Skidmarks
I’ve posted my share of TMI (Too Much Information) stories here, but having somewhat of a captive audience, I didn’t perceive it as being too big of a deal. After all, you can choose not to read it, right? I also did my best to make the stories humorous and self-deprecating, so I think I accomplished my goal of sharing delicate information in a non-offensive way. Stanley Steemer, on the other hand, has no such scruples. I was watching a show today when all of my sensibilities were assaulted at once. Maybe you’ve seen it. No? Have a peek:
Now, normally, I’d laugh myself silly, and in all honesty, it IS pretty funny, but how about a quick flash of Toby’s artistic interpretation? Did we really need to be subjected to 4 1/2 seconds of his technique? Did you really have to go back to him after the cut away? Did you think that I’d missed the point? Do you realize how long 4 1/2 seconds is in a 30 second spot? It’s almost 1/6th of the whole! Proportionately, watching 5 minutes of a news anchor getting caught picking their nose in a 30 minute newscast would be almost as bad. I also like how you flash to the poor little boy’s face when he realizes that he’s just gotten his best pal and pet friend Toby banished to the yard for life. The anguish on his face is priceless. Maybe you can do a follow up commercial showing Toby frolicking in the yard and happily dragging his ass along the patio while the camera cuts to the little boy sitting cross-legged in the corner of his room. As he rocks back and forth clutching his knees he can be heard quietly whispering; “No, Toby, bad boy Toby, make him stop Toby, 15 minutes to Wapner.”
Dumbing down commercials is nothing new, but good God Mr. Steemer! I know what a dirty carpet is; I’m well aware of the fact that over time carpet becomes dirty and needs to be cleaned. I’m even smart enough to know that I can purchase this thing called a vacuum cleaner to help me eradicate the dirt on a schedule; like, every few days, or twice a week maybe. Was this the best you could come up with? Did Baby Sophie projectile vomiting her peas on the carpet not test well with the focus groups? Did Aunt Edna’s drunken trip and fall and subsequent spilling of 32 ounces of Chianti on the shag offend too many alcoholics? I’d work on your copywriting department if I were you; I don’t need my dog to wipe his ass on my carpet to realize it’s time for a cleaning. Besides, I feed him better food than that. I guess with a last name like “Steemer” you had no choice butt to go for the poop angle.
You Cast Them Daily
I’m frustrated. I know there are a lot of other frustrated people out there as well. The frustration comes from seeing all of the senseless, childish, immature bickering that our so called “leaders” engage in on a daily basis. We aren’t the first Americans to be frustrated, though. I mean, is there anyone out there that truly believes that political partisanship and demagoguery is a new thing? The founding fathers wrote the book on it. They differ from today’s politicians in that they were at least civil in their debate and they were able to set aside their differences when the fate of the country hung in the balance. 233 years ago, the Constitution wasn’t exactly signed over punch and cookies; it was more like punch and then knee to the groin. The point is; the founding fathers knew that they wanted a government of the people, by the people and for the people and they were willing to fight like cornered wolverines to make it as idiot-proof as possible. When the days’ debate and fisticuffs was over, they’d retire to the pub and down a few beers like the friends that they were, but during the battle, it was everyman for himself. Too bad they didn’t have a crystal ball to see what they’d be up against in the beginning of the 21st century. The most dangerous place in Washington DC today is between Chuck Schumer and a TV camera.
I think at this point, shouting out your party’s beliefs is an exercise in futility. Neither party cares about the American people anymore, they only care about elections and congressional majorities. It has everything to do with power, and absolutely nothing to do with you. They don’t want to hear your babble, you silly citizen, you. Just try and call them or email them with your concerns, they’ll just shut off the computer and take the phone off the hook and then tell you they need 20 billion dollars to upgrade their communication system. These are the people that are trying to take over private industry in the United States? 111 members of the 109th Congress (2005-2007) had a hand in bankrupting at least 2 businesses. 79 of them had credit reports that were so bad that they couldn’t get an American Express card. They got one anyway, after being elected. I guess membership really does have it’s privileges. 64 of them would have been denied security clearance if they were in the private sector; but, you guessed it, being elected to Congress washed all of that away. 31 spousal abusers, 33 DUI arrests (34 if you count Bush), 17 drug arrests, 6 shoplifters, are you getting the picture? They’ve got to go. All of them.
The silver lining is that the 800 pound Gorilla in the room; the American people, are tired of having their bananas taken away. Say what you want about Tea Parties, talk radio and cable news; but the American people haven’t been this involved in the political process in a very long time. It’s not just professional sign carriers that get media time anymore. You can expect to still see the agenda pushing that goes on at every network and cable outlet as well as the Internet, but the thing that has the politicians and the media running scared is the idea that the public is actually paying attention and taking action. People are just sick of it. I am, aren’t you? I don’t care if you’re Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Independent, Socialist, Communist, Orwellian, Liberal or Conservative; there comes a time to say enough is enough, and that time is now. Everyone just needs to exercise their right to vote. You can do it, and you DO do it, everyday.
What do I mean by that? I mean that voting is a choice that you make, right? You choose a candidate to support and then you vote for them. The problem is that most Americans think that this is an exercise that they only participate in every 2 or 4 years, when the fact is; they do it dozens of times everyday. You vote when you pick up the remote. Did you vote for Harry Smith or Matt Lauer this morning? You vote in your closet; is it Versace or Halston? (Man, I’d love to see YOUR closet) Which grocery store did you vote for when it was time to feed your family? What church do you go to? Did you vote “no” on church? Which state got your vote when it came time to choose a place to live? Which NFL team won your election? What ice cream flavor? School? Gas station? Magazine? Candy bar? I hope you get the point, my right pinkie has a blister from all of those question marks. Make no mistake, companies spend millions of dollars a year trying to win you over, that’s why it’s called an ad campaign. In the old days this used to be called the free market; I don’t know what they’re trying to call it now, but it still works and it can be effective if we all use it.
Nothing gets a politicians attention faster than a donor who quits giving. If you think that Harry Reid is a horses ass and you know that JP Morgan bank was his 4th biggest contributor, then you can choose not to bank with them. There you go, another ballot cast and you didn’t have to wait for a November in an even numbered year. If enough people do it, then you can be sure that JP Morgan will take notice. If you live in Texas and think that Governor Rick Perry is so stupid that it takes him an hour and a half to watch 60 minutes, and you know that one of his biggest contributors was Houston home builder Bob Perry, then don’t buy one of his houses. If you live in Houston, of course; and are in the market for a house. You get the idea. The point of all of my rambling is that you have a voice, you have the power to change things. A bucket will still fill to overflowing, even if the faucet is only adding the water one drop at a time. I think America’s bucket is just about full, don’t you?
Earth Daze
Yesterday, I asked NukeBoy1 if he was done with his homework because we had to leave soon to get him to his guitar lesson. “All except the assignment that I have to do with an adult”, he said. As the only “adult” in the house at the time, I sat down with him to do the assignment. I had forgotten that it was Earth Day until I looked at the paper.
The top of the paper stated:
The purpose of this exercise is to determine how many trees would need to be planted to offset the carbon produced by one of your families’ cars in one year.
That’s sort of dancing around the issue, don’t you think? Why didn’t they just come out and say it:
Every time your Dad drives you to your guitar lesson, another polar bear dies.
