I know I've been absent for quite a while, but this particular video made me poke my head of the hole for a couple of seconds. This is the funniest segment I've seen on The Daily Show for a long while. I don't know who is giving these crazies a legitimate voice but I know that this group must be stopped. Or laughed at. Heartily.
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Based on one of the best movie endings ever, one of my favorites anyway:
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
No Good Deed
As most of you know, I'm on the last leg of my leave from work under the FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act). Under the act, I am entitled to 12 weeks of leave from my job but it's up to my employers to decide how to pay or not pay me as they see fit. As it stands, I have had to use all of my paid time off for the rest of year which was officially exhausted as of the first week of June. I have been on unpaid leave since then.
To my dismay, I noticed yesterday that my time off for this coming Friday, July 4th, was also unpaid. I asked about the entry in case of an error. The reply was that they did not have to pay me because I am on special leave under the FMLA. The confusing part for me is that they did pay me for Memorial Day and I was on leave then, too. The only difference seems to be that I still had paid vacation time left. But they won't pay me for the fourth even though it's a company paid holiday and everyone in the building will be getting paid for not being there. Except for me, of course. No good deed goes unpunished. I am guilty of wanting to spend time caring for my infant son during the second three months of his life, therefore in addition to the previous month that they already did not have to pay my salary, they're adding the one day holiday.
I'm sure that it's legal otherwise they wouldn't be doing it. But this wasn't explained to me when I met with HR about it. Twice. It just makes me sad to think that my own company would rape me for every penny that they possibly could if they had the opportunity. As a side note, this is the same company that had a total income of one-hundred twelve million dollars in 2007 with a total operating expense of nineteen million. Most of us have seen tiny raises in the past three years, bonuses that are OK but nothing to write home about, and trouble getting our requests heard to upgrade our audio workstation computers from MacOS 9.2 for the past two years.
To my dismay, I noticed yesterday that my time off for this coming Friday, July 4th, was also unpaid. I asked about the entry in case of an error. The reply was that they did not have to pay me because I am on special leave under the FMLA. The confusing part for me is that they did pay me for Memorial Day and I was on leave then, too. The only difference seems to be that I still had paid vacation time left. But they won't pay me for the fourth even though it's a company paid holiday and everyone in the building will be getting paid for not being there. Except for me, of course. No good deed goes unpunished. I am guilty of wanting to spend time caring for my infant son during the second three months of his life, therefore in addition to the previous month that they already did not have to pay my salary, they're adding the one day holiday.
I'm sure that it's legal otherwise they wouldn't be doing it. But this wasn't explained to me when I met with HR about it. Twice. It just makes me sad to think that my own company would rape me for every penny that they possibly could if they had the opportunity. As a side note, this is the same company that had a total income of one-hundred twelve million dollars in 2007 with a total operating expense of nineteen million. Most of us have seen tiny raises in the past three years, bonuses that are OK but nothing to write home about, and trouble getting our requests heard to upgrade our audio workstation computers from MacOS 9.2 for the past two years.
Friday, February 29, 2008
The Law Is (Not Necissarily) the Law
Amy took her grandmother to the airport this morning for departure. Her grandmother is 77 years old and needs assistance to get into and through the airport, so they had pre-arranged for curbside check-in and an attendant to bring her a wheelchair. So after Amy helped her grandmother check in and get her baggage into the airport, she was going to help her grandmother to the wheelchair and then return to her car and depart. But as she walked her grandmother to the chair, a police woman began writing her a ticket. According to Amy, she then told the officer that she was just walking her grandmother to the wheelchair and would depart as soon as that was complete but the officer interrupted her with something about having a job to do and not caring why she was still there. Amy replied with, "Fine. Then you do what you have to do and I'll do what I have to do," and said goodbye to her grandmother. She told me she was in the car and on her way home literally two minutes later.
Now I appreciate the law. It keeps society accountable for its actions and helps to maintain order (as much as can be said) against the potential chaos that might exist if we had no law. My father is a retired police officer. I grew up respecting the police because he was one. But in my adult life, I've seen enough selfish, short-sighted, power-hungry police officers who abuse their station in society primarily by not conforming to the laws that they themselves enforce, that in these kinds of situations, I find it hard to muster any respect for them whatsoever.
Justice is said to be blind, but as far as I can tell, most police officers are not. They are bestowed with the same powers of vision and logical reasoning as most any normal person might be. But when one of them cannot seem to use their powers of acuity for good, when a law might be broken but the context of the situation might merit it forgivable, and they actively refuse to consider that context (to see the proverbial forest through the trees), I see them as not exercising the law to its true potential but rather inflicting it, as one might a weapon, in order to provide themselves with gratification and others with punishment.
As I said before, I respect the law. It provides me and my family with many protections that we would otherwise not be afforded. But this incident will be brought before a judge. We will respect whatever decision is made. But know this: in a system where cops who beat bartenders or make their wives "disappear" are still not held accountable, every tiny instance such as the one I have just reported where leniency would be appreciated but is not granted is another notch on my wall against respect for the force. I am aware that the Chicago Police specifically as an organization are considered quite corrupt, but when it comes to organizations, what reflects poorly on the individual reflects poorly on the entire group and once trust is lost, it is not easily regained.
Now I appreciate the law. It keeps society accountable for its actions and helps to maintain order (as much as can be said) against the potential chaos that might exist if we had no law. My father is a retired police officer. I grew up respecting the police because he was one. But in my adult life, I've seen enough selfish, short-sighted, power-hungry police officers who abuse their station in society primarily by not conforming to the laws that they themselves enforce, that in these kinds of situations, I find it hard to muster any respect for them whatsoever.
Justice is said to be blind, but as far as I can tell, most police officers are not. They are bestowed with the same powers of vision and logical reasoning as most any normal person might be. But when one of them cannot seem to use their powers of acuity for good, when a law might be broken but the context of the situation might merit it forgivable, and they actively refuse to consider that context (to see the proverbial forest through the trees), I see them as not exercising the law to its true potential but rather inflicting it, as one might a weapon, in order to provide themselves with gratification and others with punishment.
As I said before, I respect the law. It provides me and my family with many protections that we would otherwise not be afforded. But this incident will be brought before a judge. We will respect whatever decision is made. But know this: in a system where cops who beat bartenders or make their wives "disappear" are still not held accountable, every tiny instance such as the one I have just reported where leniency would be appreciated but is not granted is another notch on my wall against respect for the force. I am aware that the Chicago Police specifically as an organization are considered quite corrupt, but when it comes to organizations, what reflects poorly on the individual reflects poorly on the entire group and once trust is lost, it is not easily regained.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Next Stop, The White House!
One of my favorite quotes was uttered by W. C. Fields, "If at first you don't succeed, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it." The first time I'd ever seen those words, they were posted on the wall in the room of my high school government and economics teacher. Unfortunately for him (or me, I can't quite decide), I did not take those words to heart, especially when it came to his tests. Ironically, I think he eventually began to give me points for persistence or perhaps pity when, as the answer to every single question about a specific bit of legislation enacted half a century prior to my birth, I would answer "The Hawley-Smoot Tariff," which is perfectly real but something about which I was painfully uneducated considering that I had only heard about it while reading Dave Barry essays aloud with my friends instead of studying for the government exams. But years later, my youthful persistence to remain ignorant would eventually worm its way back to considering the Fields quote in the context of a harsher reality.
