the only good team that Notre Dame would beat all year, right? The future would be looking bright for the lads in the gold helmets and khaki pants. After all that I had endured to get me to this point...
Yeah, it turns out that I'm not writing any of that stuff. My team still sucks. This post is a disappointment. (And it's a day late. I fell asleep halfway through the original draft Saturday night. It was a tiring weekend.)
Well, fuck me. Those of us on the afternoon shift get a two-day holiday break for Thanksgiving. Our terminal doesn't run an afternoon shift on Wednesday and then Thursday is the actual holiday. Two days off. Woo hoo!
So my guess was that I probably didn't want to hear whatever they had to say. I grabbed the phone and answered the call anyway. Screw it. Let's see what's up. There was a load available if I wanted it. It was a run down to our terminal in Newark, Ohio. Nine hours or so of drive time, plus a drop/hook, for a pretty decent payday. There were enough people below me on the seniority list to ensure that I had the option to say yea or nay. I said nay. Screw that. I'm going back to bed.
After I got up and moving later in the day, I received another call from Quickway. At the time I was upstairs doing whatever I was doing. My phone was downstairs. I went down to my bedroom to round up some dirty laundry a short time later and saw that I had missed a call. I had a voicemail message informing me of Friday's work assignment. Well, shit. (More on this later)
I did some laundry and then went out to buy a few groceries for Thursday's dinner. My father was up north, my older little brother had to work on Thanksgiving, and so did my sister. This meant that we had a three-person dinner planned. Since Mom was by herself in Lincoln Park and my younger little brother and I were out here, it was decided that Thanksgiving dinner would be held in Northville this year. No complaints from me. Mom said she was bringing the food, plus I would get another day to sleep late and relax. I just needed to make sure I had some things to drink, plus a few munchies to get us through the early part of the day.
Once Thursday arrived, I was well-rested from a lazy day on Wednesday and ready to enjoy a second day of relaxation. As an added bonus, Mom brought Molly (the family dog) with her. I had assumed that ole Molly was up north with Dad, but not this time around. She's a big dumb lovable black Lab and it's always fun to have her around. We were all set up for a good Thanksgiving.
After an excellent dinner, we sat around and watched football for a while. Then Mom and Molly went home. My brother and I watched a few episodes of the new Beavis and Butthead and then called it a night.
And now we get to Friday. My typical Friday involves either one long run or two shorter ones most of the time. I'm generally home before midnight. Not this week though. This week I got to drive to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Don't bother checking a map. I'll save you the trouble. That's an overnight round trip. Normally I don't mind an occasional night out of town. When the 'overnight' part bleeds into my day off though, it annoys me. Nah, screw that. It pisses me off. Especially when the 'day off' in question is a Saturday during football season.
I went into work on Friday like a good little trooper. I needed directions to the consignee, given that I had never been there. The dispatcher had a map already printed out and the route looked prettty simple, so that was good. He gave me an EFS check for tolls and a motel and then sent me on my way.
My scheduled pull time was 1pm. My load was ready at 2pm. Fantastic.
My mapped route was I-76 to Carlisle, then I-81 up to Harrisburg. Perfectly logical, but I had been given only enough toll money to take I-80 into Pennsylvania and then angle down on US-322. I should have noticed the discrepancy ahead of time, but I was just rolling along and not thinking about the money. Then, when I got my toll ticket and saw that the trip from Pittsburgh to Carlisle was $90.65, I had a problem. I called the night dispatcher and he told me that I shouldn't have been given the map that showed the I-76 route. Fantastic.
I would have to take US-322 to I-80 on the way home, but there wasn't much I could do about the rest of the trip to Harrisburg. Just gonna have to pony up the cash and get the load delivered on time. They'd cut me another EFS check to make up the difference at my next fuel stop. I arrived for my 12am delivery appointment at 10:30pm. The OTR flashbacks commenced as I saw numerous trucks lined up along the edge of the customer's lot, awaiting their door assignments. Much to my suprise, I was sent to an available door right away. Four hours later I was empty and sent on my way. OTR flashbacks indeed. Fantastic.
I had just over an hour left on my 14-hour clock by the time I got out of Harrisburg. Fortunately there was a motel with truck parking in Mifflin-something-or-other, around 40 miles up the road. I pulled in and settled into my room, then managed to fall asleep some time around 5am. Then I had to get up at 10:30 to catch a shower and pack up before the 11am checkout time. I can swing a short night's sleep without too much difficulty, as long as I manage to sleep past the civilized hour of 10am. What I couldn't do, however, was drive my truck after that short rest. [Obligatory rant about jackassed federal regulations goes here.] Apparently it was safer for me to sit around and stare at a clock for another two and a half hours than it was to simply drive home after I awoke. Fantastic.
The drive back to Livonia wasn't too bad. It was long and tedious, but good enough I suppose. I had told everyone back home not to tell me anything about the Notre Dame game. My original schedule would have had me home in time for kickoff. Then reality got in the way. An extra hour at the shipper followed by four hours at the consignee, and then the mandatory ten-hour break at the motel, were enough to make sure I would miss most of the game. So I would have to do the next best thing. I called my brother and told him to set the DVR to record the football game for me. Then I would just avoid any mention of the results until I had made it home and watched the recording.
Late in the evening, finally, I was back home in Northville. The endless bullshit of the weekend would soon be forgotten. I grabbed a cold beer. I plugged in the lights on my Christmas tree. I kicked back on my comfy recliner. I pressed 'play.' Game on!
A short time later I would surely be sitting here and writing a post about my Irish and their marked improvement throughout the course of the season. Surely I would be forced to make the obligatory and unoriginal wisecrack that Stanford's "Luck had run out." Michigan State couldn't possibly have been the only good team that Notre Dame would beat all year, right? The future would be looking bright for the lads in the gold helmets and khaki pants. After all that I had endured to get me to this point...
Yeah, it turns out that I'm not writing any of that stuff. My team still sucks. This post is a disappointment. (And it's a day late. I fell asleep halfway through the original draft Saturday night. It was a tiring weekend.)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Bad News: You probably don't exist.
Good news: Cogito ergo sum. Reading my (incredibly insightful) blog means that you've defied the odds. Click the image to review those odds.
Addendum to my previous post
I didn't get this part of the deal from my fresh California pomegranates. Score one (or two) for Pom Wonderful™.
Monday, November 21, 2011
"True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing."
I think it was Socrates who said that one. Or maybe it was the fake Socrates from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. In any event, the first step in solving any problem is to acknowledge your own limitations.
A friend of mine out on the Left Coast has a pomegranate tree in her yard. I've been fortunate enough to sample the homemade jelly that she makes from the pomegranate juice. (And by 'I', I mean mainly 'my little brother.' But I've also had some and we both think it's pretty good stuff.) I once made a joke about how I harvested some pomegranates of my own, meaning of course that I bought a package at the local supermarket. I was told at the time that the commercial variety produced by Pom Wonderful™ and such were far less juicy and tasty than the ones from my friend's backyard.
So eventually it was time for my friend to prove her point. I received a package in the mail this morning, containing the four largest pomegranates that I've ever seen. This is not to imply that I've seen a huge number, but these four were certainly the largest.
I set three on the countertop in my kitchen and cut into the fourth one.
Yep. Pretty freaking juicy. And now we return to the basis of tonight's post. What do I do next? Ummm. Yeah, it turns out that I don't know shit about eating pomegranates. By extension then, neither does my brother. We looked at the vast number of arils to be separated from the rinds and scratched our heads for a moment. What do we do next?
Since we're both perfectly willing to acknowledge those times when we know nothing, we did what anyone in the year 2011 would do. We went to the internet. The internet instructions made it sound a little easier than it actually was, but we managed to get the damned thing done eventually.
Now is the point in the post where we actually have some knowledge to share. Those little suckers are indeed more juicy and tasty than the ones I bought at the store last year. There's something to be said for labor cost though. Oy. That's some work. I can't even imagine taking the time to process a bunch of those things. One at a time I can do.
Long story short though - now I know something that I didn't know yesterday. And that has to count for something.