Or maybe they could have tried to raise his guilt level by stating:
Way to go, you selfish, selfish child; asking Grandma to fly up for your birthday has caused an ice sheet the size of Manhattan to break away from the polar ice caps. We are all going to die!
Unbelievable; not only is the indoctrination of our children rampant in the schools, now they are inserting it into math problems! Do the assignment with an adult? As in; your parents are obviously too stupid and uncaring to understand this, so by doing the assignment with them you’ll help us raise their guilt and shame level to the point that from this day forward you will only be fed organic vegetables, tofu and NPR.
Look, I’m all for a clean environment and being a good, responsible steward for Mother Earth; but I also realize that scaring the crap out of people is great for slasher movies, but not so good for normal human existence. We teach our kids not to throw trash out the window of a moving car and to turn the lights out when you leave the room. Admittedly, the turning out the lights is more a financial motivation for me than a save the planet one. Save the planet? Hell, save my electric bill; it was over a hundred dollars last month! The point is; I’m sick and tired of being told that we evil Americans are killing the planet when India is pumping out more CFC’s and carbon emissions in 6 months than we have since the Industrial Revolution. And China? Oh, don’t get me started on China. You want to see responsible environmentalism in action? Look at what the USA has done over the past 5 decades in technology advancements that make the world a better place for everyone. Quit telling all of us that we are the problem when in actuality, we are the closest thing to an answer that you eco-warriors have got! The combined populations of the 2 biggest emerging economies on earth; India and China, is 2.4 Billion people. They account for nearly 40% of the worlds population. The United States? About 300 Million, or 4 1/2% of the worlds population. You could have 8 United States of Americas and just barely be even with India and China population wise, yet our little 4.5% of the worlds population manage to produce between 20 and 30% of the worlds goods. And we do it in a clean, efficient way. China pollutes more making a few thousand lead-filled baby cribs than we do with our entire auto industry. Well, what’s left of it. You know why you don’t see environmentalist protesters in China? Because Chinese tanks can’t read protest signs. You want to see an accurate block quote of what environmentalist policy can do for the world? Here’s one:
Every time you pass ethanol legislation, a family in Mexico goes hungry.
There is a reason that you love Mexican food; because that stuff is good! Corn is a staple in Mexican food, and when the price of corn goes up 60% in a matter of month, it gets harder to feed your family. Especially when you are trying to survive on 4 dollars a day. The fallacy of using Ethanol to save the planet is the fact that corn effects so many other things. Corn is used to feed the cattle, chickens, turkeys and hogs that are on your dinner plate every night. It is used for cooking oil, corn meal, beverages; ever heard of high fructose corn syrup? Where do you think it comes from? Eat eggs? Eggs come from chickens, do you see where this is going? There is a reason that you saw beef, poultry, cheese and soda prices skyrocket last year during the summer. The domino effect is finally making some of the policy makers take pause. Thank God. Let’s not forget how many acres of forest would have to be razed by carbon spewing tractors to add enough corn fields to meet the demands of the Ethanol peddlers in Washington. Talk about your carbon footprint.
This debatable issue could be avoided if the government would just do one thing; get out of the way. Let Americans do what Americans have always done; figured out a better, faster, cheaper, cleaner, more profitable way to do things. You can’t legislate innovation. Quit telling my kids that they’re killing animals and ruining the planet every time they fall asleep with the television on. Don’t send condescending homework home with my son expecting me to break down in tears and then teach him the words to kumbaya. Oh, the answer to his homework problem? 346. 346 trees would need to be planted to offset one years worth of carbon emissions from our little ole Dodge Caravan. I did some rudimentary calculations and figured that our neighborhood will have to purchase the State of Kansas and plant trees no more than 18 inches apart to offset it’s carbon footprint for the next 10 years. After that? I don’t know, but Nebraska better get ready to relocate too.
Obvious
I love it when TiVo gets too lazy to do it’s job. The summary for tonight’s episode of 24? Jack and the FBI create a plan to prevent more terror attacks; events take a surprising turn. Really? Could you be a little more vague? A surprising turn? Like what? Jack quits in mid-pistol whip and returns to school to get his Masters in Sociology? Maybe FBI Special Agent Larry Moss is going to give in to temptation and help Jack torture somebody. Like the Subway guy for putting too much mayo on his Cold Cut Combo. At least give us a little detail; like Agent Walker questions Jacks commitment, or something along those lines. If I wanted obvious I’d look up Deal or No Deal; not a whole lot to say about that.
It’s not like it’s The Cleavage Exploiter. Wait. I forgot; they changed the name to The Ghost Whisperer; anyway, that show could give 2 pages of description and still leave you unsure of what you might see. Ever seen the description for any movie on IFC? Rest assured that you’ll be so frustrated by the teaser that you’ll give up and watch The Breakfast Club for the 12,000th time instead. News programs? Forget it. THAT, I can understand, but still; with today’s technology you’d think that they could insert something pertaining to the news of the day. For instance, the earthquake in Italy happened last night/early this morning; would it kill them to put a 2 word blurb on NBC’s summary of tonights broadcast? Italian Earthquake. There. Done. Now somebody who doesn’t pay attention to the news all day will be able to discern if they want to partake of it or not. It’s not too much to ask, is it?
Where Have I Been?
This has been the bane of my existence for the last week:
I had to get it finished due to a quick weekend trip and the threat of rain. Overkill? Maybe. My next project is to build a canary cage out of cinder block. See you Monday.
Scammed By The E*TRADE Baby
Talk about your down economy. I was watching TV with NukeGirl this morning before school when a commercial came on for the Clipo Hippo. Who do you think is the star of this shameless attempt to extort money from hard working parents nationwide? That’s right, the E*TRADE Baby. I know it was him. The commercial isn’t on You Tube or I’d post the evidence for you, but let there be no doubt; Mr. “I just bought stock while puking on my keyboard” is moonlighting.
What happened to livin’ the high life, Chief? Isn’t your baby girlfriend calling you relentlessly on your Blackberry anymore? Are you being shoved out for a younger spokes-baby, like a newborn, or maybe an embryo? Tell the truth, Poopy Pants, you’re over extended like the rest of us and you had to take a second job, didn’t you? You expect people to trade with the company that you represent when you can’t even keep your own lifestyle in check? How dare you! I guess your agent won’t be able to invest his 10% in the market now either, will he? Don’t you ever think of anybody but yourself? What, it’s not enough that you get spoon fed by Mommy, have your bottles warmed to a soothing 98.6 degrees and are allowed to crap in you pants? You should be ashamed of yourself. You had it all, and now you’re destined to become a footnote on some VH1 show. We all know how this is going to turn out, so do yourself a favor and call Todd Bridges and Danny Bonaduce as soon as possible. Oh, before you go; what do you think about Dell in 2009? Should I sell it, or hold?
Going Off
I broke one my rules today. I used someone else’s blog to fire back at a commenter rather than comment on the post itself. I couldn’t help it, though. Go read Momo Fali’s post and the comments and then come back.