Earlier as a preteen, I loved both playing games with and programming computers. At the time, when asked if I'd had a hobby, I would respond that programming was it and also that I was considering a career in it. Again unfortunately for me, once I became old enough to study such subjects in high school, I discovered that I was good at music and that I liked girls, not to mention that I had also developed a healthy distaste for actually being in high school, which put a premature cap on the progression of my programming skills. But as a college student, I was reintroduced to computer games via Duke Nukem 3D and found that the games I had imagined as only a possibility as a child were now actually being made. It also did not escape me that, not only were those games being made, there was decent music to go along with them, music that someone probably got paid to write. I made up my mind then and there as an undergraduate student struggling to discover what exactly it was that I wanted to do with myself for another fifty years, to embrace my roots and focus on a career in technology as it related to music and sound.
Of course, little did I know at the time that my chances of making music as a career, even in the burgeoning days of computer games' surging popularity, were about as slim or slimmer than my becoming the President of the United States based on my knowledge of the Hawley-Smoot Tariff. I was determined that I could blunder my way in based on my love and knowledge of music and naively applied to every open position I found while sending some truly pathetic examples of demo reel non-showmanship including cassettes with unmarked labels and blank CDs with Sharpie-d contact information scrawled onto the surface. Yes, I have been guilty of these faux pas and more but I do not, however, apologize for anything because without any training or guidance of any kind, I was making it up as I went along, like a jazz solo or a high school government essay exam.
Once I successfully realized that I had a screen door's chance at being built into a submarine of landing an audio gig, I did what anyone with a dream of fantastic underdog success might do. I held onto my dream like a convict guarding his cigarettes, garnered a string of singularly terrible jobs, and continued to work on learning the skills that would someday enable me to make audio for video games. The journey has led me over five hundred miles through blue collar enslavement, entitled trust fund baby classmates and ivory-tower academics, and even a slightly off-target, but related career. However, even with almost half a decade of additional experience holding a related job and an equal amount of time devoted to the attainment of the job, I still could not get the time of day from the game industry if I stopped it on the street and offered it cash. It is as though I am constantly running five steps behind the departing bus, always making it to the door just after it's been closed and locked.
What turns a simple goal into a dream and what drives us to chase them so stubbornly? Perhaps it is the faith that success comes to those who are persistent and patient. But perhaps that success also comes from one's ability to be clever, crafty, or ingenious, to know how to turn the tide in one's favor with a simpler idea. Then, there is also the question of fortune, the act of being in the right place at the right time. Speaking for myself, I feel as though I have the persistence and patience down to a science. But I must lack the ingenuity to truly follow through. Not to mention that the very idea of simple fortune seems as strange to me as any. In any case, I don't know what the future will bring, but if the past is any indication, the words of W. C. Fields continue to resonate with my experiences. Perhaps I should quit my job and run for office.
Earlier as a preteen, I loved both playing games with and programming computers. At the time, when asked if I'd had a hobby, I would respond that programming was it and also that I was considering a career in it. Again unfortunately for me, once I became old enough to study such subjects in high school, I discovered that I was good at music and that I liked girls, not to mention that I had also developed a healthy distaste for actually being in high school, which put a premature cap on the progression of my programming skills. But as a college student, I was reintroduced to computer games via Duke Nukem 3D and found that the games I had imagined as only a possibility as a child were now actually being made. It also did not escape me that, not only were those games being made, there was decent music to go along with them, music that someone probably got paid to write. I made up my mind then and there as an undergraduate student struggling to discover what exactly it was that I wanted to do with myself for another fifty years, to embrace my roots and focus on a career in technology as it related to music and sound.
Of course, little did I know at the time that my chances of making music as a career, even in the burgeoning days of computer games' surging popularity, were about as slim or slimmer than my becoming the President of the United States based on my knowledge of the Hawley-Smoot Tariff. I was determined that I could blunder my way in based on my love and knowledge of music and naively applied to every open position I found while sending some truly pathetic examples of demo reel non-showmanship including cassettes with unmarked labels and blank CDs with Sharpie-d contact information scrawled onto the surface. Yes, I have been guilty of these faux pas and more but I do not, however, apologize for anything because without any training or guidance of any kind, I was making it up as I went along, like a jazz solo or a high school government essay exam.
Once I successfully realized that I had a screen door's chance at being built into a submarine of landing an audio gig, I did what anyone with a dream of fantastic underdog success might do. I held onto my dream like a convict guarding his cigarettes, garnered a string of singularly terrible jobs, and continued to work on learning the skills that would someday enable me to make audio for video games. The journey has led me over five hundred miles through blue collar enslavement, entitled trust fund baby classmates and ivory-tower academics, and even a slightly off-target, but related career. However, even with almost half a decade of additional experience holding a related job and an equal amount of time devoted to the attainment of the job, I still could not get the time of day from the game industry if I stopped it on the street and offered it cash. It is as though I am constantly running five steps behind the departing bus, always making it to the door just after it's been closed and locked.
What turns a simple goal into a dream and what drives us to chase them so stubbornly? Perhaps it is the faith that success comes to those who are persistent and patient. But perhaps that success also comes from one's ability to be clever, crafty, or ingenious, to know how to turn the tide in one's favor with a simpler idea. Then, there is also the question of fortune, the act of being in the right place at the right time. Speaking for myself, I feel as though I have the persistence and patience down to a science. But I must lack the ingenuity to truly follow through. Not to mention that the very idea of simple fortune seems as strange to me as any. In any case, I don't know what the future will bring, but if the past is any indication, the words of W. C. Fields continue to resonate with my experiences. Perhaps I should quit my job and run for office.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Heatwave
Why do so many talking heads on the news, during the transition away from the weather, complain about how cold it is? I actually have a bit of news for them: (My finger is to my ear right now.) This just in, IT'S WINTER! It's supposed to be cold!
It's not even that cold right now in reality. The temperature is hovering at just under zero degrees Celsius. Negative ten or twenty degrees Celsius is cold but zero for December? That actually seems a little warm in comparison to normal temperatures for this latitude.
I don't know why I'm ever surprised, though. Every time the TV lady with the highlighted hair and too much makeup starts complaining that it's not warm enough outside, I just shut her out and dream of a giant snowstorm.
It's not even that cold right now in reality. The temperature is hovering at just under zero degrees Celsius. Negative ten or twenty degrees Celsius is cold but zero for December? That actually seems a little warm in comparison to normal temperatures for this latitude.
I don't know why I'm ever surprised, though. Every time the TV lady with the highlighted hair and too much makeup starts complaining that it's not warm enough outside, I just shut her out and dream of a giant snowstorm.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
No Pictures, Please
I don't believe in karma. But I think the universe is making a good case for it. We seem to have been experiencing an inordinate amount of stress for the last three months:
We also discovered that Amy became pregnant towards the beginning of all this. That's what has me thinking about karma. We get some absolutely wonderful news. Then our lives seem to begin to spin out of control. It's just weird. I know it will pass and we'll look back on it and be glad that we made it and it's over, just another photograph in an album of memories. But, I really would like to stop taking pictures for now.