A friend of mine out on the Left Coast has a pomegranate tree in her yard. I've been fortunate enough to sample the homemade jelly that she makes from the pomegranate juice. (And by 'I', I mean mainly 'my little brother.' But I've also had some and we both think it's pretty good stuff.) I once made a joke about how I harvested some pomegranates of my own, meaning of course that I bought a package at the local supermarket. I was told at the time that the commercial variety produced by Pom Wonderful™ and such were far less juicy and tasty than the ones from my friend's backyard.
So eventually it was time for my friend to prove her point. I received a package in the mail this morning, containing the four largest pomegranates that I've ever seen. This is not to imply that I've seen a huge number, but these four were certainly the largest.
I set three on the countertop in my kitchen and cut into the fourth one.
Since we're both perfectly willing to acknowledge those times when we know nothing, we did what anyone in the year 2011 would do. We went to the internet. The internet instructions made it sound a little easier than it actually was, but we managed to get the damned thing done eventually.
Now is the point in the post where we actually have some knowledge to share. Those little suckers are indeed more juicy and tasty than the ones I bought at the store last year. There's something to be said for labor cost though. Oy. That's some work. I can't even imagine taking the time to process a bunch of those things. One at a time I can do.
Long story short though - now I know something that I didn't know yesterday. And that has to count for something.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The coolers are loaded
The beer is on ice. The chairs and tables are stowed away. Lots of food is waiting to be grilled. I even stopped at Meijer and picked up a patio heater on my way home from work, just in case. (Mine was only $99.99 though, and the package says 11,000 BTUs, so I guess that Meijer website is a scam.) We're getting sidetracked though...
I have a feeling that these miserable pricks won't be celebrating tomorrow. I remember the last time I saw them in person. Time for payback. And, as has been the practice since that night in Boston, I've handled all of the tailgating arrangements myself. Fool me once...
I have a feeling that these miserable pricks won't be celebrating tomorrow. I remember the last time I saw them in person. Time for payback. And, as has been the practice since that night in Boston, I've handled all of the tailgating arrangements myself. Fool me once...
Friday, November 18, 2011
Just a quick reminder about this "Super Committee" nonsense
Via Veronique de Rugy at George Mason University.
You're being lied to by lying liars who lie a lot. As you hear the news over the next few days about what a huge deal that "draconian" $1.2 trillion in spending "cuts" will look like, just keep this in mind.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Wait... what?
I've probably drunk more alcohol in my 35 years on this planet than most of you will drink in a lifetime. Plenty of you may actually get drunk more than I do, since I don't ever get all that intoxicated when I drink, but my capacity for consumption is enough to surprise even myself sometimes. (You should have seen that tailgate for the Navy game. Oy.) Being a fat bastard plays a role in this capacity, I'm sure, as does being a well-practiced drunk of Irish extraction. I'm not even kidding when I say this BAC shit that the cops use should operate on a sliding scale.
Anyhow, getting to the point... Even though I like to catch a buzz as much as anyone, I had never ever heard of vodka-soaked tampons or butt chugging.
What the...? What?
Anyhow, getting to the point... Even though I like to catch a buzz as much as anyone, I had never ever heard of vodka-soaked tampons or butt chugging.
What the...? What?
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Saturday night...
I watch football and drink beer on Saturdays. That's it. There are no exceptions. I don't work. I don't go around and hobnob with various people. I sit in my recliner and I watch football... while drinking beer.
There were a few opportunities to stand up and shout during tonight's "home game" in DC against a hapless Maryland team, but everyone kinda knew how that game was destined to go. I was excited for the handful of good plays, to be sure. Blowouts are really more about relaxing and enjoying the moment though. They're not 'jump out of your seat' kinds of events.
After the game, as I tend to do, I started browsing the net to see what had happened during the previous several hours. Not a whole lot seemed notable... until I stumbled across the following video clip. The topic being discussed was rather mundane, but watching ole Mr. Speaker lay the smack down on this CBS douchebag was rather entertaining.
He (the moderator) went into the exchange with a smarmy little grin. They didn't show his face afterward, but I can picture the result. Newt kicked his ass. There's no other way to put it. I didn't jump out of my seat, on account of all the beer and football and my injured back and whatnot, but I thought about it. That was a first on this particular Saturday night.
"That is explicitly false," indeed. The right wing criticism of Obama after he chose to whack an American citizen without trial wasn't so much directed at Obama. It was directed at his moronic disciples who thought Bush was Hitler but Obama is God, even as Obama repeatedly did exactly what Bush would have done. Guantanamo - open for business. Rendition - going strong. Civilian trials - ain't gonna happen. Drone strikes - at an all-time high.
The criticism was never based on Mr. Pelley's childish assertion that an enemy combatant is essentially the same as a shoplifter. That notion is reserved for the special-ed segment of the political left and it deserves a thorough beatdown. Newt delivered that beatdown tonight, apparently.
I still think the Newtster is an obnoxious dickhead who serves only himself but, at least on this particular Saturday night, he laid the wood to a moron. This made me cheer out loud, even if I couldn't convince myself to endure the pain and leap out of my seat. Baby steps, as they say. Baby steps.
There were a few opportunities to stand up and shout during tonight's "home game" in DC against a hapless Maryland team, but everyone kinda knew how that game was destined to go. I was excited for the handful of good plays, to be sure. Blowouts are really more about relaxing and enjoying the moment though. They're not 'jump out of your seat' kinds of events.
After the game, as I tend to do, I started browsing the net to see what had happened during the previous several hours. Not a whole lot seemed notable... until I stumbled across the following video clip. The topic being discussed was rather mundane, but watching ole Mr. Speaker lay the smack down on this CBS douchebag was rather entertaining.
He (the moderator) went into the exchange with a smarmy little grin. They didn't show his face afterward, but I can picture the result. Newt kicked his ass. There's no other way to put it. I didn't jump out of my seat, on account of all the beer and football and my injured back and whatnot, but I thought about it. That was a first on this particular Saturday night.
"That is explicitly false," indeed. The right wing criticism of Obama after he chose to whack an American citizen without trial wasn't so much directed at Obama. It was directed at his moronic disciples who thought Bush was Hitler but Obama is God, even as Obama repeatedly did exactly what Bush would have done. Guantanamo - open for business. Rendition - going strong. Civilian trials - ain't gonna happen. Drone strikes - at an all-time high.
The criticism was never based on Mr. Pelley's childish assertion that an enemy combatant is essentially the same as a shoplifter. That notion is reserved for the special-ed segment of the political left and it deserves a thorough beatdown. Newt delivered that beatdown tonight, apparently.
I still think the Newtster is an obnoxious dickhead who serves only himself but, at least on this particular Saturday night, he laid the wood to a moron. This made me cheer out loud, even if I couldn't convince myself to endure the pain and leap out of my seat. Baby steps, as they say. Baby steps.
Messing With Tradition
It seems that plenty of the Notre Dame faithful are up in arms about the latest affront to the storied past of the Ramblers Fighting Irish. New helmets will be worn for the upcoming offsite game against Maryland. I'm not referring to the new standard helmets (which incidentally look awesome). I'm referring to a new alternate helmet, kinda like the shamrock one that they wore in that debacle against Michigan, but more bedazzled or whatever.
So people are pissed off and such. "Why doesn't Brian Kelly win a few more games before he starts fucking around with tradition (and so on)?" Personally, I don't care for the alternate uniform trend that has swept the college football world. Then again, I don't have a Facebook account and I have no interest in getting one. The reality is that trends happen, whether we like them or not. This one goes in the 'or not' camp for me, but so be it.
There's an unspoken dynamic at play here. It's one that few people mention for reasons that will soon be obvious to you, but screw it. I'm always willing to call 'em like I see 'em. Notre Dame's football team consists of a bunch of teenagers and early-20's types, most of whom are black. Notre Dame's fanbase consists of a bunch of stuffy old alumni and Midwestern Irish Catholic types, most of whom are white. Now you know why nobody mentions this particular aspect. It's not actually racist though. It's reality. We're all products of the culture in which we exist.