You back? Good. Now, never mind the fact that I’m being a total hypocrite for doing exactly what I’m calling “Anonymous” out for: ranting rather than addressing the body of the post, but this guy (gal, whatever) deserved it! At least I think so, anyway. I haven’t posted in almost a week, and if you’re a regular reader of this blog you know that that means one of two things: One (or all) of the NukeKids is ill, or I’ve been moping. Maybe moping is too sissy-ish a word; let’s say; brooding. Or dawdle. Take your pick. I’ve had “Stimulus” shoved at me so much this week that they may as well just call it Congressional Viagra. I’m a bit put out, to be honest. I’m not exactly known for being afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve. I did it here, and here, and most definitely here. If you agree with it, great, if you don’t, no big whoop. Just one guy’s opinion, that’s all, and if you disagree with it and you choose to let me know about it, at least have the testicular fortitude to leave your name.
That’s my biggest beef with this whole thing. I don’t even disagree that much with some of what they were trying to say, it’s how they said it. I certainly don’t want to pay more in taxes, but I certainly wouldn’t be so ignorant as to say that the only thing taxes pay for are “murder abroad”, Good God man! What color is the sky in your deluded world? Checked out the United Nations’ donor rolls lately? No, not being able to pay your share because you need all of your money to pay off Manhattan parking tickets is not a defense. Asked the EU if they’re glad they aren’t speaking German and Japanese as their native tongues? Maybe you’d like to ask some East Berliner’s if they’d like us to put the wall back up? Perhaps you’d like to ask Japan, a country barely the size of the state of Montana, if they had a problem with us helping them reconstruct their county into a democracy that is now the 3rd largest economy in the world? Don’t forget; this was after they declared war on us! I’d engage you on the whole Hiroshima debate, but I fear you’d take 6 months to develop and disseminate your Manifesto, and you’d lose the argument anyway because President Truman didn’t do it to show how many Japanese citizens he could kill, but to prove how many Allied lives he could save.
You do realize that your ire was brought about by a Dear Abby article, don’t you? Let me type that again; slowly, in case you’re still playing catch up: Dear Abby! She’s as American as pre-steroid baseball, the proverbial apple pie and Chevrolet before the bailout. Every Mom and Dad in America had a few Dear Abby articles clipped and hanging on the kitchen bulletin board or refrigerator. Ours hung next to a few Snuffy Smith cartoons. My Dad was a sucker for a good Snuffy Smith strip. If you’re old enough to remember those, then you’re old enough to know that once upon a time America was all about self reliance, leading the way in the world and raising kids to be respectful and independent. That’s a key word there; independent. There’s a pretty important document that has that in the title. You might want to do some research. It’s about standing up for yourself, your family and your country. I recall a young idealistic President once stating that you should ask what you could do for it, rather than what you could take from it. If he could only see us today.
It used to be that you could, should and would stand up for yourself in the face of adversity, be it with your friends, your siblings, or, when you became old enough, your parents. It was done with respect, and it was done in person; not phoned in (or anonymously posted). If you don’t have the courage of your convictions, then you have no right to complain about anything. Ever. The easiest job in the world is critic. It requires no courage, integrity or character. You stand up for what you believe in to honor the gift of freedom that you’ve been given. Then you prepare to be knocked down occasionally while defending that gift, but you always, always, get back up. Then you tell others about it. You show them how it works. You brag about it, because you are lucky enough to live in the 46% of the world that is free. 3.6 BILLION people don’t have that privilege, and the number is growing.
Lastly, “Anonymous” claimed that there was no freedom of speech, just a lack of law enforcement to wrangle the dissenters. Can’t even go there, we’d be here for days. Besides, the party that screamed the loudest about wanting their voice heard is now doing everything it can to stifle the voice of the opposition. Just more of the new “transparency”, I guess. Good thing Pelosi gave us the 48 hours she promised to look over the bill before jetting off to Europe. Oh, yeah, didn’t happen. Oh well, The sheeple won’t care anyway. I’d better go listen to some Ambrosia and have a glass of Merlot before I have an aneurysm.
Dear: Geoffrey The Giraffe
Hey there, you greedy little bastard; How are you? I’m a bit put out myself. It has to do with your “return” policy. That’s kind of funny; calling it a “return” policy when there’s actually no chance of “returning” anything to you without knowing how to jump thru hoops dressed like a clown with my ass on fire. If I understand it correctly, your return policy would entail me purchasing something from your store, immediately placing the receipt in my safety deposit box, returning the item to you within the appropriate amount of time only to recoup a store credit. Is that about right? That’s a GREAT policy for the dozens of people who would actually need to execute it the way you have so generously drawn it up; however, let’s explore some hypothetical situations; shall we?
Let’s say (just for arguments sake, work with me) that someone comes in with a gift that was (gasp!) purchased by someone else? I know, I know; the horror. Would your policy allow that person to return said item to your store for a refund or store credit? OF COURSE NOT! Why in the hell would you do something like that? It’s not like you can put the un-opened, never tampered with product right back on the shelf and sell it again, NO! That would be too much of a hassle! Besides, your policy is in place to help protect your company from the “Rampant Fraud” that has been perpetrated against your unsuspecting company for years by wild bands of parents and children who have been assaulting your stores one toy at a time! I know this to be true because it was so gingerly related to me by one of your “associates”. It was almost done with a smile. I can’t blame the associate, it’s not like it’s her policy; in fact, as she told me numerous times: “It’s a corporate policy”. Know what else could be termed a “corporate policy”? Bankruptcy. I’d look into it. A google search tells me that 11.4 MILLION people agree with me.
Look, Geoffrey, I understand that sometimes people do the wrong thing; like buy a DVD player so they can use it on their road trip only to return it when they get back. I know you need to have policies in place to protect you from that sort of thing, but are you incapable of looking at customers on an individual basis? Do you honestly think that I would bring my 3 children with me to your store to return 1 measly $50 stolen game? If it’s fraud you’re worried about, then work with the Justice Department and other retailers; ‘cuz I can tell you that trying to stop it at the return desk ain’t cuttin’ it.
You know what galls me the most? You aren’t even a decade removed from paying out over $50 MILLION dollars in an anti-trust suit because of your involvement in a conspiracy with toy makers to keep certain items out of Sam’s and Costco because they were kicking your ass! Want to sell more toys, Geoffrey? COMPETE! Worry about the customer instead of trying to cheat yourself into higher market share. The ‘nads on you! You wanted to dictate how the toy manufacturers would market and sell their products? First right of refusal, and all of that other BS? Are you serious? You actually got back on the right track for awhile, but, I guess it was to good to be true. It was smart of you to wait until after last Christmas to change your return policy, but I guess you forgot about the one coming up: this one. Sounds like the choir, of which I am now a proud member, is growing. And getting louder. Can you hear it yet? If not, you will. Oh, one more thing: We won’t be shopping at your store again until, um, let’s see…how does NEVER sound? We’ll make sure that we let as many people as possible know about your “corporate decision” as well. Don’t blame ME, though, I’m just an “associate”. See, the kids run this family “Corporation” when it comes to toys; and the “corporate decision” has been made. I hear Disney Wild Adventure is hiring; you may want to update your resume.