----------------
Now playing: INXS - Tiny Daggers
via FoxyTunes
- Amy's grandfather passed away.
- My grandmother passed away.
- Sid was vomiting and defecating blood while we were away. (We took him to the vet and he's better now.)
- The basement is leaking water like a sieve.
- A raccoon made its den in our attic.
- Sid now has a swollen lower lip that looks like it is infected. His lip has been slowly getting bigger over the past few days. Vet again this Saturday.
- A tornado moved by our neighborhood, missing us by only a couple miles.
- Amy is constantly nauseous with no end in sight.
- Neither of us has had a full night's sleep in two weeks.
- With all the other stuff, I can't seem to keep up with household chores beyond dishes, laundry, and meals. Except for the vacuuming I did Tuesday night at 10pm.
We also discovered that Amy became pregnant towards the beginning of all this. That's what has me thinking about karma. We get some absolutely wonderful news. Then our lives seem to begin to spin out of control. It's just weird. I know it will pass and we'll look back on it and be glad that we made it and it's over, just another photograph in an album of memories. But, I really would like to stop taking pictures for now.
----------------
Now playing: INXS - Tiny Daggers
via FoxyTunes
Monday, July 30, 2007
Send Remittance To:
I think everyone who stops by here knows by now. Amy is pregnant with our first child. It hasn’t been a cakewalk for her these first two and half months. We’ve read quite a bit since we’ve known about the pregnancy, and we know the average answers to many normal pregnancy questions. Nevertheless, we were really looking forward to our first visit with our obstetrician today to ask questions about our specific issues, not to mention getting another look at how our little dot is growing.
But, they cancelled! We’ve waited three weeks for this and they cancelled three hours before our appointment! I don’t know about you, but most medical offices I visit threaten me with a monetary fee if I cancel 24 to 48 hours before the appointment. Where’s my fee? Where’s my fifty bucks? My time is just as valuable as the doctors’ time. Isn’t it? (crickets) Blood, devastation, death, war, and horror. Grrr.
But, they cancelled! We’ve waited three weeks for this and they cancelled three hours before our appointment! I don’t know about you, but most medical offices I visit threaten me with a monetary fee if I cancel 24 to 48 hours before the appointment. Where’s my fee? Where’s my fifty bucks? My time is just as valuable as the doctors’ time. Isn’t it? (crickets) Blood, devastation, death, war, and horror. Grrr.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Final Notice!
I got home from work today to find a photocopied piece of paper containing a generic notice taped to my front door from my friendly department of code enforcement. The language is exactly as follows: "PLEASE CUT BACK ALL TREES AND BUSHES THAT OVERHANG SIDEWALKS AND ALLEYS THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION VILLAGE OF MORTON GROVE".
Before anyone mentions it, no, there was no punctuation in the message.
So, I called the phone number that was printed on the message and surprisingly someone answered the phone. I was sure that I would end up leaving a message as it was only about 5:15pm because what self-respecting government employee is still working at that hour? I told the gentleman my name and address and then attempted to explain my confusion at the note. Basically, I tried to explain that a quick glance around my property along the sidewalks and alley revealed no overtly obvious issues. Before I could complete my thought, the gentleman replied that an inspector must have been around and noticed a problem. I replied that I would be happy to comply and correct whatever the problem was but that I would need the inspector, who I had to assume was not the person with whom I was speaking as I was given no names or titles, to be more specific as to what the problem was.
With that, the person on the phone got a little irritated. I'm not exactly sure why, but he raised his voice a little and began to say that whatever is overhanging a sidewalk of alley should cut down, more than likely in an attempt to make me understand that the onus was on me to decipher exactly what the problem was. I did not say it, but I wondered if they really expected me to cut things in my yard down at random until they were satisfied. Instead I replied, "Look, I'm not trying to argue with you here. I will be happy to do whatever needs to be done, but I need to be told exactly what the problem is."
At that point he took down my name and address (probably so that I can be easily harassed by the police) and said that he'd send the inspector back out tomorrow. Hopefully, the inspector will leave some kind of note and not just knock on the door hoping someone will be home. I'm really curious to see where this goes and just a little perturbed that my city can't be more professional about how they interact with their citizens in terms of legal matters that don't involve the police. There was no signature or date from the person who left the warning and it was not on any kind of official form or stationary. In a strange, unjustified way, I feel a little invaded. It's as if they are free to show up and tape any message that might strike their fancy to my door: "You must cease and desist from wearing any t-shirt with 8-bit video gaming character icons on it." Then they could punch me in the gut, tape a "Kick Me" sign to my back, yell "Nerd!", and run away.
Before anyone mentions it, no, there was no punctuation in the message.
So, I called the phone number that was printed on the message and surprisingly someone answered the phone. I was sure that I would end up leaving a message as it was only about 5:15pm because what self-respecting government employee is still working at that hour? I told the gentleman my name and address and then attempted to explain my confusion at the note. Basically, I tried to explain that a quick glance around my property along the sidewalks and alley revealed no overtly obvious issues. Before I could complete my thought, the gentleman replied that an inspector must have been around and noticed a problem. I replied that I would be happy to comply and correct whatever the problem was but that I would need the inspector, who I had to assume was not the person with whom I was speaking as I was given no names or titles, to be more specific as to what the problem was.
With that, the person on the phone got a little irritated. I'm not exactly sure why, but he raised his voice a little and began to say that whatever is overhanging a sidewalk of alley should cut down, more than likely in an attempt to make me understand that the onus was on me to decipher exactly what the problem was. I did not say it, but I wondered if they really expected me to cut things in my yard down at random until they were satisfied. Instead I replied, "Look, I'm not trying to argue with you here. I will be happy to do whatever needs to be done, but I need to be told exactly what the problem is."
At that point he took down my name and address (probably so that I can be easily harassed by the police) and said that he'd send the inspector back out tomorrow. Hopefully, the inspector will leave some kind of note and not just knock on the door hoping someone will be home. I'm really curious to see where this goes and just a little perturbed that my city can't be more professional about how they interact with their citizens in terms of legal matters that don't involve the police. There was no signature or date from the person who left the warning and it was not on any kind of official form or stationary. In a strange, unjustified way, I feel a little invaded. It's as if they are free to show up and tape any message that might strike their fancy to my door: "You must cease and desist from wearing any t-shirt with 8-bit video gaming character icons on it." Then they could punch me in the gut, tape a "Kick Me" sign to my back, yell "Nerd!", and run away.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Very Early Morning Ramblings
I've been awake since 4am with the dry heaves. I'm almost 32 years old and until now I've never experienced the feeling of vomiting absolutely nothing. If you still don't know what that feels like, it hurts. Bad. My esophagus feels like I swallowed a drywall screw. I feel somewhat OK now, but I'm really tired. I haven't had a good night's sleep in three days.
Despite not feeling too well yesterday (I felt alternately OK and then tired and nauseous all day), we had Claudiu and Autumn over for some chatting and a game of Settlers of Catan. It was the first Settlers game I've ever won. We hadn't seen Clau and Autumn for a few months so it was good to catch up. Now that we've done so, we've proposed a monthly game night which I anticipate just as much as my weekly role playing group and semi-weekly computer gaming sessions.