Back in the early 90's (when I was young like the players), I liked NWA a hell of a lot more than I liked Nirvana. And I'm probably the whitest white dude any of you will ever know. Now (when I'm just another frustrated fan) I like (recognize?) basically nothing on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. But that chart has all the hottest music that people are buying, right? So whatever. If football players are into goofy uniforms and so forth, let 'em have their fun. Guys like me will still get to see the gold pants (or at least the lousy 2011 khaki version), blue jerseys, and gold helmets most of the time. The youngsters can have their preference once or twice a year and we can all continue to get along. Nobody's tradition has been destroyed, even if it has been messed with just a little.
There is one major problem with my conciliatory approach here though. Why in the hell are those shamrocks so fucking huge?
So people are pissed off and such. "Why doesn't Brian Kelly win a few more games before he starts fucking around with tradition (and so on)?" Personally, I don't care for the alternate uniform trend that has swept the college football world. Then again, I don't have a Facebook account and I have no interest in getting one. The reality is that trends happen, whether we like them or not. This one goes in the 'or not' camp for me, but so be it.
There's an unspoken dynamic at play here. It's one that few people mention for reasons that will soon be obvious to you, but screw it. I'm always willing to call 'em like I see 'em. Notre Dame's football team consists of a bunch of teenagers and early-20's types, most of whom are black. Notre Dame's fanbase consists of a bunch of stuffy old alumni and Midwestern Irish Catholic types, most of whom are white. Now you know why nobody mentions this particular aspect. It's not actually racist though. It's reality. We're all products of the culture in which we exist.
Back in the early 90's (when I was young like the players), I liked NWA a hell of a lot more than I liked Nirvana. And I'm probably the whitest white dude any of you will ever know. Now (when I'm just another frustrated fan) I like (recognize?) basically nothing on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. But that chart has all the hottest music that people are buying, right? So whatever. If football players are into goofy uniforms and so forth, let 'em have their fun. Guys like me will still get to see the gold pants (or at least the lousy 2011 khaki version), blue jerseys, and gold helmets most of the time. The youngsters can have their preference once or twice a year and we can all continue to get along. Nobody's tradition has been destroyed, even if it has been messed with just a little.
There is one major problem with my conciliatory approach here though. Why in the hell are those shamrocks so fucking huge?
Friday, November 11, 2011
You know... I knew it all along...
"Naomi Greenblatt, MD, a board certified psychiatrist specializing in women’s health, told HealthyWomen.com: 'There seems to be a growing trend in women having sex for obligation, not enjoyment purposes.'"It wouldn't hurt you ladies to consider the benefits once in a while. And learn to prioritize, for Pete's sake. If your fellas aren't getting you into the 42% camp, well, that's when it's time to shift gears and consider someone more like... I don't know... your local milk man.
Provided that you're easy on the eyes, of course. Some of those milk men can even alleviate the old "there are only 24 hours in a day" nonsense, given that they don't sleep much and can accomodate any schedule.
I ain't sayin', I'm just sayin'.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Most expensive assassination ever?
Kevin Baron at National Journal seems to think so. I tend to agree.
What could go wrong?
(Update) - A well-written article that answers my tongue-in-cheek hypothetical can be found at The Week. In short - a whole hell of a lot could and probably will go wrong, starting with the fact that every tyrant in the world now sees what happened when their dictator buddies tried to cooperate with the US.
"Call him the billion-dollar man. One billion for one dictator.But hey, at least we got some bonus results out of our billions of (borrowed) greenbacks. In addition to getting the colonel whacked and leaving various weapons systems unaccounted for, we also cleared the way for the Islamists to take over another oil-producing nation.
According to the Pentagon, that was the cost to U.S. taxpayers for Muammar el-Qaddafi’s head: $1.1 billion through September, the latest figure just out of the Defense Department.
And that’s just for the Americans..."
What could go wrong?
(Update) - A well-written article that answers my tongue-in-cheek hypothetical can be found at The Week. In short - a whole hell of a lot could and probably will go wrong, starting with the fact that every tyrant in the world now sees what happened when their dictator buddies tried to cooperate with the US.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Are you smarter than a protester?
Given that I turned out to be kinda sorta right in my last post, I figured I'd wade back into this hippie business one more time. I can't say for certain that Edward T. Hall III was faking his rant, but he's a Columbia grad student who inherited a trust fund from his grandfather. That's more than I can say for myself or anyone that I know personally, and none of us are in tears over the fact that we have to work for a living, so I'm sticking with the notion that he's a phony.
Therefore, I present to you the quiz of the day, showing just how brilliant these new revolutionaries turn out to be about the issues that matter most to them. I post this not so much in an effort to mock these people for being idiots. I think most people are idiots, so it would be unfair to single out these poor dumb bastards for ridicule in that context. In fact, I post this to make a more logical point. I'll phrase this logical point in the form of a few questions.
That military one ranks right up there with the Tea Partiers' ignorance about foreign aid, for whatever that's worth.
Therefore, I present to you the quiz of the day, showing just how brilliant these new revolutionaries turn out to be about the issues that matter most to them. I post this not so much in an effort to mock these people for being idiots. I think most people are idiots, so it would be unfair to single out these poor dumb bastards for ridicule in that context. In fact, I post this to make a more logical point. I'll phrase this logical point in the form of a few questions.
- How can you rail against the "system" when you clearly have no idea how that system works?
- How can you blame your situations on Wall Street (and presumably we're not talking about the four blocks of pavement in lower Manhattan) when you don't know anything about the various ways in which Wall Street is regulated?
- How can you argue for higher taxes on the "1%" when you don't even know what their current tax rates are?
That military one ranks right up there with the Tea Partiers' ignorance about foreign aid, for whatever that's worth.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
This is fake, right?
I find it generally amusing that these goofballs and the Tea Party folks are pretty much bitching about the same things, but coming to completely opposite conclusions about the necessary response. One says that the government should get out of the business of business altogether. The other says that some good old 'eat the rich' communism will save the day. Yet they're both mainly pissed about TARP and unemployment, at least as far as I can understand. (And I don't claim to understand very well.)
I suppose another difference is that not too many Tea Partiers borrowed $150,000 to get a degree in Women's Studies and then complained because there wasn't a cushy job waiting for them, but that's just a hunch. Either way though, I dig the way the 2011 hippies are doing their thing. I've often wished I had been around when you could look like a greasy scumbag and still manage to bang a few stoned broads in the back of a VW Microbus. I think that would have been super groovy and whatnot. Alas, I missed out on that experience. So did these dorks, but at least they're trying to do something to add meaning to their pitiful existence. I'm content to drink beer and watch football on Saturdays.
Back to the point though - This video clip is fake, right? I recall seeing a steady stream of video clips from the Jon Stewarts and Rachel Maddows of the world. Inevitably, some redneck would look into a camera and say something incoherent or racist (or both) about President Obama. Then the narrative would be that 'teabaggers are... (insert insult here)'. It all seemed so blatantly staged to me that I was sure people would see through the charade. But apparently they didn't, as the long term trends in public opinion polling seem to show. "Do you agree with people who think we shouldn't bail out banks and spend trillions more than we have?" HELL TO THE YEAH! "Do you agree with the Tea Party?" HELL TO THE NAW!
Clearly the smears worked for their intended purpose. Which is why I'm not willing to accept that the people in this clip are real. Look at the stupid grin on this nerd's face every time he needs to take a second and think of something else to say. And that girl at the end... oy. My post began with a question but now I think I'm going to end it with a conclusion. This has to be fake.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Things that A-Rod and I have in common:
1) We're both males
2) We've both used steroids in the past
Things that A-Rod and I don't have in common:
1) One of us has hit over 600 homers in the big leagues, while one of us once hit 12 homers in an 18 game season in Little League (You can figure out which is which)
2) One of us earns $27,000,000 a year playing baseball, while one of us earns $65,000 a year delivering milk (You can figure out which is which)
Things that A-rod and I have in common:
1) Neither of us got a hit off Tigers pitching with the game on the line
2) Both of us get to watch the ALCS on television Saturday night
Things that A-rod and I don't have in common:
1) One of us struck out three times tonight, while the other had a few beers after work at a local bar (You can figure out which is which)
2) One of us is a loser in the big-picture sense, while the other is a LOSER in the sporting sense (You can figure out which is which)
Suck it, New York. Suck it long, and suck it hard.