Maybe We’ll All Get A Free Toaster
I guess this is what they call writer’s block. Haven’t had a whole lot to smile about or find funny this last week or so. Nukegirl turned 5 on Thursday and that was a good day, but I still have issues with being told that the world is going to end if we don’t surrender a BILLION dollars to the same idiots who screwed everything up in the first place. I feel like a giraffe with acid reflux who forgot to refill my Prevacid prescription. Really bad taste in my mouth right now. It’s over, though. I turned the TV off today and decided that the computer would be used for everything except reading bad news. I just hope that this is the tipping point that will finally make people understand that we are all AMERICANS first, and members of a political party second. Regardless of who wins next month, we’re all screwed. 70 to 80% of Americans were against this bailout debacle; or, as they call it now; the “Rescue” package; but they passed it anyway. The kids in Congress just broke open the sugar vault and ate until they puked. They’ll run around on their sugar high and cause all kinds of mischief and be up past their bed time. Then we’ll be expected to clean up the mess again with pleas of “We’re sorry, it won’t happen again!” and “It wasn’t my fault, HE did it!”
Raising kids is hard enough; watching several hundred of them going bonkers, unsupervised, in our Nations’ capital with no Ritalin in sight is torture. I find it funny that it took the House almost a week to come up with 3 pages, but the Senate was somehow able to find an additional 448 pages of pork in less than 24 hours. Yea, no one saw this coming, did they? You can vote for more than President on November 4th, you know. We have 435 chances to send every member of the House back to their house so they can think about what they did (well, the ones who voted for it, anyway). The Senate will take a little longer, but we could send all 100 of them home soon too. They couldn’t even run their own cafeteria! They had to outsource it because they were losing 2 million dollars a year and now they want us to trust them with a Billion dollars? What they don’t realize is they just opened up the cookie jar, and every kid in the neighborhood heard it. California says they need 7 billion or their state will go bankrupt. New York’s Governor called a few hours later with the same claim. Who’s next? Where does it stop? When does it stop? Which kid isn’t going to get his cookie? Put your aprons back on, people. Washington just realized the bake sale isn’t over. They’re going to need another couple hundred billion cookies. I, for one, am out of (cookie) dough.
OH, by the way, they just flashed that OJ IS GUILTY! 13 years TO THE DAY that he was acquitted of murdering his ex-wife Nicole and Ron Goldman, justice is finally served. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it, OJ?
Ain’t Nobody In Here But Us Chickens!
I knew I should have bought The Biltmore when I had the chance! Man! I BLEW it! I could have gone in with a library card, no job, no collateral and no hope of ever paying it back, and Fannie, Freddie or Countrywide would have given me a 6,000 year mortgage (Interest Only) with no money down. How cool would that have been? 175,00 square feet of house for $185 a month. I could be sitting in the conservatory with Colonel Mustard sipping on a mint julep while all of you poor saps grab your ankles. A TRILLION DOLLARS? Are you friggin kidding me? Bill Gates can’t even count that high. Remember when tax freedom day used to come in April? Well, it’ll still be in April; only, it won’t be until April of 2150.
Regardless of your political leanings, you should be royally pissed at every Asleep At The Wheel politician in Washington. Bush will get blamed for it, even though he was one of the few to try and put a stop to it, while Chris Dodd and Barney Frank will come out smelling like; well, scotch and pre-pubescent teenage boys, I guess. The old joke used to say that Barney didn’t need a bookmark because he liked his Pages bent over; I guess you can add taxpayers to that now too. I could care less what he does or who he does it with, but he and his buddies are messing with my kids’ future now. How the Hell are you supposed to pay off a TRILLION DOLLAR debt? Is congress going to send each of us a little payment book like we used to get when we bought a car? Maybe they can add it to our grocery receipts; that way I can look at the bottom and see;
“Thank you for shopping Harris Teeter today: Your VIC card savings today are $4.73, BUT you still owe the Government $494,987,033,289.21 for all of those beautiful little white picket fence houses they sold to people they knew couldn’t afford them, but thanks for doing YOUR part! It’s the PATRIOTIC thing to do!”
How about this Franklin Raines character? He pays himself almost $100 million dollars for running a company into the ground? Steal $100 million, get caught, only have to pay back $25 million and not serve any jail time? Where can I fill out an application for that job? This is nothing but one big check kiting scheme with politicians and their buddies (Republican AND Democrat) lining their pockets knowing that you and I will end up paying for it. Now they have the testicular fortitude to say; “Don’t worry about it, little taxpayer, WE’LL get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry!” You don’t bring a knife to a gun fight, you don’t let the fox guard the hen-house, and you certainly don’t let the idiots who got us into this mess in the first place try and get us out! Did you hear that Lehman Brothers staff are going to share $2.5 BILLION dollars in bonuses for doing such a bang-up job in that whole bankruptcy/end of the company thing they did? Again; why didn’t I see that listing when I was looking for a job on Monster? Sorry to go all Joan Crawford with a political wire hanger on you, but it’s all getting to be a little too much. I guess that’s what we can expect when 30% of people get their news from “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report”. Don’t get me wrong, both shows are hilarious and a necessity to keep one sane, but whether you get your info from them, Limbaugh, Olbermann, Savage or Maddow understand that you are hearing what they WANT you to hear. It’s still up to you to decide for yourself. It’s too bad no one has, or makes the time anymore. God help us.
I’m NukeDad, and I approved this message.
Rock Me Like A Hurricane
Love Drive, Loving You Sunday Morning, The Zoo, Blackout, No One Like You, Big City Nights, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Still Loving You. Recognize those? Some of them? They’re all songs by the German rock band Scorpions. This was the band who’s lead singer learned English by SINGING it. No lie. That’s why you can still hear; on Rock You Like A Hurricane, the line; Waaahhhk Yu Lie-ka Ho-a-cayne, Baybay! He sounds like Shultz from Hogan’’s Heroes: “I saw Nut-ting! I saw Nut-ting!” Can you tell I was never a really big fan? Oh, sure, they’ve got some decent songs; Big City Nights has a great guitar intro, for instance, but I never went all goo-goo over them. Maybe it was my aversion to their namesake insect that pushed me away.
When we lived in El Paso, Scorpions were everywhere. In the lighting fixtures, under the dresser, under the couch cushions; and on AOR radio stations. We moved into a house that had been vacant for a year before we bought it. During the clean up before we moved in I counted 54 dead scorpions. FIFTY FOUR! Guess how many were still living there to torment us? I lost count at 60 or 65. I crawled through the 130 degree heat in the attic laying out insecticide as I retreated back to the attic stairs. There’s no such thing as a ”walk-in” attic in El Paso; in fact, a lot of the houses are Southwestern architecture and are flat roofed anyway. This trip to the attic was necessary due to the fact that as Nukeboy1 lay asleep on the couch one night (he was a year and a half at the time), NukeMom and I witnessed a scorpion crawl out of the couch about 2 inches from his head. The freak factor on that is 11. Why didn’t we just make our freak factor bigger and make 10 the biggest freak? Because our freak amplifiers go to 11, that’s why.
These weren’t the deadly kind of scorpions, but any scorpion sting is going to hurt; and if you’re a little boy who is only a year and half old, you’re definitely going to remember the experience. We got him off of the couch and got the scorpion before he could run and hide, but God, I hate those things! I don’t hate them with a jump-on-a-chair-and-scream-like-a-girl-hate, I hate them with that deep down furious anger hate. That: “If I see one I’m going to smash it with my shoe until there’s nothing left to smash” hate. Then I’m going to burn the shoe. Then I’m going to mix the ashes in concrete and drop it in a lake. After the concrete has set, of course. That’s some serious bug-hate. I’d come home from work and see one hanging on the ceiling. I’d kill it, sit down on the couch to watch some TV, then while stretching see another one on the ceiling. Right. Above. My. Head. Try watching Six Feet Under with that. It took us almost a year to get it down to where we would only see one or two a month, but that’s still too many in my opinion. To answer your question; hell yeah I checked my shoes everyday before putting them on! Six months later we moved to North Carolina and our scorpion days were over. Or so we thought.
