Friday, March 1, 2013
The Cost of a Mystery
So I ordered a grab bag from one of those 'Daily Deal' sites and now nearly a month since I ordered it, I finally get to see what's inside. The concept of a grab bag is not new, and I've ordered from this company before, yet even in this day and age where endless amounts of information is available at a moment's notice, I still have no idea what to expect. The grab bag is probably one of the most pragmatic method of gambling today. There's the old adage "Buyer Beware", but that was probably coined by a pessimist bent on alliteration. Soon, I will be able to find out if if this 'Mystery Bag of Awesomness' is worth the $14.99 + $4.99 Shipping and Handling.
If I were to 100% believe the sales speak on the website, then the answer would be yes. The special thing about this grab bag is that in addition to the unspecified amounts of junk thrown into a cardboard box shipped from an undisclosed location to my doorstep, the vessel of choice, or rather the bag part of the grab bag is in fact a back pack. One of 3 styles as a matter of fact, only to add to the randomness that is this purchase. Now, according to the picture, these aren't some child size, dollar store backpacks direct from China made from discarded emergency poncho scraps. These actually seem like genuine, regular sized backpacks, but probably still from China because, hey, what isn't these days?
Slight digression. I was over visiting my parents last week and I mentioned to them how I bought something off eBay that would be shipping from China. My sentence wasn't phrased quite like that, so it more than likely sounded like "I bought something from China the other day for a dollar." This led my inquisitive 5 year old daughter to ask, "You went to China without me!?!?"
Ok. I'm back. Where was I? Oh yes, the backpack. It was the availability of this item compounded with the fact that it would be 'filled' with the unspecified amounts of junk that made me finally decide to purchase this item in the first place. For a little while now, I've been carrying a small 'sack pack' with me whenever I go out on a day trip. It's simply a nylon drawstring bag with the cording extended to serve as shoulder straps. Now, I know the idea is not new, but with such a simple design, it's a wonder why these things hadn't caught on sooner. I recently picked up a windbreaker/rain jacket that folds into itself and also serves as its own 'sack pack', but I'll save that for another blog entry. So anyway, my pack typically holds snacks for myself and the little one, a bottle of water, and any extraneous electronics and accompanying chargers/accessories either myself or my little one choose to bring along for our adventure. Lately, I've been finding that the sack pack, whereas very portable, lacks the back support a common backpack, especially weighed down with a lot of stuff.
One additional thing I'd like to point out is whereas the company would not divulge any specifics, they did mention that should they choose to include a t-shirt in your Mystery Bag of Awesomeness, they ask what size you would like to have and they'll 'do their best' to accommodate. A [possible] t-shirt and backpack for $20? Could be worse I suppose. The general consensus out there is that whatever you discard, you could use as a white elephant gift. Hey, works for me.
So, as I write this, my package is currently en route originating from a small town in Tennessee. The shipping details list the weight at 5.5 lbs. Not bad, how much does an empty backpack weigh? Not much. The most basic of backpacks with the obligatory large compartment and [somewhat less obligatory] smaller zippered pocket on the exterior has a shipping weight of (according to Amazon) 9.6 oz. That still leaves over 4 pounds of random stuff that I'll either relish or regift. So what's in this mystery box? We'll soon find out.
Stay tuned for my next post to see what I got in my Mystery Bag of Awesomeness.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
… By the Contents of the Man's Purse
Not too long ago, our neighbor had the battery of his car stolen overnight. The thief was either desperate, in a hurry or both because he not only stole the battery, but cut the cables attached to it. Despite the theft of a car battery, something else puzzled me. Why him? Why his car? I don’t know what kind of battery our neighbor had in his car, but his car was an early model Ford Taurus Wagon.
I remember watching the commercials on television, making the station wagon look glamorous and stylish. Let’s not forget the ample room and the cup holders. It was truly a utilitarian product. My brother and I thought it was the greatest thing on earth.