2) We've both used steroids in the past
Things that A-Rod and I don't have in common:
1) One of us has hit over 600 homers in the big leagues, while one of us once hit 12 homers in an 18 game season in Little League (You can figure out which is which)
2) One of us earns $27,000,000 a year playing baseball, while one of us earns $65,000 a year delivering milk (You can figure out which is which)
Things that A-rod and I have in common:
1) Neither of us got a hit off Tigers pitching with the game on the line
2) Both of us get to watch the ALCS on television Saturday night
Things that A-rod and I don't have in common:
1) One of us struck out three times tonight, while the other had a few beers after work at a local bar (You can figure out which is which)
2) One of us is a loser in the big-picture sense, while the other is a LOSER in the sporting sense (You can figure out which is which)
Suck it, New York. Suck it long, and suck it hard.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Wait... what?
I've always thought the Japanese were the ones responsible for 99% of the stuff that makes me scratch my head and wonder what I just saw.
Looks like the Chinese are getting in on the act. Funniest part of the article - speculation that this is a retaliation for export tariffs on chicken. Yeah, sure thing dude.
Looks like the Chinese are getting in on the act. Funniest part of the article - speculation that this is a retaliation for export tariffs on chicken. Yeah, sure thing dude.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Dude... Is this legit?
Listen to it a second time with your eyes closed, just for kicks.
I've never been to Chile myself, so I really don't know. Is this legit?
I've never been to Chile myself, so I really don't know. Is this legit?
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
So... is this guy a shill?
I happen to agree with quite a bit of what he says, just for the record, but I would never claim to represent any sort of political movement. Maybe I represent the 'We're Tired of This Shit and It's Time to Start Over' party, but I suspect that I don't draw many followers. As for the Tea Party, I doubt that very many of them see John Boehner as a socialist on account of his votes for continuing resolutions that may have funded Planned Parenthood. Those Tea Party people consistently tell pollsters that they love the (socialist) Medicare and (socialist) Social Security programs, after all. Hard to imagine them defining socialism in terms of a tiny sliver of the federal budget being directed to a rather transparent baby-killing operation.
So I'm inclined to think this guy is full of shit on the merits. Factoring in his semi-retarded facial expressions and evasive answers, I think he just might be a socialist himself. (Yeah, I used the damned R-word again. Forgive me.) But seriously, just watch his hemming and hawing.
I say he's a shill. And not a very cleverly disguised one.
Your mileage may vary.
So I'm inclined to think this guy is full of shit on the merits. Factoring in his semi-retarded facial expressions and evasive answers, I think he just might be a socialist himself. (Yeah, I used the damned R-word again. Forgive me.) But seriously, just watch his hemming and hawing.
I say he's a shill. And not a very cleverly disguised one.
Your mileage may vary.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
It's been five years.
I usually almost always end up looking stupid when I submit one of these trash talking posts, but fuck it. Five years ago I enjoyed my weekend. Maybe it could happen one more time. Maybe?
We'll (and by 'we,' I mean people who have nothing to do with me) probably get our asses handed to us soon enough, but for now it's fun to reminisce. I've had to listen to these bastards talk their shit all week, just like I had to listen to the other bastards talk their shit all last week. Ahh... living in Michigan...
We'll (and by 'we,' I mean people who have nothing to do with me) probably get our asses handed to us soon enough, but for now it's fun to reminisce. I've had to listen to these bastards talk their shit all week, just like I had to listen to the other bastards talk their shit all last week. Ahh... living in Michigan...
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I joined a new website today.
I was wading through the usual wasteland of e-mails in my inbox before I went to work this afternoon. One of them seriously made me laugh out loud. Not the chatspeak LOL nonsense either. I mean that I sat in my comfy recliner, all by myself, and busted out laughing. Wanna see it?
I didn't laugh out loud at the whole thing, although quite a few of the one-liners made me crack a grin. The part that made me laugh came near the end, when the voiceover dude said, "Paid for by Obama for America. Obama two thousand twelve, because you still really hate George Bush, right?" I guess it was just one of those 'It's funny 'cause it's true' things.
That's really all they've got left, after all. Bankrupting the country didn't help with the unemployment situation. Paying off all the public sector unions didn't help the GDP situation. Nobody seems to give a shit about global warming anymore. People still hate the federal health care takeover by wide margins. Stabbing Israel in the back and performing fellatio on the Russians while simultaneously grabbing our ankles and asking the Chinese to be gentle... not exactly material for a rousing campaign speech, eh? But we do still hate Bush, don't we? Don't we?
At first glance I thought the video was just a parody making fun of The One™'s last couple of efforts to recruit snitches. (Remember flag@whitehouse.gov and Fight the Smears?) Upon further investigation though, the new snitch site is real. Oh man, sign me up!
So I signed up and reported myself for some shit that I've said. Then I reported some other people for shit that they've said. Then I reported The One™ for some shit that he's said. Then I made up a few things that sounded funny to me and reported them as well.
The landing page after you click 'report' is a form where you can donate money. Obviously I wasn't about to do that and I may or may not have been using fake e-mail addresses, so I have no idea what follows afterward. I just know that I managed to waste a few minutes of someone's time. And that made me smile.
I had an easy milk run tonight, taking me down to Monroe for two stores and getting me back home in just over four hours. Beauty. My daily minimum pay is only $142, but hell, that's good enough when it works out to ~$35 an hour and I have a relaxing evening in store.
I did some more reading after I got home. My favorite segment of the Mediaite article...
"In less than 24 hours we've had over 100,000 people sign up at the website, which indicates significant interest from supporters."
Some campaign hack actually said that. I'll catch a little flack for the terminology, as I always do, but this campaign is apparently being run by fucking retards. (No offense is intended to the developmentally challenged among us.) Seriously though, your new snitch site is a complete laughingstock and you don't even know it? I was 7 of your 100,000 people. I'm probably not the only one. Retards.
This was their one strength, right? Campaigning? Well here's a little campaign advice, free of charge (since I chose not to donate)...
I didn't laugh out loud at the whole thing, although quite a few of the one-liners made me crack a grin. The part that made me laugh came near the end, when the voiceover dude said, "Paid for by Obama for America. Obama two thousand twelve, because you still really hate George Bush, right?" I guess it was just one of those 'It's funny 'cause it's true' things.
That's really all they've got left, after all. Bankrupting the country didn't help with the unemployment situation. Paying off all the public sector unions didn't help the GDP situation. Nobody seems to give a shit about global warming anymore. People still hate the federal health care takeover by wide margins. Stabbing Israel in the back and performing fellatio on the Russians while simultaneously grabbing our ankles and asking the Chinese to be gentle... not exactly material for a rousing campaign speech, eh? But we do still hate Bush, don't we? Don't we?
At first glance I thought the video was just a parody making fun of The One™'s last couple of efforts to recruit snitches. (Remember flag@whitehouse.gov and Fight the Smears?) Upon further investigation though, the new snitch site is real. Oh man, sign me up!
So I signed up and reported myself for some shit that I've said. Then I reported some other people for shit that they've said. Then I reported The One™ for some shit that he's said. Then I made up a few things that sounded funny to me and reported them as well.
The landing page after you click 'report' is a form where you can donate money. Obviously I wasn't about to do that and I may or may not have been using fake e-mail addresses, so I have no idea what follows afterward. I just know that I managed to waste a few minutes of someone's time. And that made me smile.
I had an easy milk run tonight, taking me down to Monroe for two stores and getting me back home in just over four hours. Beauty. My daily minimum pay is only $142, but hell, that's good enough when it works out to ~$35 an hour and I have a relaxing evening in store.
I did some more reading after I got home. My favorite segment of the Mediaite article...
Some campaign hack actually said that. I'll catch a little flack for the terminology, as I always do, but this campaign is apparently being run by fucking retards. (No offense is intended to the developmentally challenged among us.) Seriously though, your new snitch site is a complete laughingstock and you don't even know it? I was 7 of your 100,000 people. I'm probably not the only one. Retards.
This was their one strength, right? Campaigning? Well here's a little campaign advice, free of charge (since I chose not to donate)...
Monday, September 12, 2011
Dude
I don't know much about the deeper meaning of the universe and all that, but I just got seats to all three potential first round games at Comerica Park. Everyone else with whom I've spoken got shut out. I got all three games.
