REGULAR, DECAF OR EMPTY?

I feel like I owe you after spending much of October and November mocking you all for having to work on national holidays like Columbus Day, Veteran's Day, National Vinegar Day, Plan Your Epitaph Day and Notary Public Day http://www.classbrain.com/artholiday/publish/article_220.shtml to admit that I write this from my office, the day after Thanksgiving.  So, as you sit at home, enjoying the digestive and excretory processes that complete the circle of last night's gustatory orgy, cherish this day you have off that I do not and ponder this:

How much do drinks cost in TV world and are all characters in it profligate spenders?

Have you ever noticed how when characters order a drink at a bar they spend much of the time talking, then, two or three minutes into the scene, the drink is delivered, but by this time, one character is ready to move on?  No?  Well let you me tell you what happens.  Because I am not what you'd call a drinker, I still find the price of cocktails and other alcoholic beverages at bars shocking. I'm not saying they're overpriced I'm saying they're movie theater priced. The kind of pricing that leads you to regret having stopped reading newspapers and never bothering to re-locate the channel for CNN when your cable provider reaaranged everything that time, because now you're left wondering if unbeknowst to you the government has collapsed, food has become scarce and the time to start digging that bunker you decided to make for yourself after reading "The Road" is now in your rearview mirror.  (I may also be unreasonably cheap, this has been suggested, though I did just tip a waiter last week, so I'm clearly not)  Anyway, this character who for reasons beyond my understanding felt the need to order a drink even though he's leaving the bar in 180 seconds, stands up takes a sip from his drink,  says something to the person he was conversing with, puts the drink back down slaps down a twenty on the bar and leaves.  This happens at leats two or three times a night, more if you're flipping during commercials and I find it annoying every time. To me, that, not the Miss September playing a marine biologist, is the most unrealistic aspect of TV, it's like the writers aren't even trying.  At least the casting directors have the decency to make Ashley, Amber or Tiffani wear glasses and a bun, like all those other marine biologists.

While we're on the topic I thought I'd also bring the coffee shop scene.  My problem here isn't quite as prevalent as with the bar, but, in scenes in which a waiter or waitress is walking around with a carafe and filling up those huge ceramic cups every coffee shop on TV has, how is it that these people are OK settling for what is at most a third of a cup of coffee?  I understand it'd be weird on TV if the waitress had to keep going back for more pots of coffee, but you need to pour for a good three count if you're going to get anywhere near a full cup and these guys dont even get to two!

COVER JUDGING

I didn't sleep much last night and my brain is lagging several steps behind my fingers, but you don't come here for filtered speech anyway.  So, on with the show. I played this game called Mafia the other night, for those of you not familiar, its essentially Clue without clues.  In the game, everyone is assigned a role, some are murderers some are detectives, some are peasants, and, depending on your part, you have to either fool your competitors and live to kill another day, or convince your teammates that someone is the killer and kill him back. Now I think its important to point out that these roles are not chosen, but rather assigned by the picking cards, they're essentially random.  So, logically speaking, the odds of the killer being the same person every time are quite low.  Accordingy, you'd think that the players would vary their guesses.  It would seem however, mathematics wilts in the face of what is apparently my homicidal well... face.  Time after time I found myself dead, the victim of some ineffable quality that makes people think I'd enjoy watching them die.  'I look guilty' they said, 'there wasn't a real crime!' I retorted, 'we should probably kill him, just in case' they concluded. 

All of this is a long winded way of asking you, is it possible I'm supposed to be a serial killer?  Did I miss my calling?  Sure there are some obvious signs: the long list of people I want to watch die, my being paler than an agoraphobic albino and my watching the entire 2009 Best All Around Taxidermist Competition at the National Taxidermists Association Convention. (It was ESPN 85, the Ocho Cinco)http://www.taxidermy.net/ Still, I don't want to give up the whole law thing on a whim. Is it possible that there's something in my face, my demeanor that was meant to kill?  I do respect the concept of destiny, and it'd be a shame if I ignored my designated fate.  After all who am I to argue with that which is predestined?  What defense would I have to not spending my life murdering and possibly eating the duodenum of my victims (I forsee them calling me the Acid Reflux Killer) when I approach the pearly gates?  How could I explain a life devoted to helping others and encouraging harmony (were clearly speaking hypothetically at this point) when cannibalism is expected?  I guess what it comes down to is this; Do you think serial killers get the Friday after Thanksgiving off?