Here is a picture of what crawled out from underneath my refrigerator yesterday. This is a borrowed photo from the Internet because there is nothing left for me to photograph myself. Remember that shoe-wielding furious anger hate I told you about? The SOB just walked out, right in front of me, Nukeboy1 and Nukegirl. Like he was the opening comedienne on a 3 man bill coming back out to introduce the headliner; “H-h-heey! Alright folks, give it up again for Dash Quagmire! What a funny guy! Don’t forget to take care of your cocktail waitresses….” I mean, the ‘nads on this guy! What did he think was going to happen? Was he expecting food? Like we were going to fillet and saute some spider for him or something? He just darted out, sat there, waited for the shoe and then disappeared in a cornucopia of obscenities and shoe pummels. Sorry Nukegirl, Nukeboy1, God. Oh, and NukeMom (I don’t think Nukegirl will remember any of those words, and Nukeboy1 is a 5th grader; he’s already heard most of them). I’m still not sure if he was a native North Carolina scorpion, or a hitchhiker from El Paso that had survived for 7 years under our refrigerator living off of pet dander and attitude. I didn’t have time to buy him a beer and chit chat. I looked it up online, they have no clue how long these things can last. Next to cockroaches; scorpions are the insect least likely to obtain domestication status in my home. Call PETA on me, I don’t care. Have Pamela Anderson throw fake blood on me; won’t do any good. If I see ‘em, they’re dead. End of story. Where’s my shoe?
Mr. Forrest Robinson Gump’s Neighborhood
I love a good story. I remember hearing exotic tales as a kid and imagining myself in those situations. Situations like rescuing people trapped in a car that is perched perilously over the guardrail of a bridge. At the last second, I pull the victims from the car just as it plummets to the ground and explodes into a fiery ball of flames. Wait a minute; that was Gage and DeSoto on Emergency! OK, how about this one; I’m a news reporter working in Las Vegas. By night I chase Vampires, Werewolves and other assorted monsters through the streets and sewers while my editor; Vincenzo, screams at me to; “Finish that story on corruption in the police department!” Crap. That’s Carl Kolchak from The Night Stalker, isn’t it? Well, I think you get my point; you just can’t beat a good story. Unless….
Stories are great for kids because it broadens their imagination and makes them dream of all the things they can be in the world. It’s only later that life slaps them upside the head and says; “Your an adult now; what are you thinking?!” Having someone in your life to tell stories to you is great, especially if they’re good at it. Nukeboy1 and Nukeboy2 have a storyteller at their school. I’ll call him; Mr. Robinson. Mr. Robinson has a story for the kids everyday. Nukeboy2 is an impressionable going-to-be 3rd grader, and he listens in amazement to Mr. Robinson’s stories. In January I began to notice that Nukeboy2 was relating more and more of Mr. Robinson’s stories at the dinner table. This continued until the end of school in June. I don’t have a problem with someone telling stories, it’s just that EVERY story involves Mr. Robinson. Every. Single. One. There aren’t any “I knew this guy” stories or “Somebody told me once” stories, they are ALL “I did this” stories. Again; I wouldn’t have a problem with that if they weren’t so outlandish. We’ve all done interesting things in our lives that deserve to be passed on to the next generation, but be reasonable.
Mr. Robinson’s real name could be Walter Mitty or Forrest Gump for all I know. You know the Great Wall of China? He laid the first brick. The pyramids? He placed the capstone. In 1969 when man landed on the moon, Mr. Robinson was there to pull down the ladder for Neil Armstrong. He tells a story of being a security guard at Martin Luther King’s funeral (this one is most probably true) and climbing aboard a bus to get some air conditioned relief from the stifling heat. Guess who was on the bus? Bobby and Ted Kennedy. They gave him fruit and some water. Coulda happened, but…
I’m sure he’s a very nice man, and I appreciate the fact that he takes time out of his day to try and be a positive example in the lives of young people; but if you’re going to embellish THAT much, then start a scrap-booking hobby. Good Gravy, just because 3rd graders haven’t mastered addition and subtraction doesn’t mean that you can get away with that crap. By the 6th grade they’re going to realize that there is no possible way that he was there to witness the Crusades. If they can figure that out, then that will call his duel with Aaron Burr into question as well. That whole Boston Tea Party incident will draw some scrutiny as well. I plan on meeting with Mr. Robinson when the school year starts. I’ll thank him for his service (to ALL generations) and then ask some pointed questions. Like; was there a second gunman on the grassy knoll? Is Bigfoot real? Is DB Cooper still alive? If so, what is the value of his ransom money today; adjusted for inflation? What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Does your Bologna have a first name? He should be able to answer these with no problem; after all, he’s been there, done that.
Dear Mr. Internet Pharmacy Billionaire:
Hello. You don’t actually know me by name, but let me introduce myself. I am the severely depressed, erectile dysfunctional, herpes inflicted, anxiety disorder victimized, panic attack having, AD/HD….Hey look! A squirrel!……sorry about that, AD/HD suffering, narcolepzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz oops; dozed off again, didn’t I? Narcolepsy suffering, heartburn bemoaning insomniac who’s blog comment box you have been filling on a daily basis with all of those wonderful deals. How are you? I’m not so good. Thank God you found me in time. I would have gotten back to you sooner, but this personality only surfaces every few weeks, so I’m taking advantage of the time we have before “Frank” comes back and ruins the party for everyone. For ordering information, just call me, oh, um, I don’t really care-I’m the bi-polar personality, call me what ever you like, I’ll get pissed about it later. How about “Joe”? Does that work for you? Ok, good. I’ll call you Dr. Spammer; sound alright? COOL! Let’s do some bidness.
Here’s what I need: I’m looking for someone who can supply me with my meds on a regular basis. The jerks at Wal-Mart won’t give me the $4 prescriptions anymore because apparently you need to be “sick”, or something in order to get one filled. I AM sick, trust me. The fact that I didn’t have it on “Stationary” or “Dr.’s Prescription Pad” is apparently an issue with the folks at Wal-Mart. How was I supposed to know that the back of my Burger King receipt in highlighter wasn’t good enough for them? That greeter was a real piece of work too, he’s supposed to say; “Welcome to Wal-Mart”, not “Stay the hell out or I’m calling the cops!” Whatever.
Anyway, can you help me out? Here’s what I need: Valtrex, Viagra, Valium-basically I need all of the “V” family; send it all. Next; I need Percocet, Wellbutrin, Lexapro, Celexa-everything in the “Happy” classification will be fine. Also; Hydrocodone, Adderall, Ritalin, Xanax, Prevacid, Tramadol and Aspirin. You know, for the headaches. Oh, and Allegra. I’ve got horrible allergies. Please throw in an antihistamine and a nice multi-vitamin as this is basically my meal for the day. Is it possible to get a volume discount? I’ll be placing 2 to 3 orders a week. Last but not least; is there anyway for you guys to combine these into just 3 or 4 pills? You know, grind ‘em up and repack them in a bigger capsule? I can handle anything up to the size of a tuna can. The little ones, not the family size. Thank you in advance for all of your help; reliable pharmacy service has been an issue for me lately, as I’m sure you can imagine. You can reach me through my blog’s comment page at….HA! What am I saying? Jokes on me! You KNOW where to find me, don’t you?