Dude.
Dude.
Things I get a kick out of - Volume Two
Volume Two - Kites
I get a kick out of kites. Such a seemingly simple invention, but enough to remind us all of our long lost youth, or whatever.
My niece's birthday falls on the day after mine. She's a September 11th baby, as it turns out, although she was born a couple of years after the namesake day's tragic events. To celebrate her birthday, most of my family (i.e. - everyone except my youngest brother and I) went camping for the weekend. I have no use for camping, so I stayed home and smashed my head against the wall... err, watched that disgrace of a football game.
I wasn't quite sure what to get the kid for her birthday, so I decided to keep it simple and go old school. Well, kinda old school. I remember the kites from my childhood being fairly cheaply built and not all that impressive. Nowadays, you can buy all kinds of high tech stuff with the click of a computer mouse. The only tricky part was trying to balance the advanced nature of a given kite with the skill set of an eight year old girl. It would do no good to buy some sort of high tech stunt kite and then have her crash it repeatedly. I settled on a fairly simple lightweight model with a six and a half foot wingspan.
The folks in attendance sent me a couple of photos over the course of the weekend.
So at least she pretended to enjoy the gift, even if ole Uncle Joe didn't know what he was doing. That's good enough for me.
The only regret that I have now is that I should have bought myself a kite while I was at it. Flying a kite on this upcoming Saturday is likely to provide a lot more entertainment than watching my Irish get their asses kicked by Michigan State. I get a kick out of kites.
I get a kick out of kites. Such a seemingly simple invention, but enough to remind us all of our long lost youth, or whatever.
My niece's birthday falls on the day after mine. She's a September 11th baby, as it turns out, although she was born a couple of years after the namesake day's tragic events. To celebrate her birthday, most of my family (i.e. - everyone except my youngest brother and I) went camping for the weekend. I have no use for camping, so I stayed home and smashed my head against the wall... err, watched that disgrace of a football game.
I wasn't quite sure what to get the kid for her birthday, so I decided to keep it simple and go old school. Well, kinda old school. I remember the kites from my childhood being fairly cheaply built and not all that impressive. Nowadays, you can buy all kinds of high tech stuff with the click of a computer mouse. The only tricky part was trying to balance the advanced nature of a given kite with the skill set of an eight year old girl. It would do no good to buy some sort of high tech stunt kite and then have her crash it repeatedly. I settled on a fairly simple lightweight model with a six and a half foot wingspan.
The folks in attendance sent me a couple of photos over the course of the weekend.
The only regret that I have now is that I should have bought myself a kite while I was at it. Flying a kite on this upcoming Saturday is likely to provide a lot more entertainment than watching my Irish get their asses kicked by Michigan State. I get a kick out of kites.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
The Meanings of Words
I'm not always the best practitioner of my native language. (That would be English or... American English, if you prefer.) I often find myself creating new words out of thin air whenever someone cuts me off in traffic or commits some other such act. And even in more controlled environments, I am perfectly content to use slang and, well... profanity if I believe is suits the mood of whatever I'm trying to say. (I do my best with the punctuation and so forth though...)
Setting aside my own practices, I do take an interest in our language. Sometimes this interest manifests itself as annoyance. You dickheads who always write 'alot' as if it's actually a word - you annoy the hell out of me.
Sometimes, however, it's a more productive interest. For instance - have you ever stopped to consider the meaning of the word 'amazing'? I hadn't, until I heard a segment on NPR last week. I mean, it's right there within the word, isn't it? You're lost in a maze. You can't find your way out. Your completely flummoxed... You're 'amazed.' But we don't restrict the word to such a meaning, do we? Nah, we see amazing plays on the football field and we enjoy an amazing slice of pizza. We bastardize our own language, slowly but surely, over the course of time. Eventually the words come to mean whatever we say they mean, rather than what they were originally intended to mean.
A whole lot of people have spilled a whole lot of ink in recent days regarding a certain Texan's use of the phrase 'Ponzi scheme.' Governor Perry seems content to stick to his guns (etymology - to continue shooting at the enemy, rather than retreat, even if one's own life might be compromised as a result) regarding this whole Social Security debate. He says that it is, in fact, a Ponzi scheme. The talking heads (people shown on television without the lower parts of their bodies visible) are largely convinced that he'll be unelectable as a result of his bizarre views on the subject. But are his views bizarre?
Let's go to the world's foremost experts on the English Language.
So where's the argument?
One might throw at me the notion that the Social Security system is not, in fact, a nonexistent enterprise. I can throw back the fact that the "trust fund" is, in fact, a nonexistent enterprise. And the "trust fund" is where all of us suckers have been led to believe our money is going for the last seven decades. That's not where the money went though, is it? Sure, there was some money being "invested" (aka - lent to the government) while the... err... pyramid was broader at the base. Now the only way the earlier participants are getting paid is through direct transfers from the later participants. Now that the... well... pyramid has narrowed, ole Charlie Ponzi would be running for the hills. You see, when such a scheme is exposed, its perpetrators are generally considered to be criminals.
Which brings us full circle to the reason that Social Security, according to its defenders, is not a Ponzi scheme. You see - they, like I, are appreciative of the true meaning of English words. A Ponzi scheme is illegal and Social Security is not illegal. Ipso facto - Social Security can't be a Ponzi scheme. (I also enjoy a little Latin mixed in with my English every now and then. But you people who constantly misspell 'ad nauseam' - you're on notice...) Back on topic though - here's an example of this brilliantly evasive defense being offered by a well respected(?) writer from the New York Times.
See there? Not illegal, right? Therefore - not a Ponzi scheme. Governor Perry has been thoroughly debunked and Mr. Santelli has been duly chastened for his "idiotic" question. It's really that easy, apparently.
Setting all linguistics aside now - Friedman got bitch-slapped here. When a liberal has to dodge a question and then go to the "Reagan did it" card, he has lost the argument. When he has to resort to ad hominem (heh, Latin) attacks on his opponent, well, make of it what you will.
Those libertarians over at Reason.com seem to agree that Perry is wrong. Of course, 'agree' would be a misleading English word to use, wouldn't it?
I guess that says it all. The entire Reason article is worth a read, and not because the word 'reason' stems from the Latin 'rationare,' meaning 'to question' (by way of the French 'raison,' of course). That's just a handy tidbit that might serve us all well to remember. Whenever you hear about all of the "reasonable" people who see things a given way, it would help to investigate how many of them actually "question" their own dogma. Not many, I suspect. The dogma says Social Security is not a scam, so it's not a scam. Right Willard?
UPDATE (9/9/11 - 11:55am):
Looks like I'm not the only Democrat willing to tell the truth on this one...
You'll note, of course, the only defense offered by the Democrat strategist at the table. A Ponzi scheme is a criminal enterprise. Heh. Definitions...
Sometimes, however, it's a more productive interest. For instance - have you ever stopped to consider the meaning of the word 'amazing'? I hadn't, until I heard a segment on NPR last week. I mean, it's right there within the word, isn't it? You're lost in a maze. You can't find your way out. Your completely flummoxed... You're 'amazed.' But we don't restrict the word to such a meaning, do we? Nah, we see amazing plays on the football field and we enjoy an amazing slice of pizza. We bastardize our own language, slowly but surely, over the course of time. Eventually the words come to mean whatever we say they mean, rather than what they were originally intended to mean.
A whole lot of people have spilled a whole lot of ink in recent days regarding a certain Texan's use of the phrase 'Ponzi scheme.' Governor Perry seems content to stick to his guns (etymology - to continue shooting at the enemy, rather than retreat, even if one's own life might be compromised as a result) regarding this whole Social Security debate. He says that it is, in fact, a Ponzi scheme. The talking heads (people shown on television without the lower parts of their bodies visible) are largely convinced that he'll be unelectable as a result of his bizarre views on the subject. But are his views bizarre?
Let's go to the world's foremost experts on the English Language.
So where's the argument?