SOMETIMES MATTER MATTERS

Sorry for the slow posting week, readers.  No, really I am.  Not because I've let you down mind you, but because the paucity of posts is indicative of my actually being required to work this week.  Still, I've saved up quite an array of theories, observations and complaints in my head so don't feel too cheated.

BULLET POINTS!

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  I was on the train last night, sans book, (A major oversight on my part. As a general rule the maximum acceptable length of a subway ride without reading material or an iPod is 10 minutes) and so, found myself reading the advertisements (I wish I could pull off say ad-VER-tis-ment) on the walls.  Nothing against Dr. Zizmor, but it's rare than any of these signs stokes the intellectual fires, you know?  Yesterday, however, was an exception.  One ad struck me as being so blatantly absurd as to render it paradoxical; kind of like how people sometimes think Keannu Reaves is deep. The ad was, as 58% of all advertisements now are, for 'man problems'.  It read, in part, "Don't let Impotence Ruin Your Sex Life".  It's probably safe to assume that you all know what impotence is, but I think this makes for a good opportunity (excuse) to bust out some of the euphamisms I've been thinking up. 
  
  
  
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  Mr. Softee
  
  
  
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  Lincoln Logless
  
  
  
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  Frightened Turtle Syndrome (FTS)
  
  
  
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  Droop Mountain (no really it's a thing http://www.droopmountainbattlefield.com/)
  
  
  
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  Anyway, I'm reading the sign and I'm asking myself if they really mean what they say or if they just    don't know how to say what they mean, because as I'm sure you've figured out as well, it's kind of impossible for impotence not to ruin your sex life.  Sure you can do things to make yourself potent again, take pills, hire someone to travel back in time and take naked pictures of the 20 year old Jennifer Love Hewitt for one. Which reminds me, if anyone owns a time machine I have a favor to ask of you... and a digital camera you can borrow.  All that being said, those are methods to combat impotence, to undo the problem. This ad, on the other hand, wants you to 'get past' the whole impotence thing, work around it, find a backdoor (that's an unfortunate pun) to the problem.  It's like telling your puppy he can knock up as many poodles as he wants, the day after you take him to get fixed.
  
  
  
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  Role playing - I recently had a training seminar on public service.  I don't know why, I find the public reasonably serviceable, though I'd prefer it if there were fewer of them.  Still, in our seminar we were required to play the part of an angry person from the public and an unhelpful public servant.  Apparently, this was supposed to help us understand the difference between providing full service and minimal service.  Now, I'm a full service kind of guy, which is why in my role play I offered to meet my customer at her place and discuss her problems over a nice bottle of wine, or if she preferred, cheap tequila.  I've been told I still have a job, but it's unlikely I'll be asked to role play again.  So much for the city really being about providing satisfaction.
  
  
  
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  Due to someone's mistake (I've been having some trouble figuring out who I can hold responsible for said mistake, as I am obviously excluded from the suspect list, so for the time being I'll hold off on assigning blame and just leave it as 'someone') I didn't actually prepare for work yesterday.  This isn't to say I didn't work, I did, I just found myself unprepared even after all that work was done.  What happened after though was almost as surprising as an impotent man being told to enjoy his sex life anyway. My day went smoothly!  Literally, no obstacles presented themselves, no one called me names or looked at me the way they did the one time I got that guy deported by accident.  It was amazing.  I have to say, I'm now tempted to try it out on a regular basis.  I call it 'The Reverse Raincoat Effect'. You see, as with an umbrella, the odds of it raining on a given day is inversely proportional to the number of people wearing a raincoat or an umbrella, the more people making use of one, the less likely it is to rain.  So, I theorize, it is with work, the more prepared you are for every eventuality, the more questions you preemptively answer, the more problems you create. As Newton said evey action has an equal and opposite reaction.  They call this the preservation of momentum/motion, I call this the preservation of problems.  Every solution has a consequence and every consequence potentially creates a new problem. So, if you do nothing, if you don't prepare, don't answer a single question or solve a single problem then, according to the theory, you can avoid creating any new ones. So, who wants to be my guinea pig?  What?  I need this paycheck!
  
  
  

I'M AN ARTISTE'!

I've got nothing today. I know it seems counterintuitive but these posts actually take more focus than work does. As such today's post will be brief and technically more of a complaint. You see, I'm unable to access that special place I go to when I write these things because a co-worker of mine has designated today as "Friday is for yelling at customer service representatives". There are many things I don't understand, people who find Dane Cook funny, why someone would name an edible fish Scrod, 'Tofurkey', but I truly don't understand how some people can be comfortable talking about their credit card bills in a room full of people to whom they aren't related. Aside from everything else, shouldn't you be concerned that I could just take take your information on a post-it and order myself a fine leather european men's shoulder bag?