Fast forward 20 or so years, and I am still a fan of utilitarian products, all the better if their intended purpose is storage, for them to ample in that department. Earlier this year, my wife took a trip to Los Angeles with a couple of her girlfriends for a weekend adventure. I’ve always been smitten by the idea of airport gift shops. Despite the over priced wares, I find them to be a great way to kill time before the flight leaves. After saying goodbye to my wife, I was beckoned by one of these aforementioned stores with a lure of their versatility of products and signs near the entrance that declared ‘clearance’. It has been said that I am “penny wise, but pound foolish”, but nevertheless I am always on the lookout for a good deal.
I also had been on the lookout for a new case for my iPod, and since I’m also an avid user of public transit, all accompanying accessories including, but not limited to headphones, A/V cables and chargers. As mentioned before, I was drawn in the by the allure of clearance signs, a common occurrence which finds me in dark recesses of office supply stores and neighborhood markets, away from prying eyes.
Normally, I’d be remiss in finding the obvious comedy questioning the necessity of selling luggage in an airport, but after having jars of Midwestern Amish jam confiscated because it violated the TSA’s 3-1-1 rule not but months earlier. I can certainly see the validity of purchasing additional suitcases in an effort to retain those extra souvenirs. I digress.
On a rack, I saw a neon green bag. In the similar style, I also saw one in pink and one with polka dots. I checked the price tag. $2.50. Not a bad price. A deal is only as good as the comparison to the original price. On a nearby rack, the same product in a dark purple was $14. Obviously these hideous colors weren’t selling as well as their understated counterparts, hence the reason for the heavy discount. With a reinforced handle on the top and included adjustable shoulder strap, I deduced that this item was probably intended to be an ideal traveling shoulder bag, a fanny pack for the 21st century. I observed its features. 2 large main zippered compartments (ideal for holding my large noise-cancelling headphones and any necessary iPod cables. One small zippered pocket on the back, to provide quick and easy access to smaller, yet lesser used items. In the front there was a small mesh open pocket to probably hold a packet of gum or something. The feature that clinched the deal for me was the small zippered pocket on front of the bag, the perfect size to hold my iPod. This design choice was not made by accident. Personal accessory designers have been including small pouches like these because they provide quick and easy access to your entertainment device of your choosing whether it be an MP3 player or a wireless phone or something more low-tech like a deck of cards for example. All of which are approximately the same size.
Ever since I’ve had a car to call my own, I’ve kept an emergency kit in my trunk. Despite overheating engines, flat tires, running out of gas, a roadside mugging, and even spontaneous combustion, the item most often used in this kit is a pair of jumper cables. Wireless phones certainly come in handy as well, but during all those previous emergencies listed before, I did not own a phone. I could go on about how my parents paid for my sister to have a phone when she was in college and all she was doing was riding the bus. Mind you, she was meeting deadbeat mooches 12 years her senior and bringing them home to crash at Mom and Dad’s pad, but she didn’t need a phone for that.
Anyway, I’m getting off topic. One item I did include in my emergency kit that you wouldn’t find in any commercially available bundle is the deck of playing cards. I don’t know why they wouldn’t. It could add an additional 52 pieces to their collection, thus tricking the mild mannered consumer into getting even more than actually do. Have you noticed that? For instance, the automotive emergency kit advertises on its packaging of having 20 pieces. When you look at the list of items, it says it has 10 zip ties, 5 fuses, a flashlight with 2 batteries, the bag with the reflective triangle and some jumper cables. For those keeping track, it’s 20 pieces. I think I’ve proven my point.
Playing cards aren’t just for playing you. They’re there for you to play with them. Like what I did there? Aside from the obvious boredom buster of pulling up a rock or stump and huddling round playing a rousing game of “Go Fish” or if you’re stuck alone and friendless, Solitaire, a deck of playing cards has a very important survival role built in. For starters, if you’re stranded and there’s nary a bloodied volleyball to be found, you can find friendship in the face cards. With a little imagination, you could make up elaborate dramas and love triangles among the queens, jacks and kings. You could even speculate as to why the king of hearts is killing himself or what happened to a couple of the jacks’ other eyes.
What to do with the other cards you may ask. Well, given that most cards are made out of paper, albeit coated paper, theoretically you could use the cards to help start a fire. Maybe it’s the Eagle Scout in me, but I reckon they make for some pretty good kindling.