I'm starting to feel a little like my folks when they have their card parties, but I think they might still be disappointed to know that I have a slight aversion to card games. They used to try to teach me Pinochle and for whatever reason, I just couldn't stay focused on the cards. Even when we play card games that I enjoy like Hearts or Cincinnati (which is apparently known to the rest of the world by another name because I can't find a reference to it anywhere on the web), I can only play a couple of games before I start to get bored. My theory about this behavior is that I like a little bit of narrative (even the little bit that is attached to Settlers or Monopoly) with my games which would certainly explain my greater attraction to video games and role playing games. Colorful doodads to play with and dice to roll are also part of the attraction, I think.
Anyway, I've been busy this week with my freelance work taking a lot of my spare time. Speaking of which, I feel better about my career choice than I did in my last post. I was just really disappointed that I didn't see my whole name (if the ambiguous Chuck was indeed referring to me) in the credits despite the fact that I played the game for about 30 minutes and didn't think it was all that great. It's the only thing I've worked on that I might have had my name attached to so I could point to it and say, "I helped with this." I still wonder about my abilities, but the reality is that I haven't tried to find any other jobs for the last three years since I'm still relatively pleased with my current position so perhaps it will be easier with something on my resume instead of nothing. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
Despite not feeling too well yesterday (I felt alternately OK and then tired and nauseous all day), we had Claudiu and Autumn over for some chatting and a game of Settlers of Catan. It was the first Settlers game I've ever won. We hadn't seen Clau and Autumn for a few months so it was good to catch up. Now that we've done so, we've proposed a monthly game night which I anticipate just as much as my weekly role playing group and semi-weekly computer gaming sessions.
I'm starting to feel a little like my folks when they have their card parties, but I think they might still be disappointed to know that I have a slight aversion to card games. They used to try to teach me Pinochle and for whatever reason, I just couldn't stay focused on the cards. Even when we play card games that I enjoy like Hearts or Cincinnati (which is apparently known to the rest of the world by another name because I can't find a reference to it anywhere on the web), I can only play a couple of games before I start to get bored. My theory about this behavior is that I like a little bit of narrative (even the little bit that is attached to Settlers or Monopoly) with my games which would certainly explain my greater attraction to video games and role playing games. Colorful doodads to play with and dice to roll are also part of the attraction, I think.
Anyway, I've been busy this week with my freelance work taking a lot of my spare time. Speaking of which, I feel better about my career choice than I did in my last post. I was just really disappointed that I didn't see my whole name (if the ambiguous Chuck was indeed referring to me) in the credits despite the fact that I played the game for about 30 minutes and didn't think it was all that great. It's the only thing I've worked on that I might have had my name attached to so I could point to it and say, "I helped with this." I still wonder about my abilities, but the reality is that I haven't tried to find any other jobs for the last three years since I'm still relatively pleased with my current position so perhaps it will be easier with something on my resume instead of nothing. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Disappointed Again
I can't help but be disappointed. I finally picked up a copy of Leisure Suit Larry: Magna Cum Laude last Saturday. I didn't want it because I thought it was a good game, but because it was supposed to be the only product available with my name in it somewhere. I was told at one point after my internship at High Voltage that my name had been added to the in-game credits. I waited a few years for the price of the game to come down on the used market because I wasn't that interested in the game itself, but I wanted to own a copy it just so I could show it to somebody, anybody, to prove that I indeed had my name in a game somewhere.
I popped in the disc and immediately let the in-game credits roll. Amy sat down beside me, both of us searching for my name. We endured some awful song by Luke Skyywalker of 2 Live Crew as name after name scrolled up the screen. Every category passed and soon the credits were over. No name. It wasn't in there. There was one Chuck that was mentioned by first name only and I guess that was probably me but really there's no way to know for sure. It was even coupled with a Sherry, "Chuck and Sherry". So really that could have been anybody.
Which brings me to this: the audio industry can kiss my ass. I've met some really cool people who did what they could to help me out and I appreciate their assistance very much. But, unfortunately, all the effort that I've ever put forth has only netted me a gig adapting 20 second clips of MIDI for kids' books which I still don't get any credit for. For God's sake, I work with a 24 year old kid who seems to have just stumbled into the gig and he works on more involved things than I do. I worked my ass off through most of my 20s, learning a lot of MIDI/audio information on my own, getting two degrees, working my hands bloody trying to earn enough money to keep Amy and I afloat in the early days while she was getting her therapy degree, and I still don't get to write music which is all I ever really wanted to do. It just doesn't seem to add up. One might accuse me of being jealous. Well, heck yes, I'm jealous. I put a lot of effort into learning the trade, applying for jobs, making demo reels, and I did what I could in terms of networking, but it's just not enough. Whatever it is I do, people just don't like it. Whether that means that I just plain suck or not, I'm not sure. In any case, I'm done trying to please people who just don't give a shit.
After my tenure is up at my current job, I don't know what I'll do, but I can guarantee that I will think twice about continuing to try to find audio work related to anything in entertainment. There must be some boring audio work to be done out there. I could try to go edit VO all day for Paul I guess. Somebody has to record and/or edit books on CD. Maybe I can find some time to start taking classes in some other subject while I'm still working so that by the time I quit or get laid off, I'll be near another degree that will prove to be more useful. I'm certainly of limited ability with music/audio. Hopefully, I feel better about this soon.
I popped in the disc and immediately let the in-game credits roll. Amy sat down beside me, both of us searching for my name. We endured some awful song by Luke Skyywalker of 2 Live Crew as name after name scrolled up the screen. Every category passed and soon the credits were over. No name. It wasn't in there. There was one Chuck that was mentioned by first name only and I guess that was probably me but really there's no way to know for sure. It was even coupled with a Sherry, "Chuck and Sherry". So really that could have been anybody.
Which brings me to this: the audio industry can kiss my ass. I've met some really cool people who did what they could to help me out and I appreciate their assistance very much. But, unfortunately, all the effort that I've ever put forth has only netted me a gig adapting 20 second clips of MIDI for kids' books which I still don't get any credit for. For God's sake, I work with a 24 year old kid who seems to have just stumbled into the gig and he works on more involved things than I do. I worked my ass off through most of my 20s, learning a lot of MIDI/audio information on my own, getting two degrees, working my hands bloody trying to earn enough money to keep Amy and I afloat in the early days while she was getting her therapy degree, and I still don't get to write music which is all I ever really wanted to do. It just doesn't seem to add up. One might accuse me of being jealous. Well, heck yes, I'm jealous. I put a lot of effort into learning the trade, applying for jobs, making demo reels, and I did what I could in terms of networking, but it's just not enough. Whatever it is I do, people just don't like it. Whether that means that I just plain suck or not, I'm not sure. In any case, I'm done trying to please people who just don't give a shit.