Bah! Now someone's asking me to donate money to charity. Some people are just so selfish. Can't I be left alone for even a moment to spread the gospel? I bet people didn't interrupt Jesus when HE was talking just to ask for food.

Have a good weekend.

I GOT YOUR SIX!

Veteran's day means I'm not working and you are.  I know this has been a running theme for a while now recurring meme if you will; me not having to work and you slaving away at your job while your life passes you by at speeds faster than a drunk driving Halle Berry. Normally, this would mean I'd leave subject alone, after all this is like the fourth random day off I've had in the last month and if I keep beating this joke every time I don't have to work and you do, pretty soon it'll be giving an interview to Katie Couric on 60 minutes. Still, I have to say today is different.  It's Veteran's day.  Our soldiers fought and died so that we, as a nation, could take off a random Wednesday in middle of November and I am the only one respecting their sacrifices by spending the afternoon in pajamas watching West Wing reruns whilst repeatedly scratching certain nether regions. You?  You're working!

This isn't really relevant (though really how much ever is?), and I don't have a particularly good segue for it, but I won $110 playing poker yesterday.  I don't think it was luck or skill so much as it is that in my advancing old age I've become what I like to call frugal, and what wait staff likes to call a turd blossom.  Money is a powerful thing, much like dodgeball, if you don't treat it with respect, it will cause you pain.  This is a lesson me and my black eye learned well on the dodgeball battle field  and so when I found myself mano a mano, head to head, stack to stack with someone who didn't understand it's mythical powers, money taught him a lesson.  Also I had a pair of Kings, but that hardly seems relevant.

NO, I'M WRITING A BOOK ABOUT HOOKERS

I'll be honest, I have no idea what today's post is going to be about, but I'm sure we'll figure it out as we go along.  Oh, here's something, I just found out I'm going to have to do some work today.  I don't have anything against the idea in principle, I get paid, I should do something to earn it (assuming my charming presence isn't reward enough).  I just don't appreciate when work sneaks up on me. Sloth requires preparation and planning as much as productivity does, perhaps more so.  It requires foresight and natural talent to clear one's schedule, while at the same time not actually working hard.  It was with that understanding that I came into work today, confident in my ability to spend the day doing little more than looking busy.   It was not to be readers.  A simple extended breakfast while perusing the interwebs, a momentary exposure of my true intentions for the day and I find myself saddled with work.

I can't help but wonder if we could somehow transfer the ability my bosses have to capitalize on my those brief glimpses behind my facade of industriousness, those insights into my subconscious to our intelligence gathering community.  I'm sure you've read by now that the Fort Hood murderer had been in contact with a radical muslim cleric with ties to Al-Qaeda.  This is a humorous blog so I'm not going to get into too much depth, but apparently the FBI was aware of this contact and dismissed it because they thought it was for research purposes.  Far be it from me to tell the FBI how to do it's job but, "I'm doing research" is pretty much the equivalent of "there was a sick passenger on my train."  Seriously, Lindsay Lohan took a role as a drug addict stripper (with an amazing rack) just to cover up for all the times she said I'm not actually a drug addicted, attention seeking, Gift from god wasting slut, I'm doing research.  I'm not one to judge (I am, I'm just humble) but if the FBI can't outsmart Lindsey Lohan my hopes for this country have taken a bit of a hit.  On the bright side, at least my I can continue my Nigerian Prince business plan.

READING IS FUNdamental

Hello readers, I'm taking my first official 'book day' today. I'm nearing the end of Part II and the finish line beckons like a drunk Jennifer Love Hewitt in heat. But, because I cant leave you without some form of entertainment, google Sammy Sosa and skin rejuvenation procedure. I promise it'll be worth it.

DE-REK JE-TER!

Today is a bit of a notes article; no real overarching thing just a bunch of short thoughts on what has been a pleasantly relaxing day.  I'm sure I'll find something to rage about though.

I hit a bit of a milestone today. I know my readership is worldwide, but I'm assuming you all know about Metro cards and the price of a subway ride.  For those of you who don't a ride on the subway costs $2.25 (little known fact, apparently that is also the price for an apartment in the subway station, they're roomy enough but quite drafty) and when you buy a $20 Metro card you get a 15% bonus of $2.50 adding up to a total of $22.50.  I'm sure all of you're actuaries, but that works out to 10 rides or 2 rides every business day leaving you with a .25 cent surplus at the end of the workweek. This means that instead of buying a new card every week I'm forced to refill my old one in order not to give up that .25 cents.  The following week that surplus grows to .50 cents and .75 the week after and so on and so on. Long story short after 11 weeks of refilling my metro card I finally have enough to use it once more and let it hit $0.00. 