My sister recently graduated college, so we took a road trip to Las Cruces, New Mexico to spend a couple days with her surrounding the ceremony, load up her stuff from her apartment and drive back. My grandfather had unexpectedly passed away the month before and we all still miss him. I was named after him and I’ve been curious what other things I shared with him besides the name. As a career military man, he was very guarded, but not gruff or soulless. I just never knew him the way I would’ve liked to. I knew he liked to tinker, much like I do and his garage/workshop was a place of solitude for him. He was looking very much to going to the graduation, but unfortunately could not. My grandmother, despite his absence, still decided to go. Early in the morning we were to leave, I was helping my mom load her suitcases into the back of my grandparents’ car. There, in the trunk, were jugs of water in case he got stranded and his own version of an emergency kit. I didn’t see what was all in it, or know his reasons for what went into it, but on top there was one thing that caught my eye. It was a deck of playing cards. I knew then that he and I shared something without even communicating it to one another and for that, I will have an eternal bond with him.
I remember watching the commercials on television, making the station wagon look glamorous and stylish. Let’s not forget the ample room and the cup holders. It was truly a utilitarian product. My brother and I thought it was the greatest thing on earth.
Fast forward 20 or so years, and I am still a fan of utilitarian products, all the better if their intended purpose is storage, for them to ample in that department. Earlier this year, my wife took a trip to Los Angeles with a couple of her girlfriends for a weekend adventure. I’ve always been smitten by the idea of airport gift shops. Despite the over priced wares, I find them to be a great way to kill time before the flight leaves. After saying goodbye to my wife, I was beckoned by one of these aforementioned stores with a lure of their versatility of products and signs near the entrance that declared ‘clearance’. It has been said that I am “penny wise, but pound foolish”, but nevertheless I am always on the lookout for a good deal.
I also had been on the lookout for a new case for my iPod, and since I’m also an avid user of public transit, all accompanying accessories including, but not limited to headphones, A/V cables and chargers. As mentioned before, I was drawn in the by the allure of clearance signs, a common occurrence which finds me in dark recesses of office supply stores and neighborhood markets, away from prying eyes.
Normally, I’d be remiss in finding the obvious comedy questioning the necessity of selling luggage in an airport, but after having jars of Midwestern Amish jam confiscated because it violated the TSA’s 3-1-1 rule not but months earlier. I can certainly see the validity of purchasing additional suitcases in an effort to retain those extra souvenirs. I digress.
On a rack, I saw a neon green bag. In the similar style, I also saw one in pink and one with polka dots. I checked the price tag. $2.50. Not a bad price. A deal is only as good as the comparison to the original price. On a nearby rack, the same product in a dark purple was $14. Obviously these hideous colors weren’t selling as well as their understated counterparts, hence the reason for the heavy discount. With a reinforced handle on the top and included adjustable shoulder strap, I deduced that this item was probably intended to be an ideal traveling shoulder bag, a fanny pack for the 21st century. I observed its features. 2 large main zippered compartments (ideal for holding my large noise-cancelling headphones and any necessary iPod cables. One small zippered pocket on the back, to provide quick and easy access to smaller, yet lesser used items. In the front there was a small mesh open pocket to probably hold a packet of gum or something. The feature that clinched the deal for me was the small zippered pocket on front of the bag, the perfect size to hold my iPod. This design choice was not made by accident. Personal accessory designers have been including small pouches like these because they provide quick and easy access to your entertainment device of your choosing whether it be an MP3 player or a wireless phone or something more low-tech like a deck of cards for example. All of which are approximately the same size.
Ever since I’ve had a car to call my own, I’ve kept an emergency kit in my trunk. Despite overheating engines, flat tires, running out of gas, a roadside mugging, and even spontaneous combustion, the item most often used in this kit is a pair of jumper cables. Wireless phones certainly come in handy as well, but during all those previous emergencies listed before, I did not own a phone. I could go on about how my parents paid for my sister to have a phone when she was in college and all she was doing was riding the bus. Mind you, she was meeting deadbeat mooches 12 years her senior and bringing them home to crash at Mom and Dad’s pad, but she didn’t need a phone for that.