The Narcoleptic Labrador
My neighbors dog is killing me. It barks incessantly. But ONLY at night. Usually between the hours of 2am and 5am. I think it suffers from daytime narcolepsy. Barring a poisoned pork chop; I’m running out of options. I have several that I can still employ, but the pork chop is looking better and better. Now, before you call the ASPCA on me, understand that I am TOTALLY kidding about the pork chop. At least for the dog. The owners; however…
I do take some pity on the dog. It lives it’s entire existence in a store bought 8 X 8 chain link pen. Her owner cut a hole in the pen and attached a dog house to it. Sort of like an afterthought addition to a house. The people house has no fence, so the pen is the only way to contain the dog. Unless you count the times when they let her out of her pen and place her leash under one of the legs of a patio chair. That worked out real well. A 60 pound female lab can drag a wrought iron patio chair around the yard like it’s a cardboard box. It was only slightly humorous when the dog thought the chair was chasing her around the yard. She’d dart, tail between the legs down the hill only to look back to see the chair chasing her. Her yelping brought out the owners quickly enough to avoid me having to become involved.
This is a seasonal issue. The winter time is blissful in that the nights are cold and she is in her dog house. Most of the animals that cause nocturnal stirrings are usually asleep also; squirrels, possums, cats and the occasional Jehovah’s Witness. Summertime brings warm evenings and lots of animal activity. For some reason, our neighborhood has more squirrels than it has trees. The squirrels are either spending their nights looking for new digs, or they are just monster partyers. At some point during the early morning the revelers make their way to my house; like it’s Sixth Street in Austin; or Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. Insert your University’s party street here. Getting out of bed to go disperse the roustabouts is useless. They’ll all just jump in their cars, turn on the radio and claim ignorance when I tap on their window with my nightstick.
I’m sure some of you are thinking that if you were in this situation that you would unleash the Hounds of Hell to stop this; how come I’m not? Well; it’s a little more complicated. We have a drainage issue that centers on the house of the neighbors I’m talking about. It involves a shady developer, the Mayor of the city, 9 acres of water that flows through my yard and another entire posts’ worth of explanation that I will spare you. For now. I have a plan; it’s the timing that is crucial. D-Day took over 18 months to plan and execute; so have a little faith in me. All the juicy details will be revealed as they occur; I promise.
Would You Like Some Mustard On That Crow Sandwich?
Wow. What a great day this turned out to be! I woke up to find a ton (for me, at least) of comments on my Father’s Day post; linky love from Mr. Lady at Whiskey In My Sippy Cup and Melisa at Suburban Scrawl, and then I got TrampledUpon StumbledUpon. It’s been a busy day. To top it off, the YMCA flag football team that I coach beat the unbeatable today. Well, unbeatable in their minds. I knew we were going to win. We HAD to win. You don’t call time out with 4 seconds left to play when you are leading by 2 touchdowns, like they did; just so you can run up the score that we supposedly don’t keep. This team had beaten us twice; the first time by 1 point, and the aforementioned 2 touchdown defeat. We were ready today.
We play 6 on 6 flag football. The Y only had enough kids for 4 teams, which is why we played this team 3 times. They had 9 players. We had 6. Their kids got breaks every few plays. Our players played the whole game. Every play. My ”not keeping score” tally at the end of the game was: we scored 6 touchdowns and converted 4 extra points; they scored 4 touchdowns and converted 2 extra points. A “Real World” final score of 40-26. My favorite statistic from the game where we don’t keep score or stats? We ran 14 offensive plays the entire game.
That’s not a typo. We only ran 1 offensive play in the first quarter, yet at the end of that quarter we were up 2 TD’s to 1. If you’re not familiar with football, the equivalent would be catching 2 mice in one trap. Nukeboy1 intercepted a pass on their third play and ran it back for a touchdown. Then they scored. We got the ball back, and on our first (and last) play on offense we ran 60 yards for a touchdown. The other coach was a bit put out by our performance, which was evident by the increased amount of spittle that was being sprayed out of his mouth.
This guy is a condescending ”nickname giver” who got all that he deserved today. He TOLD his parents and kids; and I quote: “Yeah, these guy’s should be pretty easy to beat; we’ve already beaten them twice, and WHEN we win NEXT week we’ll complete our unbeaten season”. I could hear his arm break as he patted himself on the back. Two of our parents heard his little pre-game pep talk. Did no one learn anything from the Super Bowl? Remember when the NY Giants actually had the gall to show up and play; and then actually beat the mighty New England Patriots? I know quite a few bookies learned a harsh lesson that day, too bad this guy wasn’t watching. The nickname reference comes from him insisting on giving everyone a nickname. “Purple! You’re in!” or, “Ironman! Right end!” Others went by “Sporty”, “Hammer” and “Skinny”. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to these names. They were flag football’s version of a Spice Girls-Village People head-on collision. If you’re going to give them nicknames, at least let it make sense! Purple? Ironman? Are you going for Superheroes or Tele-tubbies? Half the kids didn’t answer to their nicknames anyway, they were just as confused as I was. By the end of the first game against them, I already had my nickname picked out for him; but “Gonad-Boy” doesn’t translate well with 9 to 11 year olds.
Shaking hands after the game I heard Gonad-Boy ask; “Did you guys have, like, 10 practices since we played you last? You guys had all the answers today”. Luckily I was already past him and my assistant coach (the one with the patience today; we trade off) laughed it off. I was cheering my guys as they walked through, though: “Way to go Ego-Crusher! You had 2 TD’s today!” and “Hey! Comeuppance-boy! How’s it feel to throw 7 passes, all of them completions, 3 for touchdown’s?” and “Crow Sandwich-server! Did you shake hands with Gona; er, the other coach?” I wasn’t as spiteful as I could have been, and how Gonad-Boy usually is. It’s about the kids; and today our kids learned what it means to play and win with dignity. Just like they have all year. That’s how I keep score.
You Wanna Kiss Me Before You Give Me That Invoice?
The NukeVan is back in the shop. No Air Conditioning could definitely lead to a meltdown. We found out about this back in September, but decided not to spend the $1,200 to get it fixed right then. Call me frugal, but it didn’t make sense. It’s like trying to teach a pig to sing: it wastes your time and annoys the pig. Having a perfectly operational Air Conditioner all winter would have to take a backseat to other necessities like; oh, I don’t know; food? Electricity? Mortgage Payments? I told them to look for us in the spring when it would actually make sense, and the tax man had returned the money he had stolen from me (er, I mean NukeMom).