After my tenure is up at my current job, I don't know what I'll do, but I can guarantee that I will think twice about continuing to try to find audio work related to anything in entertainment. There must be some boring audio work to be done out there. I could try to go edit VO all day for Paul I guess. Somebody has to record and/or edit books on CD. Maybe I can find some time to start taking classes in some other subject while I'm still working so that by the time I quit or get laid off, I'll be near another degree that will prove to be more useful. I'm certainly of limited ability with music/audio. Hopefully, I feel better about this soon.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Seared
In March, we purchased a new dishwasher based on Consumer Reports' recommendations and following that moment, my opinion of Sears and their service has rapidly degraded. Their first mark was for sending incompetent contractors to perform the installation. Ironically, the name of the contractors' company was Quality First. The duo installed the dishwasher well enough and they even tested it for me to demonstrate that it was operational. Not five minutes after they left, however, we discovered that they had neglected to reconnect the power to the garbage disposal. That was strike one for Quality First. Amy called the contractors and reported the error and they insisted that there was no way that they could send someone to fix the mistake for at least seven days. Amy accepted their ridiculous policy, but that was strike two.
The second pair of dunderheads that Quality First sent to fix the mistakes of the first pair arrived as expected and fixed the problem in record time. However, despite the fact that the garbage disposal was now operational, the dishwasher completely stopped working in the middle of the first load of dishes that we tried to wash. The contractors had already departed, of course. This time, Amy called Sears and registered a complaint about Quality First while simultaneously demanding that a repairman come to the house as soon as possible.
The third serviceman to arrive was an actual employee of Sears. It didn’t take him long to find the problem. You may have wondered why I said that the second pair of incompetents from Quality First made their “repair” in record time. It seems that in their rush to attain the land speed record for dishwasher repair they had so lightly twisted the main power wires together as they reassembled the machine that the wires had actually disconnected due to the vibrations of the dishwasher itself. Strike three for QualityFirst Last. I will never let those idiots in my house again. Of course, we registered our complaints through the proper channels and Sears, in recompense, refunded our installation cost in full and returned about $50 of the cost of the unit.
Following this unfortunate imbroglio, all was fine until recently when the dishwasher began stopping in the middle of its cycle yet again. This was a different problem, however, as electricity continued to flow through the veins of the beast. Thankfully, we were still fully covered under the dishwasher’s warranty. So, we called Sears yet again to have a repairman sent to the house. He determined that it the electronics of the thing had failed, but he did not have the part to fix it that day. So, he ordered the part and had it shipped to the house. That was about three weeks ago.
We finally received the part last week and Sears had its friendly computerized secretary call to remind us that we had a repair scheduled for this past Saturday and could we please call them back to confirm that, yes indeed, we still wanted to have our dishwasher fixed. Sigh. So, Amy called the number that the very friendly machine had left us and confirmed (with a human being) that our repair was still scheduled for this past Saturday between eight and 12am.
Saturday morning we awoke early as we usually do and Amy went out to run some errands while I stayed home and waited for the repairman. She left the house around 8:30am and when she returned at 11:30am, the repairman had still not arrived. Not waiting another second, she called Sears who informed us that they had no record of her confirming the appointment and that we would have to wait another two weeks to for service. We may actually be able to get the dishwasher fixed sooner, but I don’t know what the outcome of that conversation was because I had to leave the room.
Obviously, we’ve registered another complaint with Sears, but really it makes no difference now. They’ve done enough damage to their reputation in one transaction to last me the rest of my life. We won’t be buying any of our major appliances through Sears in the future. I sincerely hope that anyone reading this doesn’t have the same problems with the company’s service that we have. If you do decide purchase an appliance of some sort through Sears, especially if it requires professional installation, I can only wish you luck of a better variety.
The second pair of dunderheads that Quality First sent to fix the mistakes of the first pair arrived as expected and fixed the problem in record time. However, despite the fact that the garbage disposal was now operational, the dishwasher completely stopped working in the middle of the first load of dishes that we tried to wash. The contractors had already departed, of course. This time, Amy called Sears and registered a complaint about Quality First while simultaneously demanding that a repairman come to the house as soon as possible.
The third serviceman to arrive was an actual employee of Sears. It didn’t take him long to find the problem. You may have wondered why I said that the second pair of incompetents from Quality First made their “repair” in record time. It seems that in their rush to attain the land speed record for dishwasher repair they had so lightly twisted the main power wires together as they reassembled the machine that the wires had actually disconnected due to the vibrations of the dishwasher itself. Strike three for Quality
Following this unfortunate imbroglio, all was fine until recently when the dishwasher began stopping in the middle of its cycle yet again. This was a different problem, however, as electricity continued to flow through the veins of the beast. Thankfully, we were still fully covered under the dishwasher’s warranty. So, we called Sears yet again to have a repairman sent to the house. He determined that it the electronics of the thing had failed, but he did not have the part to fix it that day. So, he ordered the part and had it shipped to the house. That was about three weeks ago.
We finally received the part last week and Sears had its friendly computerized secretary call to remind us that we had a repair scheduled for this past Saturday and could we please call them back to confirm that, yes indeed, we still wanted to have our dishwasher fixed. Sigh. So, Amy called the number that the very friendly machine had left us and confirmed (with a human being) that our repair was still scheduled for this past Saturday between eight and 12am.
Saturday morning we awoke early as we usually do and Amy went out to run some errands while I stayed home and waited for the repairman. She left the house around 8:30am and when she returned at 11:30am, the repairman had still not arrived. Not waiting another second, she called Sears who informed us that they had no record of her confirming the appointment and that we would have to wait another two weeks to for service. We may actually be able to get the dishwasher fixed sooner, but I don’t know what the outcome of that conversation was because I had to leave the room.
Obviously, we’ve registered another complaint with Sears, but really it makes no difference now. They’ve done enough damage to their reputation in one transaction to last me the rest of my life. We won’t be buying any of our major appliances through Sears in the future. I sincerely hope that anyone reading this doesn’t have the same problems with the company’s service that we have. If you do decide purchase an appliance of some sort through Sears, especially if it requires professional installation, I can only wish you luck of a better variety.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Montrose Adonis
We went to Montrose Beach over the weekend with Claudiu and Autumn. While there, I had the dubious pleasure of observing a preening adonis as he harassed crippled Mexican children, attempted unsuccessfully to intimidate three large Russian mafia types, clung to his girlfriend like sand on tanning oil, and was potentially offered work in "modeling". I am not making any of this up, except maybe the offer to work in porn, but I can't deny that it may have been a possibility.
I really never expected people like this to exist. The stereotype is so extreme, so inherently ridiculous, that the probability of its manifestation in an actual personality seems like parody. Physically, he was a toned specimen, not lumpy and bulbous like a career body builder, but he obviously took very good care of himself. He actually reminded me very much of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho both in build and attitude. I could almost hear him telling me about his morning face-mask, skin-cleansing rituals.
When I first took notice our chiseled adonis, he was trying his best to enjoy a bite of food while seated on his beach blanket. His pleasure was preempted by four children walking away from the beach. Two of them were helping their youngest brother manage his gait in the sand as he was equipped with some sort of leg braces. Apparently, some sand kicked up into the wind from the boy's stumbling and the small cloud of dust had the audacity to come in contact with the skin and food of my bronzed buddy.