Anyway, I’m getting off topic. One item I did include in my emergency kit that you wouldn’t find in any commercially available bundle is the deck of playing cards. I don’t know why they wouldn’t. It could add an additional 52 pieces to their collection, thus tricking the mild mannered consumer into getting even more than actually do. Have you noticed that? For instance, the automotive emergency kit advertises on its packaging of having 20 pieces. When you look at the list of items, it says it has 10 zip ties, 5 fuses, a flashlight with 2 batteries, the bag with the reflective triangle and some jumper cables. For those keeping track, it’s 20 pieces. I think I’ve proven my point.
Playing cards aren’t just for playing you. They’re there for you to play with them. Like what I did there? Aside from the obvious boredom buster of pulling up a rock or stump and huddling round playing a rousing game of “Go Fish” or if you’re stuck alone and friendless, Solitaire, a deck of playing cards has a very important survival role built in. For starters, if you’re stranded and there’s nary a bloodied volleyball to be found, you can find friendship in the face cards. With a little imagination, you could make up elaborate dramas and love triangles among the queens, jacks and kings. You could even speculate as to why the king of hearts is killing himself or what happened to a couple of the jacks’ other eyes.
What to do with the other cards you may ask. Well, given that most cards are made out of paper, albeit coated paper, theoretically you could use the cards to help start a fire. Maybe it’s the Eagle Scout in me, but I reckon they make for some pretty good kindling.
My sister recently graduated college, so we took a road trip to Las Cruces, New Mexico to spend a couple days with her surrounding the ceremony, load up her stuff from her apartment and drive back. My grandfather had unexpectedly passed away the month before and we all still miss him. I was named after him and I’ve been curious what other things I shared with him besides the name. As a career military man, he was very guarded, but not gruff or soulless. I just never knew him the way I would’ve liked to. I knew he liked to tinker, much like I do and his garage/workshop was a place of solitude for him. He was looking very much to going to the graduation, but unfortunately could not. My grandmother, despite his absence, still decided to go. Early in the morning we were to leave, I was helping my mom load her suitcases into the back of my grandparents’ car. There, in the trunk, were jugs of water in case he got stranded and his own version of an emergency kit. I didn’t see what was all in it, or know his reasons for what went into it, but on top there was one thing that caught my eye. It was a deck of playing cards. I knew then that he and I shared something without even communicating it to one another and for that, I will have an eternal bond with him.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Restroom Conspiracy
Both of the urinals on my floor at work had 'Out of Order' signs on them yesterday. I was curious why because they seemed to have worked fine the day before, but I was more concerned with the fact that BOTH of them were out. I don't know much about plumbing, so I'm not going to make any assumptions about that. But given the fact that the rest of the toilets in the restroom, the kind that are sat upon, are in complete working order, I can only surmise that something is wrong with the urinals' automatic flushing device. I've long held a conspiracy theory that the electronic 'eye' that senses when the best time to trigger the automatic flushing device doesn't actually do that at all. Sometimes, when I enter the restroom, I see that the urinal is unflushed. How is this possible? Has someone found a way to beat the system? At the risk of sounding completely crazy, I will say that it may [trigger the mechanism], but at the very least, this is not the sole purpose of the aforementioned device.
I believe the electronic eye actually senses how long a mass is standing at the urinal and records the time to use in data collection for more devious plans. Now, my company is pretty 'Big Brother'-ish and I wouldn't put it past them to track how long their employees are using the urinals to determine how much productivity they're losing. Maybe they're using the data and it's part of a much bigger scale to see how long men across the country are standing in front of urinals and they'll use this time to create ultra-short advertising bits to show on video screens above the urinals. They already have print ads, what would keep them from having video? Because, every skeptic and pessimist you talk to (at least in my line of work) is that print is dying a very quick death and that video is the way to go.
I'm a little riled-up right now. I think I'll take a break before I let out a little bit more of my crazy.
I believe the electronic eye actually senses how long a mass is standing at the urinal and records the time to use in data collection for more devious plans. Now, my company is pretty 'Big Brother'-ish and I wouldn't put it past them to track how long their employees are using the urinals to determine how much productivity they're losing. Maybe they're using the data and it's part of a much bigger scale to see how long men across the country are standing in front of urinals and they'll use this time to create ultra-short advertising bits to show on video screens above the urinals. They already have print ads, what would keep them from having video? Because, every skeptic and pessimist you talk to (at least in my line of work) is that print is dying a very quick death and that video is the way to go.