One might throw at me the notion that the Social Security system is not, in fact, a nonexistent enterprise. I can throw back the fact that the "trust fund" is, in fact, a nonexistent enterprise. And the "trust fund" is where all of us suckers have been led to believe our money is going for the last seven decades. That's not where the money went though, is it? Sure, there was some money being "invested" (aka - lent to the government) while the... err... pyramid was broader at the base. Now the only way the earlier participants are getting paid is through direct transfers from the later participants. Now that the... well... pyramid has narrowed, ole Charlie Ponzi would be running for the hills. You see, when such a scheme is exposed, its perpetrators are generally considered to be criminals.
Which brings us full circle to the reason that Social Security, according to its defenders, is not a Ponzi scheme. You see - they, like I, are appreciative of the true meaning of English words. A Ponzi scheme is illegal and Social Security is not illegal. Ipso facto - Social Security can't be a Ponzi scheme. (I also enjoy a little Latin mixed in with my English every now and then. But you people who constantly misspell 'ad nauseam' - you're on notice...) Back on topic though - here's an example of this brilliantly evasive defense being offered by a well respected(?) writer from the New York Times.
See there? Not illegal, right? Therefore - not a Ponzi scheme. Governor Perry has been thoroughly debunked and Mr. Santelli has been duly chastened for his "idiotic" question. It's really that easy, apparently.
Setting all linguistics aside now - Friedman got bitch-slapped here. When a liberal has to dodge a question and then go to the "Reagan did it" card, he has lost the argument. When he has to resort to ad hominem (heh, Latin) attacks on his opponent, well, make of it what you will.
Those libertarians over at Reason.com seem to agree that Perry is wrong. Of course, 'agree' would be a misleading English word to use, wouldn't it?
One, a Ponzi scheme collects money from new investors and uses it to pay previous investors—minus a fee. But Social Security collects money from new investors, uses some of it to pay previous investors, and spends the surplus on programs for politically favored groups—minus the cost of supporting a massive bureaucracy. Over the years, trillions of dollars have been spent on these groups and bureaucrats.
Two, participation in Ponzi schemes is voluntary. Not so with Social Security. The government automatically withholds payroll taxes and “invests” them for you.
Three: When a Ponzi scheme can’t con new investors in sufficient numbers to pay the previous investors, it collapses. But when Social Security runs low on investors—also called poor working stiffs—it raises taxes.
I guess that says it all. The entire Reason article is worth a read, and not because the word 'reason' stems from the Latin 'rationare,' meaning 'to question' (by way of the French 'raison,' of course). That's just a handy tidbit that might serve us all well to remember. Whenever you hear about all of the "reasonable" people who see things a given way, it would help to investigate how many of them actually "question" their own dogma. Not many, I suspect. The dogma says Social Security is not a scam, so it's not a scam. Right Willard?
UPDATE (9/9/11 - 11:55am):
Looks like I'm not the only Democrat willing to tell the truth on this one...
You'll note, of course, the only defense offered by the Democrat strategist at the table. A Ponzi scheme is a criminal enterprise. Heh. Definitions...
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Pretty dumb, I guess, but I chuckled...
The embed code wasn't working, but you can go here to see how to slaughter tea party zombies.
Any chance we'll see some phony outrage from the tea party crowd? Yes, I suppose there's a pretty good chance. Like I said though - pretty dumb but I chuckled.
Any chance we'll see some phony outrage from the tea party crowd? Yes, I suppose there's a pretty good chance. Like I said though - pretty dumb but I chuckled.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Highs and Lows
First, for the high. We all know how much I love me some sweet, sweet hypocrisy. Therefore, I'll kick off tonight's post with a quick 'suck it' to Warren Buffett. "B-b-b-but... I should be paying more taxes." Yeah right, liar. As long as we're talking leftist philosophy and you can soak it to everyone else, you're a regular Bolshevik. In real life... not so much. (More on this at the link below.)
If I had a nickel for every time some uninformed individual has cited Buffett as the authority on tax policy, even as Buffett himself lies through his teeth about his employees' effective tax rates (payroll taxes are not income taxes, capital gains have already been taxed, etc.)... well, I'd have a lot of nickels. And his weird fascination with Erin Burnett was always odd to me as well. She's a beauty and a pretty cool broad and all, but seriously? She was the only CNBC host that this wrinkly old creep would invite to his meetings? Why, exactly? Weird.
Further to the point at hand though, ole WB has made it known that his vast fortune will largely go to charity when he's ready to take the dirt nap. (For those of you who aren't so quick on the uptake - he'll make his estate much smaller, which means a much smaller estate tax will be collected.) See there? He can decide that his money would do more good outside the hands of the government, even as he bitches and whines about how he'd like to be taxed more. Other rich guys though? Fuck 'em. They deserve no say in the matter. Call in the feds.
Then tonight I come home from work and read this one.
The guy always struck me as a phony, but I respected his ability to make money. Now he strikes me as an even bigger phony, and I still respect his ability to make money. I just understand that ability better than I did this morning.
Now for the low.
(Please don't watch this if you're (a) as young as the kids in the video, or (b) prone to suicidal thoughts.)
Damn. I was feeling pretty good a minute ago. I don't even remember what the hell he was blabbering about, to tell you the truth. "We're gonna try hard, but you're pretty much screwed," or something along those lines. I'm just picturing myself as a kid, watching this depressing monologue from the president of the United States. Damn. Talk about a buzzkill.
(The Buffett part is still hilarious though.)
If I had a nickel for every time some uninformed individual has cited Buffett as the authority on tax policy, even as Buffett himself lies through his teeth about his employees' effective tax rates (payroll taxes are not income taxes, capital gains have already been taxed, etc.)... well, I'd have a lot of nickels. And his weird fascination with Erin Burnett was always odd to me as well. She's a beauty and a pretty cool broad and all, but seriously? She was the only CNBC host that this wrinkly old creep would invite to his meetings? Why, exactly? Weird.
Further to the point at hand though, ole WB has made it known that his vast fortune will largely go to charity when he's ready to take the dirt nap. (For those of you who aren't so quick on the uptake - he'll make his estate much smaller, which means a much smaller estate tax will be collected.) See there? He can decide that his money would do more good outside the hands of the government, even as he bitches and whines about how he'd like to be taxed more. Other rich guys though? Fuck 'em. They deserve no say in the matter. Call in the feds.
Then tonight I come home from work and read this one.
The guy always struck me as a phony, but I respected his ability to make money. Now he strikes me as an even bigger phony, and I still respect his ability to make money. I just understand that ability better than I did this morning.
Now for the low.
(Please don't watch this if you're (a) as young as the kids in the video, or (b) prone to suicidal thoughts.)
Damn. I was feeling pretty good a minute ago. I don't even remember what the hell he was blabbering about, to tell you the truth. "We're gonna try hard, but you're pretty much screwed," or something along those lines. I'm just picturing myself as a kid, watching this depressing monologue from the president of the United States. Damn. Talk about a buzzkill.
(The Buffett part is still hilarious though.)
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Thinks I get a kick out of - Volume One
It's probably time to add a new recurring segment to the blog. I can't say for sure how frequently recurring it will be but hey, we'll give it a shot. Given how regularly I observe here and in other places that the world is basically full of shit, it would be easy for one to conclude that I don't enjoy much. Such a conclusion would be completely inaccurate. It's just that I enjoy the insignificant stuff a lot more than the significant.
When it comes to the more existential issues that face humanity, I'm pretty sure we're screwed. Here's hoping that Rapture thing didn't actually happen and we all didn't just get left behind. That would be a bummer. On a smaller scale though, the world is pretty cool when you're easily amused. I'm easily amused.
Volume One - The conveyor belts at dry cleaners
I used to wear a suit to work every day, so I had to visit dry cleaners on a regular basis. Even aside from the vocational requirements though, I find that they make life as a single guy a lot more convenient.
When I was a kid, my mother would iron my clothes for me whenever I needed to look presentable. A little later in life, my wife would iron my clothes for me. After that failed experiment in marital bliss ran its course, I had various girlfriends who would iron my clothes for me. (Brand me a sexist if you must, but it ain't always the worst thing to be.) In recent years, I've been solo and I have less than zero ability to iron a shirt properly. I can do okay with pants for the most part, and pants get wrinkled pretty quickly once you sit in them anyway. But shirts - can't do it. The best part about dry cleaning, in my opinion, isn't the actual cleaning. It's that you get your clothes back in a nicely pressed condition, ready to take on the world.