Not being able to tolerate any further inconvenience, Adonis spouted at the kids, "Hey, hey, hey!", while giving them that pseudo-aggressive shrug that one might see more often on the expressway than the beach. The oldest girl then sincerely apologized and continued helping her brother while Adonis continued to spray his anger and frustration at her. I couldn't quite understand what Adonis was saying, but as the kids walked by me, they seemed a little embarrassed, but mostly just sad that anything had happened at all. Apparently, he tried a similar kind of tactic with three large eastern European men, but they had no fear of his silly posturing. I did not see what caused the incident, but if I had to guess, Adonis probably thought they were ogling his girl.
For the next couple of hours, I caught Adonis making subtle flexing motions as he admired himself. He would also start flexing as other women walked by. Amy and Autumn confirmed this by walking by him themselves. When they returned, we all had a good laugh about it. He was wearing a modest version of Speedo swimwear and at one point while he was standing around trying to look cute, he pulled the taut waistband down to just above his pubic hair while he was flexing and giving his toned muscles a rubdown. In addition to the flexing, he would occasionally walk into the water with his girlfriend. But instead of holding hands, he would curl his arm around her neck and squeeze her close to him in what appeared to be a gesture of ownership rather than actual admiration.
Eventually, a man approached Adonis and the two of them had a brief conversation while Adonis was given some sort of business card. From their body language, it was clear that they did not know each other. After a few minutes the new man walked away and Adonis and his filly were left gazing at the card. I began to make up my own stories about what the card contained, stories about contractual murder or perhaps an invitation to a meeting of Assholes Anonymous, but when Adonis made a couple pelvic thrusting motions, I was pretty sure that he had been approached by someone in the porn business. Apparently, that kind of thing is more common on Chicago's beaches than one might realize. Somehow, I remain unconcerned about being approached.
Not long after this, my entertaining couple packed up and left the beach. Unfortunately, their stink will probably remain wedged in my memory much longer than I would have ever anticipated. He'll be kicking sand all up in my nerd face for an eternity, I'm sure.
I really never expected people like this to exist. The stereotype is so extreme, so inherently ridiculous, that the probability of its manifestation in an actual personality seems like parody. Physically, he was a toned specimen, not lumpy and bulbous like a career body builder, but he obviously took very good care of himself. He actually reminded me very much of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho both in build and attitude. I could almost hear him telling me about his morning face-mask, skin-cleansing rituals.
When I first took notice our chiseled adonis, he was trying his best to enjoy a bite of food while seated on his beach blanket. His pleasure was preempted by four children walking away from the beach. Two of them were helping their youngest brother manage his gait in the sand as he was equipped with some sort of leg braces. Apparently, some sand kicked up into the wind from the boy's stumbling and the small cloud of dust had the audacity to come in contact with the skin and food of my bronzed buddy.
Not being able to tolerate any further inconvenience, Adonis spouted at the kids, "Hey, hey, hey!", while giving them that pseudo-aggressive shrug that one might see more often on the expressway than the beach. The oldest girl then sincerely apologized and continued helping her brother while Adonis continued to spray his anger and frustration at her. I couldn't quite understand what Adonis was saying, but as the kids walked by me, they seemed a little embarrassed, but mostly just sad that anything had happened at all. Apparently, he tried a similar kind of tactic with three large eastern European men, but they had no fear of his silly posturing. I did not see what caused the incident, but if I had to guess, Adonis probably thought they were ogling his girl.
For the next couple of hours, I caught Adonis making subtle flexing motions as he admired himself. He would also start flexing as other women walked by. Amy and Autumn confirmed this by walking by him themselves. When they returned, we all had a good laugh about it. He was wearing a modest version of Speedo swimwear and at one point while he was standing around trying to look cute, he pulled the taut waistband down to just above his pubic hair while he was flexing and giving his toned muscles a rubdown. In addition to the flexing, he would occasionally walk into the water with his girlfriend. But instead of holding hands, he would curl his arm around her neck and squeeze her close to him in what appeared to be a gesture of ownership rather than actual admiration.
Eventually, a man approached Adonis and the two of them had a brief conversation while Adonis was given some sort of business card. From their body language, it was clear that they did not know each other. After a few minutes the new man walked away and Adonis and his filly were left gazing at the card. I began to make up my own stories about what the card contained, stories about contractual murder or perhaps an invitation to a meeting of Assholes Anonymous, but when Adonis made a couple pelvic thrusting motions, I was pretty sure that he had been approached by someone in the porn business. Apparently, that kind of thing is more common on Chicago's beaches than one might realize. Somehow, I remain unconcerned about being approached.
Not long after this, my entertaining couple packed up and left the beach. Unfortunately, their stink will probably remain wedged in my memory much longer than I would have ever anticipated. He'll be kicking sand all up in my nerd face for an eternity, I'm sure.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Spilling the Bean Counters
In my previous post, I said that I felt apprehensive about explaining the mistakes that led to the cancellation of any negotiation process at Rosetta Stone. However, after further consideration, enough people have asked me why I was unhappy about having been asked to answer questions about my salary history that I would like to explain exactly what happened in order to attempt to justify my opinions about companies that ask for one's salary history.
First, I should say that the salary history question was the only reason (of which I am aware) that the negotiating process was cancelled. After reluctantly answering their inquiry for my salary history, I approached them to interview. At the interview, as I have said, two of the existing audio engineers (whose positions were the same as what I was applying for) were permitted to ask me some questions without the audio director present. In order to generate some meaningful questions, they had both been given copies of my answers to the questions that I had been asked, which included the question of my salary history.
I hadn't realized that they had been given copies of that particular answer until after the interview. So upon my return home, I emailed the audio director to tell him that I was rather concerned that any average lackey would be privy to my salary information. He told me that he would mention it to the Human Resources department and assured me that I shouldn't have been concerned.
Obviously, in light of what happened, I was right to be concerned and honestly, the more I consider the unscrupulous or negligent behavior (depending whether the act was intentional or an accident, respectively) of freely distributing my salary history, the more irritated I become. I think these events accurately describe why it is generally considered bad form to ask for a candidate's salary history. It is also representative of why many job seekers are dissuaded from ever answering the question in the first place. After all, regardless of what one's salary history might be, the company should have a good idea of what that position is worth based on industry data and, even more so, a solid idea of what they are willing to pay.
In the future, I will be much more cautious when presented with this question. I will also think twice about continuing the application process. After this experience, it's obvious to me that the question of salary history is a sensitive one that is best left untouched by both the applying and hiring parties. Unless, of course, the employer is intentionally trying to reject a candidate without actually issuing a rejection statement.
I've provided more reading material here.
First, I should say that the salary history question was the only reason (of which I am aware) that the negotiating process was cancelled. After reluctantly answering their inquiry for my salary history, I approached them to interview. At the interview, as I have said, two of the existing audio engineers (whose positions were the same as what I was applying for) were permitted to ask me some questions without the audio director present. In order to generate some meaningful questions, they had both been given copies of my answers to the questions that I had been asked, which included the question of my salary history.
I hadn't realized that they had been given copies of that particular answer until after the interview. So upon my return home, I emailed the audio director to tell him that I was rather concerned that any average lackey would be privy to my salary information. He told me that he would mention it to the Human Resources department and assured me that I shouldn't have been concerned.