I'm a little riled-up right now. I think I'll take a break before I let out a little bit more of my crazy.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
When It Rains, It Pours… From Upstairs
It has been said, "Life gets in the way when you're busy making other plans." I believe the original intention of that statement was intended to be more optimistic. I, however, can't help but apply this statement to a more negative slant. The plans could be for instance, paying down debt, having a good christmas and/or saving for a rainy day. Of course, in this economy, these goals, among others seem to be difficult.
Can I stop for a minute here? In today's society of instant gratification and Short Message Service (SMS) language creeping into everyday language, why do we bother to still say or even type out the phrase, "in this economy" or '"in today's economic climate"? The phrase itself is becoming part of vernacular. Why can't with abbreviate it too to the simple ITE? I hereby declare that this acronym will be used forthwith.
Now… where was I? Oh yes, life getting in the way. It also has been said that things happen in threes, and more often than not, these things are on the bad side. I guess it's fate's way of punishing you. Now, I could say the cycle began with the air conditioner in my house going out at the end of the summer. Not a bad thing per se, but since it's paired with the heater unit, it's unpleasant when the first real cold weather hits. I could say the cycle began [or continued] with the breaking of my eyeglasses, causing me to shell out more money to replace them. Instead, I think I'm going to say that this cycle of 3 started yesterday morning when my wife finished her shower before going into work.
I was lying there. Half awake, half asleep and I could hear the sound of running water. Our townhouse is over 30 years old, so the sound running water isn't all that uncommon, except when it is coming from your own house. Liz informed me that despite turning all of the faucet knobs into the 'off' position, water still continued to come out of the spout. There was a simple temporary fix to the whole thing and that was to turn off the water at the main. Liz's dad, a plumber by trade, came out that evening to assess the situation. After a brief time of diagnosing the issue, he and I hopped in my truck and drove down the street to The Home Depot to pick up some replacement stems.
Side Note: Our shower tub assembly is only about 5 years old. Prior to us moving in, the first-time homebuyer program we used goes in and does some minor rehab before letting us move in. This generally involves installing hardwired smoke detectors and other safety issues. One of the issues was that there was a leak and some subsequent water damage coming from the tub upstairs. In short, they replaced the fiberglass tub/shower assembly and metal framed glass doors with a traditional fiberglass tub with tiled walls. They also replaced all the hardware which included a stubby run-of-the-mill shower arm and a dollar store shower head.
The shower head coming out of my wall was at approximately 72" high which made the showerhead itself resting about 70" give or take. Being a human of approximately 74"-75" tall, I found this to be a minor inconvenience. Minor in the sense that I don't spend a lot of my life in the shower so I could live with it. Then again, something occurred to me. If I were to have a plumber rooting around the hardware of my tub and so long as I was in the plumbing section of the store, why not look for something that I could buy to alleviate my woes. I found a longer, snakier apparatus that extended the shower head well above my head as to make it seem like falling rain.
So we went home, and after a few minutes, the hardware was all replaced and water was coming out like a champ … except from the dollar store showerhead. Crap. Was it clogged? Was there not enough pressure? Liz's dad assured me that neither was the case. That's 2. So, it being Sunday night and all and I really wanted to take a shower, we hopped in the truck and drove down the street to Wal-Mart to pick up the almost greatest showerhead they carry. I say, $22 for a chrome look showerhead with7 6 settings (I don't consider 'trickle' a setting) is not bad in a pinch.
So we after Liz's parents went home, I turned on the shower and was got my hair wet when Liz came running upstairs telling me to turn the water off because it was flooding the laundry room/pantry which is directly below our tub. The water continued through to the kitchen and then on into the dining room. That's number 3 ladies and gentlemen. In a mad panic, we mopped up as much water as we could, we soaked it up with as many towels as we could and we moved all the stuff that was on the floor out to the patio. Liz took pictures with her phone and called the insurance company. Liz's parent's came back and brought more towels. My parents came with more towels and their shop vac. It was chaos.