Fast forward to last Thursday when I drop the NukeVan off and confirm that they have all the information from the previous Fall. “Oh yes sir, Mr. NukeDad! It’s all right here in the computer.” Good. I went home knowing that the NukeVan would be staying overnight for observation. Friday comes and I’m told; “Your van should be ready about 5:00pm.” I was good with that, after all, they did have to take out the ENTIRE dashboard to get to the evaporator; the culprit in this mess. Thank you very much Mr. Ivy League Engineering Degree Holder. I could hear the mechanic cussing all the way over at my house. 8 to 10 hours of labor is what they estimated. That’s how you arrive at a $1,200 repair bill; subtract the $150 charge for the parts away from the total, divide by 8 to 10 and you arrive at the reason why you should have brought your rape whistle with you.
I’m exaggerating, of course, everyone knows that you can’t buy ANY part for your car for $150. I am, however; serious about the rape whistle. You see, after picking up the NukeVan last Friday, I had this silly desire to turn on the Air Conditioner and make sure that it worked. Never mind the fact that the mechanic and the service department attendant had SURELY done the same thing. Just call me whimsical. Within 30 seconds I was looking for my Parka. This thing was working good!. But, that’s when I heard the noise. The same noise that I had described the previous fall. The same noise that was “right here in the computer.” The same noise that would make small woodling creatures in my neighborhood run for cover. I’ve never actually seen or heard an F-22 Raptor take off, but it can’t sound much different than the NukeVan. I have seen an F-4 Phantom take off, and as impressive as that is, I don’t want the neighbors calling NATO every time I pull in the driveway.
I had way too much to get done over the weekend, and they’re closed on Sunday anyway, so I set my sites on Monday. Then I remembered how busy Monday was going to be. And Tuesday. Wednesday is go have lunch at school with Nukeboy1, so today was the first chance I had to get back over there. They knew I was coming, though. Believe me. Dealerships are all about “getting the feedback”. It’s how most of them get their money from Corporate Headquarters. I had a letter sitting on the seat of the car. There were signs all over their shop asking you to “Please” respond to the survey. It was on the claim ticket attached to my key. I think they even mailed one to my Mom in Texas. They pass out so many copies that it stupefies me why they can’t print clean copies off of their computer. Here is a picture of the actual “letter” that was sitting on my front seat. Hand to God, that’s what they left me. At the very least they could teach people how to properly line up a page on a copy machine, for crying out loud. Instead I got a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy…. Half of the text is missing! I don’t remember them teaching us in Business letter writing class that you needed a 6 inch left margin. Finally, there is “The Phone Call”. I knew it was coming, and I played along. “Do you have a few minutes to discuss your recent visit to XYZ dealership and your experience there?” Actually, no, I don’t have the time; but I’ll make time, just this once.
We’ve taken the NukeVan to this dealership several times, and have overall been satisfied with the service, I’m just pissed that I have to take it back again. Did I stutter when I said “Noise under the hood?” Did they hear “No S**t, you guys are good?” I don’t know what they heard, all I know is what I hear. Nukeboy2 thinks it “Sounds awesome Dad! It sounds like a Lamborghini!” Yeah, chicks dig the mini-van that sounds like a European sports car that’s worth more than our house. I can’t wait to hear what they’re going to tell me when they call to tell me what’s wrong with it this time. I’m ready, though. I have my rape whistle in my pocket, and I’m not afraid to use it.
Don’t Pull A Muscle
Have you ever wanted to commit murder? I mean, we all know it’s a sin and all, but if you could be reasonably sure that you could get away with it; would you? No? OK, how about this scenario then: the local sheriff deputizes you and puts you in charge of ridding the town of all the oxygen thieves that happen to reside there. I’m talking oxygen thieves like those responsible for what you see in these pictures. People who are so lazy that they can’t even make it the extra 4 spaces to put a shopping cart in the cart corral. Do you see how many there are? There are literally 18 to 20 carts that have been jacked up on that median so that these lazy asses can get home faster. These are the same socially challenged people who would be first in line to file a claim against the store if one of these carts damaged their car. “Nope, I’m sure that’s not my cart, I put mine on the median over there. How do I know it’s not my cart? Oh, that’s easy, mine had the dirty diaper in it.”
Why am I so pissed about this? Because my car was in the space you see in front of the median. I had to move 2 carts that were resting against my car. That’s right people, some (well, at least 2) of these air pilferers couldn’t even make it the last 3 feet to the median, let alone the final marathon 4 parking spaces to the cart corral. This store does have cart wranglers, they just couldn’t keep up. Got their butts kicked is what happened. What this store needs is someone with passion, someone who takes pride in their job, someone like…well, someone like this:
God Bless you, Alan Andrew Carter. The country needs more young men like you. Sure could have used your help today, though. Where the hell were you?
My Sleep Number Is Minus 53
We had a Sleep Number bed up until a couple of weeks ago. While it was nirvana in the beginning, the end was bloody. After 5 years of dutiful service, the box spring, or, what a sleep number bed uses as a box spring, decided it had had enough. Enough of people sleeping on it, of kids jumping on it, of puppies climbing underneath it. It just quit. So there I was about 8 months ago, minding my own business, reading a book in bed when I heard something. At first I thought dinner was coming back to haunt me, but then I heard the sound again, coming from under the bed. It was a groan coupled with a creak wrapped around a screech. And then; it happened: two of the “support beams” of the sleep number bed gave out. The entire upper left quadrant of the bed fell to the floor. This was the quadrant where my head and torso resided. I rolled onto the floor to investigate.
The construction of the “box spring”, really, just a box, of the sleep number bed is molded plastic. It is hollow, so eventually, gravity and weight bearing are going to undermine it’s intent: to hold the bed up. You fit together several rails, place them in your bed frame, and then place 4 flat pieces on top to form a lid. The air mattresses goes on top of that. Not the sturdiest of beds, but I had re-enforced it with the wooden slats that housed our old box spring. Guess that didn’t work.
The collapsing of the bed became a monthly, and then, a weekly occurrence. By the end I had re-enforced the bed with more wooden slats, gallon paint cans, and wood shims. To no avail. I couldn’t MacGyver it anymore, I was done. So was the bed. It was with great pleasure that I heaved the remnants of the sleep number bed from the top of the stairs to the cold, hard, cement garage floor. Vengeance was mine. It was a comfortable bed at one time, don’t get me wrong, but if you are going to get one I would suggest hiring a structural engineer and opening a charge account at Lowes or Home Depot. You’re going to need “parts” at some point.
As A Matter Of Fact, I Do Have All Day
Common courtesy is officially dead. It died, yesterday morning around 10:30am. It was MURDERED by the convenience store clerk and the guy in line in front of me. Common courtesy was born a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away and prospered through much of the early 20th century. Common courtesy fell out of the mainstream in the 60’s but showed resurgence in the late 80’s and early 90’s. With the popularity of gangsta-rap and the Jerry Springer Show, common courtesy again faded from view as the new millenium arrived. In lieu of flowers, please hold the door for the next person you encounter at your favorite store or restaurant.
You know, I don’t mind when casual clerk/customer banter goes on during the purchase, but once your purchase is final, hit the door! I know that you’re dying to tell this clerk that you’ve known all of 2 visits about your cat’s colonoscopy, but shouldn’t you take him to dinner first? Or, maybe learn his last name? Or how about you, Ms. “Can you check my 27 lotto tickets to see if they’re winners”, do you really think that Friday night at 5:17pm is the best time to check those tickets? Can’t you see the 8 people in line behind you? Did you forget about the 6 people that were in line in front of you just a minute ago? How about checking the newspaper, or going on line. Take some of your winnings and buy a ticket for the clue bus.