I lost it :-(.

Yankee Parade in Downtown Manhattan today - say what you will but I find it heartwarming to see how the police will excuse public drunkenness and illegal exposure if you're smart enough to be a Yankee fan. 

"Do you like milk?" - I was going through the tags on the blog the other day and I discovered that Starbucks has merited more rants than anything else.  I was a bit surprised, personally I'd have put my money on the Portuguese (what's with that extra 'u'!?).  Still, facts are facts, so I apologize for returning to the scene of the crime yet again.  I was in Starbucks with a co-worker and I noticed they had a drink called an Eggnog latte.  being curious by nature I asked if it was any good.  The barista's response, however, assured me that while Starbuck's will continue to thrive, she will probably not be attending Wharton's School of Business anytime soon.  I think it's safe to say when you're asking someone to pay $4 for a non-alcoholic beverage, you need a hook, an exotic quality that makes it seem like something you can't get anywhere else (kind of how massage parlors have "exotic" Asian women even though there are far more Asians than Caucasians in the world).  So, when I ask the barista if the eggnog latte is good, I don't think "yeah, I mean do you like sweet milk?" is the response corporate had in mind.  The fact that my co-worker ordered it anyway, well... I didn't say either of us was going to Wharton's either.

DOGGIE OR BARF?

There comes a point in every meal, every good meal at least, where you have to make a decision; finish the plate or take a doggie bag. Moments like these are pregnant with variables that must be calculated in nanoseconds. Am I full? If I finish this, will I be sick in half an hour? Is there enough left to make a meal out of later? Will I be embarrassed to ask the waiter to wrap it up. If you hesistate, push the decision off even just a bite or two it'll be too late. The moment will have passed and the decision will be have been made for you. I had such a Rubicon moment today. I knew I was full, but also knew I wouldnt feel the effects of it for a few moments yet. I had a window to keep eating. There was also exactly enough food on the plate to fill one of those chinese takeout boxes and it was a dish that reheated well. The forces were marshalled and stacked evenly on each side. It could have gone either way. Unfortunately, I lost focus. I was reading while eating (the only way you can eat alone in a restaurant) and took two bites without thinking. By the time I regained my focus and looked down the remains looked rather puny. I'd waited too long though, the fullness hit me like a an angry transvestite and I was down to a dilemma with no winning choices; stuff myself or throw it out. Only it wasn't really a choice. In my head I'd already committed myself to eating everything on that plate, whether at once or later tonight. I wasn't about to undo all that and so I ate and ate and here I sit, nauseus, lightheaded and frightfully aware that I missed my chance. Don't let it happen to you. Learn from my mistake.

YOU SHOOT ANYONE THAT COMES THROUGH THAT DOOR!

LA Dodger's pitcher Vincente Padilla was shot in the leg... by his own bodyguard. As this isn't an episode of 24, the guard didn't turn on him, and there was no criminal activity (except for stupidity) involved. The guard simply shot him, by accident, in the leg. What makes this more amusing is that Mr. Padilla (or as we shall henceforth call him, Gimpy) was at the firing range being instructed in the finer points of marksmanship by said bodyguard.

I'll be honest. I enjoy this story. Not because I hate rich people or like seeing other human beings in pain (both true), but because I feel like anyone who thinks they're so important they to need to hire a bodyguard, needs to bleed every once in a while, if only to remind them they belong to the same race as you and I.

Speaking of racial disharmony, I saw 'Where The Wild Things Are' last night. I don't want to say it sucked because that'd be unfair, also because I have a rather high opinion of myself, but we'll get to that in a moment. The movie was well-made, the acting was quite good and it definitely had emotional heft. Still, I was both bored and depressed throughout, and spent most of the movie thinking that all this could have been avoided if someone slipped some Ritalin in the kid's mashed potatoes.

I don't know if this is a kids movie. I know it's based on a children's book, but plenty of adult movies have been made from children's books. For example, this book: Still, even I, as an adult (god, it hurt to say that) have the patience for a movie in which NOTHING happens. More importantly I worry what not liking this movie says about me. It received solidly above average reviews from all the intellectual review sites and I left before it even ended. Normally I'm full of excuses (ask anyone who's ever relied on me for anything) If I didn't like a movie I should I'd say I have the tastes of a child, but that won't work in this case, it's based on a children's book! Still, I'd usually have the other half of the retort (because I'll take either side if I get to be right) and I'd say it was too childish, but again, it was decidedly serious. I have no excuses. Much like my attempts at avoiding going to the gym, I'm left with nothing but honesty and in this case honesty makes me feel like a Philistine. So yes I hate 'Where The Wild Things Are' Not because it sucked (it did) but because I thought it sucked. How's that for a paradox?