Obviously, in light of what happened, I was right to be concerned and honestly, the more I consider the unscrupulous or negligent behavior (depending whether the act was intentional or an accident, respectively) of freely distributing my salary history, the more irritated I become. I think these events accurately describe why it is generally considered bad form to ask for a candidate's salary history. It is also representative of why many job seekers are dissuaded from ever answering the question in the first place. After all, regardless of what one's salary history might be, the company should have a good idea of what that position is worth based on industry data and, even more so, a solid idea of what they are willing to pay.
In the future, I will be much more cautious when presented with this question. I will also think twice about continuing the application process. After this experience, it's obvious to me that the question of salary history is a sensitive one that is best left untouched by both the applying and hiring parties. Unless, of course, the employer is intentionally trying to reject a candidate without actually issuing a rejection statement.
I've provided more reading material here.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Catharsis... Just Look It Up
I am not a huge fan of people who hide behind political conservativism as an excuse to be selfish and short-sighted. If I have the freedom to drive a giant vehicle that could carry 17 people and a couple of trees and possibly a dead deer merely to haul my own fat ass to and from work does not mean that I should utilize it, but to add insult to injury, I might slap a giant 'W' sticker on the bumper out of spite for those who chose not to imitate my behavior. You see, that's where my problem lies. My problem is not with the fact that someone wants do something that they want to do as in our theoretical fossil fuel-wasting, ozone-depleting friend. If you would like to ignore all kinds of scientific and evironmental evidence to the contrary in order to justify your gargantuan road boat, then fine. It's your prerogative as an American to consume as much as you can for yourself before thinking of anything else. But taking that attitude as a political stance is simply moronic. You're not an asshole because you're a political conservative. You're just an asshole, plain and simple.
VH1 is the gestapo of American popular culture. Every "I Love The..." show and every "Top 100..." episode is full of not-so-subtle hints about what I should and shouldn't like because it was cool at one time but isn't now or it was never cool or whatever retro flavor of the month is fashionable at the VH1 offices this week. I love the shows about stereotypical high school cliques. Geeks, Metalheads, Hippies, Jocks. Living Christ, when will I be allowed to actually leave high school behind, VH1? Why aren't more people changing the channel on this garbage?
Ranting on teh interwebs is retarded... z0rs. Learn to spell, retards. I am now going to threaten to beat myself up.
‹⁄stupid›
VH1 is the gestapo of American popular culture. Every "I Love The..." show and every "Top 100..." episode is full of not-so-subtle hints about what I should and shouldn't like because it was cool at one time but isn't now or it was never cool or whatever retro flavor of the month is fashionable at the VH1 offices this week. I love the shows about stereotypical high school cliques. Geeks, Metalheads, Hippies, Jocks. Living Christ, when will I be allowed to actually leave high school behind, VH1? Why aren't more people changing the channel on this garbage?
Ranting on teh interwebs is retarded... z0rs. Learn to spell, retards. I am now going to threaten to beat myself up.
‹⁄stupid›
Friday, September 24, 2004
You're Going To Kill Somebody!
I have been commuting to work by bicycle for a total of three weeks now and if there were such a thing, I probably would have earned my first merit badge. On Wednesday morning, I was pedalling to work on Lincoln Ave approaching the 'Y' intersection where Lincoln becomes Main street to the left or remains Lincoln and enters downtown Skokie to the right. Because my path to work takes me through Skokie on Lincoln Ave., there is no need for me to signal any lane changes or turns because I stay in the right lane. So, I was riding, as I always did, as close to the right side of the road as possible and going an average speed for a bicycle, probably between 10 and 15mph.
Suddenly, there was some commotion behind me as a larger vehicle that I could not see sounded a long, angry blast on its horn and revved its engine as if another vehicle had pulled in front of it too quickly. As this happened I thought, "Boy, someone must have done something really dangerous at the last minute while approaching this intersection!" or something to that effect. As I continued through the right fork of the 'Y' intersection on Lincoln, a large white pickup truck which looked to be a very large model of Dodge Ram sped past me as the driver spouted expletives at the unseen offender. I won't repeat exactly what the driver was yelling despite the fact that it was loud enough to hear perfectly, but it went something like this: "Coitus you, you sexual intercourse-having anal sphincter! You're going to kill somebody!"
As I couldn't see the crime that had just been perpetrated, I continued to pedal forward albeit a bit more slowly just in case the driver behind him decided to follow suit and chase him a bit. However, after a couple of minutes, no other cars passed me and I realized that the driver of the truck had been screaming at the top of his lungs at me! My mind quickly retraced my last few actions and I couldn't think of one thing that I had done differently than I had on any of my other commutes. Of all the drivers that had ever passed me at that intersection, none had ever had such a large issue with my presence. They were able to pass me safely and with plenty of room to their left but without all of the angry cursing.
Now, I hadn't stopped riding in order to attempt to guess what crime I had just committed against this upstanding lump of stinking citizenry, so I inevitably caught up with him at a traffic light further down the road. As I pulled up behind him, I could see him glaring at me in his right sideview mirror, still fuming and spouting expletives at me in the same vein as what I have previously reported. He was really getting into his long string of elaborate curses against me, my family, and all that I had ever produced on this earth (or at least I assume that those were the subjects of his verbal barbs becuase at this point, most of it was unintelligible). So, just to show that I held no hard feelings against him, that I would never in a million years wish to severly cripple him with an aluminum baseball bat or shred his genitals with a Garden Weasel, I summoned the biggest goofy smile I could muster and I waved at him. This incensed him even further and his face began to contort with rage as he spat what must have been the granddaddy of all insults at me. I was quite disappointed because I only wish I could have heard what it was.
As the light turned green, we began to move again while he continued to curse at me, so I held my arms up, both in a curled position like a body builder, doing my best to tell him with primitive sign language that he was the strongest, most powerful man that I had ever made fun of. He sped down the road and out of sight at blinding speed, probably running over any small furry animals or elderly people that happened to have the audacity to try to slow him down. Indeed, "You're going to kill somebody!", screamed the man driving well above the speed limit in his two-ton pickup truck while hurling obscenities at the man riding the 30 pound bicycle.
Suddenly, there was some commotion behind me as a larger vehicle that I could not see sounded a long, angry blast on its horn and revved its engine as if another vehicle had pulled in front of it too quickly. As this happened I thought, "Boy, someone must have done something really dangerous at the last minute while approaching this intersection!" or something to that effect. As I continued through the right fork of the 'Y' intersection on Lincoln, a large white pickup truck which looked to be a very large model of Dodge Ram sped past me as the driver spouted expletives at the unseen offender. I won't repeat exactly what the driver was yelling despite the fact that it was loud enough to hear perfectly, but it went something like this: "Coitus you, you sexual intercourse-having anal sphincter! You're going to kill somebody!"