What does it say about our society that we are all in such a hurry, except when it becomes “our turn”? You waited patiently for your turn and now you have it; don’t abuse it. Take care of business and then let the people behind you have a chance to do the same. AFTER the clerk has given you your total IS NOT the time to start stumbling through your purse, or to realize that your wallet is still in the car. Be prepared. What? Didn’t have enough time to get your money out while the guy in front of you decided to take up smoking? “What is a menthol? Should I buy soft pack or hard pack? OOH! Show me the ones in the pretty red box!” Let’s get with it people, I’ve got a Dr. Pepper in one hand, a Nutrageous in the other and a 4 year old tugging on my shirt saying: “Daddy, I have to go potty.” I really don’t have time to listen to you and the clerk talk about what a crime it is that “Jericho” got cancelled. Again. Go home and start a fan club internet protest. Again. We have to go; literally.
I Am Not Amazed
As one who came of age during the 80’s, I am proud that I survived the era without owning parachute pants, or wearing a Member’s Only jacket with the sleeves pushed up. I am even more proud of the fact that I avoided the use of the word “awesome” as my main adjective.
I thought I was free and clear, until a few months ago. Awesome has returned to the national vernacular, only it has disguised itself as ”Amazing”.
It’s everywhere, used to describe everything. It’s especially prevalent among the twenty-somethings. They must be like the Eloi from the Time Machine, being shown the wheel for the first time in their lives. Everything they describe is “amazing”. Start listening for it, you’ll be, well, you’ll be amazed quite frankly.
Let’s teach these people what a thesaurus is for. As for those of you reading this that are guilty of abusing this word, here are some alternatives:
1. Stunning
2. Unbelievable
3. Fascinating
No thanks is necessary. Just take these new words and use them to supplant amazing, for a change. Together, we can break the cycle.
We Have Two Sizes: Medium And Large
This happened a while back, so hopefully right-minded companies have corrected their menu script. We were at a concert, a rodeo, WWF On Ice or something along those lines; at a venue that uses Aramark, Sodexo or a company like that to manage their concessions. These are the good people that negotiate contracts with local and state governments to run the snack bars at huge arenas and stadiums, so that you can have the luxury of chomping down on $7.00 buckets of popcorn and sipping $6.00 cokes. The venue and the event aren’t the issue, the offending company and the incident are.
Nukeboy1 and I went to the concession stand at this event that I can’t recall, to get something to drink, and bring back some popcorn for NukeMom and Nukeboy2. As we were standing in line I was reading the beautiful menu board, sponsored by Pepsi or Coke or whoever it was; and felt my wallet retreat further into my back pocket with each price I read. I know I’m going to be ravaged at a place like this when I’m thirsty, but in some states, this could be considered assault. $6.00 for a Coke? Are you kidding me? That was for the large size. They had a small size for $4.50. It’s the old “bait and switch” brought to a new level. The small is like 12 ounces, and the large is aquarium size. Nothing like an opportunity to “up sell” your customer.
When we finally got to the front of the line, the girl behind the counter couldn’t have looked more disinterested. “Can I help you?” she managed. “I’d like one small Sprite and one Large Coke, please.” She looked at me like I had just gotten off the short bus. “Sir, we only have Medium and Large!” As she said this, she slowly turned her head towards the menu board, keeping her eyes on mine as if to say: “Look, it says so right here dummy”, and sure enough, on the board they were listed as Medium-$4.50 and Large-$6.00.
Now, I’m not a Rocket Surgeon, but don’t you need 3 sizes in order to have a “Medium”? “Don’t you need 3 sizes in order to have a Medium?” I asked her. “No, Sir. It’s right there on the board.” Somebody trained this girl? Either I was irritating her, or she had heard this before. Or, the omniscient board knew all. I wasn’t going to give in. “Just give me one SMALL” and I spread my hands apart in the general size of the “Medium” cup, “and a LARGE” and I made the universal gesture of “Hey! Look at me! I’m carrying a keg of beer!”. She wasn’t very happy with me, which was obvious when we got our sodas with cracked lids and bent straws. I signed the second mortgage to pay for them and off we went back to our seats. This was an older arena, so they only had two seat sizes: Medium and Extra Small.
The Left Lane Is For Make-up Application Only
This is definitely a Peeve’s topic. I know I’m not alone in my disdain and general loathing of those drivers who seem to think that the left lane is their own personal HOV lane. I know the title suggests this is just about the ladies, but there are some men out there who need some re-edjukatin’ too. Say it with me now: The Left Lane Is The Fast Lane! I didn’t capitalize all of the letters, so technically I’m not yelling, I’m just raising my voice a little. I mean, come on people! If your goal is to go 67 miles per hour and stay front-bumper-matched with the car next to you, do it when there are 3 or more lanes! And make sure you’re in the middle one! If you’re trying to make a moral statement about speeding, and feel that by holding people up you’re “saving lives”, just remember that the guy behind you may be trying to get to the hospital to see a sick relative. Or, he could be trying to get to the ballgame, either way, Who Are You To Decide How Fast He Should Be Going?!
I’m not saying that you should get out of the way so that hot-rodders can blow past you at 100 miles per hour, I’m saying that if you’re going to go 67 miles per hour (you lawbreaker, you) you have no business being in the left lane period. Get out of the way, you’re going to get somebody hurt. Besides, if someone is doing 100 miles per hour, the last place you want to have your 67 mph butt is in front of them. Do you think he’s had his brakes looked at recently? Are you willing to take that chance? Maybe his power steering is about to go, or the accelerator is stuck. Wouldn’t you rather be out of harms way?
The worst case scenario pulled in front of me the other day: Woman driver (could have been a man in drag, I don’t know), steering with her knee, cell-phone in the crook of her neck, right hand applying eyeliner, and left hand waving about frantically. She was obviously making her point to the person on the other end of her cell phone. I really don’t think she even realized she was operating a motor vehicle. In her mind, I think she was seated comfortably behind her desk at work. “I don’t care if they’re beige, as long as they’re size 6!” Pulling in front of me wasn’t the issue, slowing down to 53 miles per hour and staying even with the 18 wheeler in the right lane was. We were going up a hill, mind you, and her awareness was fading by the moment. She was like an Allstate commercial on crack. All she needed to do was pull out her laptop, and she would have been crowned Queen of the Clueless.
I eventually got by her, 2 counties later. The line of cars behind me reminiscent of the closing scene from “Field of Dreams”. Now it was like Daytona. The CRX behind me was drafting, so a quick tap of the brakes sent him 3 car lengths back. But it cost me. I didn’t see the Acura coming up on my right until it was too late (how did he get around Estee Lauder so fast?), and he passed me in a flash. Begrudgingly I put on my right blinker and yielded the fast lane to those with a higher purpose than I. Besides, I was already doing 80, these people were just nuts! As I checked the review mirror, I could see headlights weaving, darting, jockeying for position. Brothers in arms, all. Oh, I made it to the game in time. Hurricanes won 5-1.
Handicap Tags
Why do people with handicap tags feel it necessary to have them hanging from the rear view mirror when they are driving? All it does is create a huge blind spot which may cause them to hit me, and possibly make me handicapped.