Somewhat recently, my old buddy Mr. Pedro died. It follows then that I had to attend a funeral. I wear old jeans and a work shirt 90% of the time these days, so I went to my closet to assess the wardrobe situation. My suits were hanging neatly in place, but they had been wrinkled a bit during my latest relocation. In what must surely be a sign of unprecedented optimism on my part, I went to the store and bought a fancy iron with the steam shooter and all of the other high-tech nonsense. I gave it a shot. Yeah, I still can't do it. So I had to take my clothes to the dry cleaner.
Upon arriving, I was reminded of one of the things that I really get a kick out of.
I dig those conveyor belts, man. Walk around the shop and look for someone's clothes? Hell to the naw. This is America, Jack. We whip out a remote control and watch a thousand sets of clothing cruise around the building until the correct one lands in front of us. Up to the roof, down to the floor, around corners, over walkways. It's awesome. It really is.
When it comes to the more existential issues that face humanity, I'm pretty sure we're screwed. Here's hoping that Rapture thing didn't actually happen and we all didn't just get left behind. That would be a bummer. On a smaller scale though, the world is pretty cool when you're easily amused. I'm easily amused.
Volume One - The conveyor belts at dry cleaners
I used to wear a suit to work every day, so I had to visit dry cleaners on a regular basis. Even aside from the vocational requirements though, I find that they make life as a single guy a lot more convenient.
When I was a kid, my mother would iron my clothes for me whenever I needed to look presentable. A little later in life, my wife would iron my clothes for me. After that failed experiment in marital bliss ran its course, I had various girlfriends who would iron my clothes for me. (Brand me a sexist if you must, but it ain't always the worst thing to be.) In recent years, I've been solo and I have less than zero ability to iron a shirt properly. I can do okay with pants for the most part, and pants get wrinkled pretty quickly once you sit in them anyway. But shirts - can't do it. The best part about dry cleaning, in my opinion, isn't the actual cleaning. It's that you get your clothes back in a nicely pressed condition, ready to take on the world.
Somewhat recently, my old buddy Mr. Pedro died. It follows then that I had to attend a funeral. I wear old jeans and a work shirt 90% of the time these days, so I went to my closet to assess the wardrobe situation. My suits were hanging neatly in place, but they had been wrinkled a bit during my latest relocation. In what must surely be a sign of unprecedented optimism on my part, I went to the store and bought a fancy iron with the steam shooter and all of the other high-tech nonsense. I gave it a shot. Yeah, I still can't do it. So I had to take my clothes to the dry cleaner.
Upon arriving, I was reminded of one of the things that I really get a kick out of.
I dig those conveyor belts, man. Walk around the shop and look for someone's clothes? Hell to the naw. This is America, Jack. We whip out a remote control and watch a thousand sets of clothing cruise around the building until the correct one lands in front of us. Up to the roof, down to the floor, around corners, over walkways. It's awesome. It really is.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Son of a...
I've been informed recently that I don't write much anymore. The reason for this, of course, is that I don't really have anything to write. Most of what disturbs me is political and there are numerous political authors who are far more eloquent than I am. Most of what amuses me is ridiculous and much of this ridiculous amusement has probably already arrived in your inbox at one time or another, through various unnamed sources. So I don't find much blogworthiness in the remaining humdrum world that I inhabit.
Alas, I find myself encountered with a conundrum. I could simply blow off the people who have noted my lack of blog posts. Aside from the ten or fifteen cents that I get each month from you folks, this blog is an uncompensated venture. But then, on another level, it does give me a chance to get things off my chest from time to time and I get a kick out of the occasional feedback that I receive. What to do? What to do?
I concluded, as I've previously concluded, that I'll write when I have something to say and I'll keep to myself when there's nothing to say. Simple enough, right? Sure, except that there's apparently hardly ever anything to say.
I was informed not too long ago that I should go back to how this blog began and just start writing a few words about the daily grind, trying to make it as interesting as possible. Hogwash, I say. I used to go from coast to coast and border to border. The daily grind, as it were, tended to write its own stories. Now every day seems exactly like yesterday and tomorrow looks to be more of the same. But I don't know. I figured I might as well give it a shot once in a while.
So, here's a day in the life. Enjoy.
I got out of bed yesterday afternoon. You'll note that I said afternoon and not morning. The previous night's workout had been a real motherfucker and I was in no state to sleep when I got back home. It took until 8am or so to wind down. So I slept for a while and then got out of bed in the afternoon. Then I had a few things to do. I had dirty laundry, of course. So that needed to be washed. And I had a paycheck to deposit. And I had some mail to send. And I needed to burp the air out of my car's cooling system (long story). And I needed to help a buddy with some computer issues. And I needed to help another buddy with some financial issues.
After all of the tedium had been handled, however, I would get the payoff. A friend of mine had a pair of tickets to last night's Tigers game. Beautiful weather in Detroit, Scherzer on the mound, the last-place Royals in town, what could go wrong? Perfect day for a ballgame.
Then the friend who had provided the tickets ran into a minor scheduling issue. No worries though. I happen to have a retired buddy whose parents are now both dead, so I was pretty sure he could join me at the game. I was right about that part. He had nothing going on. Off we go then...
After an early dinner at Mexican Village, we decided to head over to the ballpark and catch batting practice. Apparently my recollection of my youth has been distorted, because I distinctly remember getting into Tiger Stadium at 5pm for batting practice. The gates at Comerica Park were locked at 5pm, so we started walking around the stadium. After passing the gate that would be closest to our seats, we found a shaded area beneath some trees and settled in to wait for the ballpark to open. They would probably open at 5:30pm, we thought.
We stood and chatted about various topics for a while. At 5:25pm, I suggested that we might start walking toward the next stadium gate - the one behind home plate. By the time we got there, I surmised, it would be about time for the stadium to open. Good idea, thought my buddy. And away we were. Err...
Son of a...!
I am still facing some lingering effects of a back injury that I sustained nearly a year ago. I don't have the intense pain in my leg anymore and my back does okay for the most part, but the numbness that eventually settled into my right foot has never gone away. I taught myself to walk without a limp and basically just ignore the fact that I usually can't feel my right foot. I say 'usually' because, well, there are a few times that I feel it. Like when I step on the edge of a curb and my ankle rolls over. Yeah, I sure as hell felt that one.
Numerous bad experiences with that ankle have left me with a peculiar skill. When my foot starts to roll over, I tend to react instantly - before the ligaments have a chance to get stretched too far or torn. I can accept whatever consequences befall me afterward, but I immediately get all of my weight off that leg, to the best of my ability. This is all done without thinking. It's a conditioned response, or whatever.
What befell me in last night's case wasn't very pleasant. I threw my leg up in the air as soon as my ankle started to roll. Since I had already stepped on the side of the curb and lost my balance before throwing my leg in the air, I took a pretty wicked tumble afterward. I have no idea exactly how I fell. I just know that I fell hard. Reverand Dan described it as 'awkward.' I think he was pretty scared for me, but I assured him that I'll be okay. Hopefully I wasn't lying.
The palms of both my hands are scraped and bruised. My right wrist is a lovely shade of purple. My right ankle is swollen and painful, but at least its components have remained intact. My shins have some scrapes and bruises, but nothing too major. Last but certainly not least, we get to my left thigh. Holy fuck, does my left thigh ever hurt. Somewhere in the process of falling, I must have twisted that leg or something. Perhaps it's just bruised and it will feel better in a couple of days, but it feels suspiciously like a pulled muscle. Just what I need.
One of the stadium workers saw me fall and then struggle back to my feet, so he pulled up in his golf cart and offered to give us a ride to the First Aid station. That was rather kind of him. I didn't think I would need any medical treatment, but a few Advils would probably help the cause. Then he couldn't get anyone to open the gate and let him into the stadium, so he drove us out by the center field entrance and dropped us off. "Just go in right there and hang a right. First Aid is right down that way." Hey, thanks for nothing, sport. When I fell, I was in the general vicinity of where my seats were located. By the time this guy helped me, I was all the way on the other end of the stadium.