As I couldn't see the crime that had just been perpetrated, I continued to pedal forward albeit a bit more slowly just in case the driver behind him decided to follow suit and chase him a bit. However, after a couple of minutes, no other cars passed me and I realized that the driver of the truck had been screaming at the top of his lungs at me! My mind quickly retraced my last few actions and I couldn't think of one thing that I had done differently than I had on any of my other commutes. Of all the drivers that had ever passed me at that intersection, none had ever had such a large issue with my presence. They were able to pass me safely and with plenty of room to their left but without all of the angry cursing.
Now, I hadn't stopped riding in order to attempt to guess what crime I had just committed against this upstanding lump of stinking citizenry, so I inevitably caught up with him at a traffic light further down the road. As I pulled up behind him, I could see him glaring at me in his right sideview mirror, still fuming and spouting expletives at me in the same vein as what I have previously reported. He was really getting into his long string of elaborate curses against me, my family, and all that I had ever produced on this earth (or at least I assume that those were the subjects of his verbal barbs becuase at this point, most of it was unintelligible). So, just to show that I held no hard feelings against him, that I would never in a million years wish to severly cripple him with an aluminum baseball bat or shred his genitals with a Garden Weasel, I summoned the biggest goofy smile I could muster and I waved at him. This incensed him even further and his face began to contort with rage as he spat what must have been the granddaddy of all insults at me. I was quite disappointed because I only wish I could have heard what it was.
As the light turned green, we began to move again while he continued to curse at me, so I held my arms up, both in a curled position like a body builder, doing my best to tell him with primitive sign language that he was the strongest, most powerful man that I had ever made fun of. He sped down the road and out of sight at blinding speed, probably running over any small furry animals or elderly people that happened to have the audacity to try to slow him down. Indeed, "You're going to kill somebody!", screamed the man driving well above the speed limit in his two-ton pickup truck while hurling obscenities at the man riding the 30 pound bicycle.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Ownership and Lunacy
We're house owners! The closing went well and we were done in about 2 hours. Now we just need to move our stuff.
Leave it to "music and fashion mogul Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs" to make the American political process more vapid and meaningless than it already is. Eventually that link will be dead, so in the interest of preserving the idiocy of the latest P. Diddy PR campaign, I'll try to recount the major points of the article.
P. Diddy is trying his own hand at getting the holy grail of the voter demographic (those meddling kids) to vote. How will he do this? He'll accomplish his mission by getting "sexy people" to help advertise the idea that voting is "cool". From the article written by AP journalist Nekesha Mumbi Moody, "'Now we're going to make voting cool,' P. Diddy proclaimed as he trotted out fresh young faces, supermodels and even Democratic strategist James Carville at an event to begin his drive." That's just what we need to invigorate the youth to vote... a botox-injected, over-medicated supermodel wearing P. Diddy's over-priced, self-indulgent clothing with political slogans printed on it. And, yes, that actually happened. Also from the Moody article, "Models Tyson Beckford and Lucas provided eye candy as they modeled the T-shirts, and P. Diddy provided plenty of levity." Levity indeed: "When he said the group would charter a jet to travel to swing states to make an impact, he added: 'We will have mimosas on the jet. We're going to have the sexiest jet!'"
Try not to be depressed for the rest of the day!
Currently listening to: μ-Ziq, Brace Yourself Jason
Leave it to "music and fashion mogul Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs" to make the American political process more vapid and meaningless than it already is. Eventually that link will be dead, so in the interest of preserving the idiocy of the latest P. Diddy PR campaign, I'll try to recount the major points of the article.
P. Diddy is trying his own hand at getting the holy grail of the voter demographic (those meddling kids) to vote. How will he do this? He'll accomplish his mission by getting "sexy people" to help advertise the idea that voting is "cool". From the article written by AP journalist Nekesha Mumbi Moody, "'Now we're going to make voting cool,' P. Diddy proclaimed as he trotted out fresh young faces, supermodels and even Democratic strategist James Carville at an event to begin his drive." That's just what we need to invigorate the youth to vote... a botox-injected, over-medicated supermodel wearing P. Diddy's over-priced, self-indulgent clothing with political slogans printed on it. And, yes, that actually happened. Also from the Moody article, "Models Tyson Beckford and Lucas provided eye candy as they modeled the T-shirts, and P. Diddy provided plenty of levity." Levity indeed: "When he said the group would charter a jet to travel to swing states to make an impact, he added: 'We will have mimosas on the jet. We're going to have the sexiest jet!'"
Try not to be depressed for the rest of the day!
Currently listening to: μ-Ziq, Brace Yourself Jason
Monday, July 19, 2004
Annie Lennox Steals The Show
Amy and I went to see Sting and Annie Lennox in concert last night at the Tweeter Center. It was a good show, but it really solidified my opinion of large venue concerts. And that opinion is this: I don't like them. The most annoying factor was the acoustics. They were simply awful. Sting's music in particular is rich with rhythmic texture and instrumentation, both of which got completely lost in the echo chamber that is the Tweeter Center's pavilion. A coulple of songs turned into sonic mud by the time they reached their peak. At the worst points, all I could hear were Sting's vocals, the drums, and an occasional note from the bass or organ which helped to establish brief moments of tonality. Every other part of the music was gone. Annie Lennox's set was great, though. I could actually hear a good portion of it, too. Amy is a huge fan of Annie Lennox and while I will admit that I'm not her biggest fan, her voice is simply amazing, which easily makes her ballads some of the best around.
The other buzzkill of the evening was watching a spoiled-rotten, middle-aged, male crybaby yell at and intimidate one of the younger female concert staffers until she cried. She literally stood there in front of about 100 people and cried. Why was he so upset? Because he had to look around her to be able to see better. She was the gatekeeper for one of the pavilion sections and she had to stand where she was to check people's tickets. Eventually, after about five minutes watching this girl bawl her eyes out, one of her bosses switched her out with another equally young male staffer who, while still rather intimidated, wasn't about to take any crap. The crybaby continued to taunt the new staffer from his seat to no avail and he eventually left our section. Good riddance. It's hard for me to believe that some people truly believe that their $50 entitles them to verbally harass people who are simply doing their jobs. I can only hope that that guy experiences the joy of having someone scream at him for 20 minutes because of something that's out of his control.
Well, we have six days until the big move and we're closing tomorrow. It should make for an interesting and busy week.
Currently lisenting to: Eitan Teomi and Monica Almada, This Sky and Love Says
The other buzzkill of the evening was watching a spoiled-rotten, middle-aged, male crybaby yell at and intimidate one of the younger female concert staffers until she cried. She literally stood there in front of about 100 people and cried. Why was he so upset? Because he had to look around her to be able to see better. She was the gatekeeper for one of the pavilion sections and she had to stand where she was to check people's tickets. Eventually, after about five minutes watching this girl bawl her eyes out, one of her bosses switched her out with another equally young male staffer who, while still rather intimidated, wasn't about to take any crap. The crybaby continued to taunt the new staffer from his seat to no avail and he eventually left our section. Good riddance. It's hard for me to believe that some people truly believe that their $50 entitles them to verbally harass people who are simply doing their jobs. I can only hope that that guy experiences the joy of having someone scream at him for 20 minutes because of something that's out of his control.
Well, we have six days until the big move and we're closing tomorrow. It should make for an interesting and busy week.
Currently lisenting to: Eitan Teomi and Monica Almada, This Sky and Love Says
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