GLOATING

Much like our differing manners of observing Columbus day, my employers, in their infinite wisdom and mercy, have seen fit to give me the day off today to deliberate on who I think is the right choice for Mayor of New York, yours, well, yours think you can decide while you work on spreadsheets.  But enough bragging (hahahahahahahahahahahaha I have the day off and you don't nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh) today is about voting, about the power of choice, the meaning of democracy and that, friends, is a sacred and special thing.  Look at American Idol, thanks to voting we have umm I can't remember the names of anyone on American Idol, there's that chubby one that won the first one and that girl in a bikini and the one who dated Tony Romo, didn't she get fat too though? No wait that was Jessica Simpson... was Jessica Simpson on American Idol?  That seems like a bit of a mismatch.

Anyway, I watched 'Paranormal Activity' last night and I have to say, if the same people who recommended this movie are voting today, I think it's time we abolish democracy.  I get the whole, is it a movie or is it real footage, thing.  I mean I got it ten years ago when 'The Blair Witch Project' sucked, but I still get it today.  Only we KNOW it's a movie and we know this because YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO SHOW SNUFF FILMS IN A MOVIE THEATER!  If people actually died it'd be evidence, the police would be investigating or, I don't know, SETI (google it).  Either way you wouldn't be paying to see it.  Also, I get the whole 'the unknown is scarier than anything you can see on screen' and that's true to an extent, we have amazing imaginations, in fact, just the other day I was daydreaming and imagined that Jennifer Love Hewitt was dating Jamie Kennedy. Crazy, I know.  You know what's not scary though? A door moving on its own being the #3 most scariest moment in your movie. Maybe I'm being harsh, it could have been #4, the chandelier slightly swaying on its own may have been #3.  My point is, the movie sucks and I want 90 minutes of my life back and all of you voters out there owe it to me!

Teasers

Hello folks, after several consecutive weeks of blogging I find my creative juices restored and my slightly off kilter world view decidedly askew.  I want to thank you for helping me reach this point again and giving me the wherewithal to pick up my long neglected Cinderella of a book. As a thank you I will be posting several excerpts from my magnum opus over the next few days.  These tidbits will, I hope, grant me some measure of believability when I blame a day without a post on being busy with my book. Anyway, here are a few paragraphs from the opening chapter of Part II of my novel 'Codswallop'.


Chapter I

When I was twenty-three, and in my defense, quite lonely, I agreed to go on a blind date at the urging of a family friend. The girl, I was assured, was a dark haired beauty with the kind looks that drive men to bad decisions and lawyers to raise the price of prenuptial agreements. The “matchmaker” may have also mentioned something about her personality, I don’t recall. I do, however, quite clearly recall thinking upon her opening her apartment door for me that my decision-making faculties would remain decidedly unimpaired. It may well have turned out to be a pleasant evening.(1) I mean Monica Lewinsky managed to catch the eye of the most powerful man in the world, so nothing’s impossible, but about twenty minutes into our evening she made a declaration that guaranteed that our already doomed experiment of a blind date would end in total and complete failure.

 She was a “naturist.”


Before I could inquire as to whether that was an actual word, (2) she explained that naturists (by this I deuced that there was at least one other) don’t believe in wasting their lives indoors. They prefer to live, as she put it, lives engaged with nature. Her idea of a night of fun included hiking, sitting in front of a bonfire, taking walks on the beach, and anything else you might do in summer camp or read in a personal ad. Anyway, the long and short of it was, she didn’t own a TV! I knew right then (along with when she opened the door(3)) that would be the last time we went out.


Television is, as you may have gathered by now, very important to me. In fact, during summers when I wasn’t in school or working, and during my extended period of unemployment, television made up a solid three quarters of my waking life, trumping such activities as exercising, being outside and dating. If she was a naturist than I was technologist, an avid indoorsman, preferring to live a life engaged with my remote control. It was nearly four years since that unfortunate date and in all that time, I had never met another person who cared about TV as much as I did. Then I met six hundred of them.


Footnotes:
1) As I understand, there are an infinite number of parallel universes in addition to our own, and the way I see it, in at least one of them, I must be something other than shallow.
2) My spell check seems to think it is though I still have my reservations.
3) Like I said, decidedly unimpaired.