We made the long walk over to the first base line and settled into our seats. I had decided, after the golf cart fiasco, that cold beer would probably do more for my pain than Advil would. I was not disappointed in this regard. Prior to last night's game, I had actually stopped buying beer at the ballpark. Obviously stadium concessions are bound to be overpriced, but at this point I think they've gone too far. $8.50 for a pint is, as ole Walter Sobchak would say, over the line. Better to hit a restaurant or bar after the game and knock back a few, I reckon. Last night, however, I needed the medicinal effects.
I wasn't in too much pain as I sat and watched the debacle unfolding on the field before me (a 9-5 Kansas City victory). When I got up to use the restroom, however, oy. That was rough. I could mitigate some of the pain in my ankle and thigh by taking each step very slowly and deliberately. As I walked back to my seat with a full beer in my hand, it occurred to me that my tortured gait was probably making me look incredibly drunk. I can only imagine what some of the other spectators must have thought. Oh well. No harm, no foul.
I dropped the reverand off at his house and then came back home to assess the damage to my body. (As noted above - hands, wrist, ankle, shins, thigh.) "Tomorrow morning's gonna be a rough one," I thought as I turned out the light and went to bed.
I woke a little while ago.
Son of a...
Alas, I find myself encountered with a conundrum. I could simply blow off the people who have noted my lack of blog posts. Aside from the ten or fifteen cents that I get each month from you folks, this blog is an uncompensated venture. But then, on another level, it does give me a chance to get things off my chest from time to time and I get a kick out of the occasional feedback that I receive. What to do? What to do?
I concluded, as I've previously concluded, that I'll write when I have something to say and I'll keep to myself when there's nothing to say. Simple enough, right? Sure, except that there's apparently hardly ever anything to say.
I was informed not too long ago that I should go back to how this blog began and just start writing a few words about the daily grind, trying to make it as interesting as possible. Hogwash, I say. I used to go from coast to coast and border to border. The daily grind, as it were, tended to write its own stories. Now every day seems exactly like yesterday and tomorrow looks to be more of the same. But I don't know. I figured I might as well give it a shot once in a while.
So, here's a day in the life. Enjoy.
I got out of bed yesterday afternoon. You'll note that I said afternoon and not morning. The previous night's workout had been a real motherfucker and I was in no state to sleep when I got back home. It took until 8am or so to wind down. So I slept for a while and then got out of bed in the afternoon. Then I had a few things to do. I had dirty laundry, of course. So that needed to be washed. And I had a paycheck to deposit. And I had some mail to send. And I needed to burp the air out of my car's cooling system (long story). And I needed to help a buddy with some computer issues. And I needed to help another buddy with some financial issues.
After all of the tedium had been handled, however, I would get the payoff. A friend of mine had a pair of tickets to last night's Tigers game. Beautiful weather in Detroit, Scherzer on the mound, the last-place Royals in town, what could go wrong? Perfect day for a ballgame.
Then the friend who had provided the tickets ran into a minor scheduling issue. No worries though. I happen to have a retired buddy whose parents are now both dead, so I was pretty sure he could join me at the game. I was right about that part. He had nothing going on. Off we go then...
After an early dinner at Mexican Village, we decided to head over to the ballpark and catch batting practice. Apparently my recollection of my youth has been distorted, because I distinctly remember getting into Tiger Stadium at 5pm for batting practice. The gates at Comerica Park were locked at 5pm, so we started walking around the stadium. After passing the gate that would be closest to our seats, we found a shaded area beneath some trees and settled in to wait for the ballpark to open. They would probably open at 5:30pm, we thought.
We stood and chatted about various topics for a while. At 5:25pm, I suggested that we might start walking toward the next stadium gate - the one behind home plate. By the time we got there, I surmised, it would be about time for the stadium to open. Good idea, thought my buddy. And away we were. Err...
Son of a...!
I am still facing some lingering effects of a back injury that I sustained nearly a year ago. I don't have the intense pain in my leg anymore and my back does okay for the most part, but the numbness that eventually settled into my right foot has never gone away. I taught myself to walk without a limp and basically just ignore the fact that I usually can't feel my right foot. I say 'usually' because, well, there are a few times that I feel it. Like when I step on the edge of a curb and my ankle rolls over. Yeah, I sure as hell felt that one.
Numerous bad experiences with that ankle have left me with a peculiar skill. When my foot starts to roll over, I tend to react instantly - before the ligaments have a chance to get stretched too far or torn. I can accept whatever consequences befall me afterward, but I immediately get all of my weight off that leg, to the best of my ability. This is all done without thinking. It's a conditioned response, or whatever.
What befell me in last night's case wasn't very pleasant. I threw my leg up in the air as soon as my ankle started to roll. Since I had already stepped on the side of the curb and lost my balance before throwing my leg in the air, I took a pretty wicked tumble afterward. I have no idea exactly how I fell. I just know that I fell hard. Reverand Dan described it as 'awkward.' I think he was pretty scared for me, but I assured him that I'll be okay. Hopefully I wasn't lying.
The palms of both my hands are scraped and bruised. My right wrist is a lovely shade of purple. My right ankle is swollen and painful, but at least its components have remained intact. My shins have some scrapes and bruises, but nothing too major. Last but certainly not least, we get to my left thigh. Holy fuck, does my left thigh ever hurt. Somewhere in the process of falling, I must have twisted that leg or something. Perhaps it's just bruised and it will feel better in a couple of days, but it feels suspiciously like a pulled muscle. Just what I need.
One of the stadium workers saw me fall and then struggle back to my feet, so he pulled up in his golf cart and offered to give us a ride to the First Aid station. That was rather kind of him. I didn't think I would need any medical treatment, but a few Advils would probably help the cause. Then he couldn't get anyone to open the gate and let him into the stadium, so he drove us out by the center field entrance and dropped us off. "Just go in right there and hang a right. First Aid is right down that way." Hey, thanks for nothing, sport. When I fell, I was in the general vicinity of where my seats were located. By the time this guy helped me, I was all the way on the other end of the stadium.
We made the long walk over to the first base line and settled into our seats. I had decided, after the golf cart fiasco, that cold beer would probably do more for my pain than Advil would. I was not disappointed in this regard. Prior to last night's game, I had actually stopped buying beer at the ballpark. Obviously stadium concessions are bound to be overpriced, but at this point I think they've gone too far. $8.50 for a pint is, as ole Walter Sobchak would say, over the line. Better to hit a restaurant or bar after the game and knock back a few, I reckon. Last night, however, I needed the medicinal effects.
I wasn't in too much pain as I sat and watched the debacle unfolding on the field before me (a 9-5 Kansas City victory). When I got up to use the restroom, however, oy. That was rough. I could mitigate some of the pain in my ankle and thigh by taking each step very slowly and deliberately. As I walked back to my seat with a full beer in my hand, it occurred to me that my tortured gait was probably making me look incredibly drunk. I can only imagine what some of the other spectators must have thought. Oh well. No harm, no foul.
I dropped the reverand off at his house and then came back home to assess the damage to my body. (As noted above - hands, wrist, ankle, shins, thigh.) "Tomorrow morning's gonna be a rough one," I thought as I turned out the light and went to bed.
I woke a little while ago.
Son of a...
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
You ready?
Well, are you? Ready, that is?
I am. Ready, that is. I have a pair of tickets to the opening game, courtesy of some lawyer dude in Chicago. It turns out that your don can find more on the internet than stupid YouTube clips of asswipe politicians. Even without a Facebook or Twitter account, I somehow manage to make a few useful contacts from time to time. Go figure.
As an added bonus, my guest for the trip will be my old buddy Reverand Dan. He hasn't been able to travel in recent years, on account of his ailing parents. Well, ole Mr. Pedro went on to join his wife in the Great Beyond not too long ago. In a perverse sort of circumstance, the loss of one's parents apparently provides one with previously unrealized free time. In other words - the rev's dad died recently, so now he has all the time in the world to make his first trip to South Bend for a football game. And I'm gonna take him there. This should be interesting.
Less than two weeks, mofos. Are you ready?
ADDENDUM: My tickets are lined up for a few other games as well, but the game at Michigan on September 10th is still up in the air. Suggestions for how to gain admission for less than an arm and a leg are still welcome.
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