The following morning, after we dried up all we could, the insurance company called us, walking us through the steps. We had a plumber come out and replaced the stems (again!) because the ones from The Home Depot were crap. A water mitigation came out with their industrial centrifugal blowers and place a half dozen of them around the house. 3 in the laundry room, 1 in the bathroom, and 2 in the master bedroom closet because the adjacent wall and carpet were wet. Now we have to have these things blowing for 96 hours straight.
I suppose things could be worse, but it's still really inconvenient. I'll let you know how everything turns out. Thanks for reading.
Can I stop for a minute here? In today's society of instant gratification and Short Message Service (SMS) language creeping into everyday language, why do we bother to still say or even type out the phrase, "in this economy" or '"in today's economic climate"? The phrase itself is becoming part of vernacular. Why can't with abbreviate it too to the simple ITE? I hereby declare that this acronym will be used forthwith.
Now… where was I? Oh yes, life getting in the way. It also has been said that things happen in threes, and more often than not, these things are on the bad side. I guess it's fate's way of punishing you. Now, I could say the cycle began with the air conditioner in my house going out at the end of the summer. Not a bad thing per se, but since it's paired with the heater unit, it's unpleasant when the first real cold weather hits. I could say the cycle began [or continued] with the breaking of my eyeglasses, causing me to shell out more money to replace them. Instead, I think I'm going to say that this cycle of 3 started yesterday morning when my wife finished her shower before going into work.
I was lying there. Half awake, half asleep and I could hear the sound of running water. Our townhouse is over 30 years old, so the sound running water isn't all that uncommon, except when it is coming from your own house. Liz informed me that despite turning all of the faucet knobs into the 'off' position, water still continued to come out of the spout. There was a simple temporary fix to the whole thing and that was to turn off the water at the main. Liz's dad, a plumber by trade, came out that evening to assess the situation. After a brief time of diagnosing the issue, he and I hopped in my truck and drove down the street to The Home Depot to pick up some replacement stems.
Side Note: Our shower tub assembly is only about 5 years old. Prior to us moving in, the first-time homebuyer program we used goes in and does some minor rehab before letting us move in. This generally involves installing hardwired smoke detectors and other safety issues. One of the issues was that there was a leak and some subsequent water damage coming from the tub upstairs. In short, they replaced the fiberglass tub/shower assembly and metal framed glass doors with a traditional fiberglass tub with tiled walls. They also replaced all the hardware which included a stubby run-of-the-mill shower arm and a dollar store shower head.
The shower head coming out of my wall was at approximately 72" high which made the showerhead itself resting about 70" give or take. Being a human of approximately 74"-75" tall, I found this to be a minor inconvenience. Minor in the sense that I don't spend a lot of my life in the shower so I could live with it. Then again, something occurred to me. If I were to have a plumber rooting around the hardware of my tub and so long as I was in the plumbing section of the store, why not look for something that I could buy to alleviate my woes. I found a longer, snakier apparatus that extended the shower head well above my head as to make it seem like falling rain.
So we went home, and after a few minutes, the hardware was all replaced and water was coming out like a champ … except from the dollar store showerhead. Crap. Was it clogged? Was there not enough pressure? Liz's dad assured me that neither was the case. That's 2. So, it being Sunday night and all and I really wanted to take a shower, we hopped in the truck and drove down the street to Wal-Mart to pick up the almost greatest showerhead they carry. I say, $22 for a chrome look showerhead with
So we after Liz's parents went home, I turned on the shower and was got my hair wet when Liz came running upstairs telling me to turn the water off because it was flooding the laundry room/pantry which is directly below our tub. The water continued through to the kitchen and then on into the dining room. That's number 3 ladies and gentlemen. In a mad panic, we mopped up as much water as we could, we soaked it up with as many towels as we could and we moved all the stuff that was on the floor out to the patio. Liz took pictures with her phone and called the insurance company. Liz's parent's came back and brought more towels. My parents came with more towels and their shop vac. It was chaos.
The following morning, after we dried up all we could, the insurance company called us, walking us through the steps. We had a plumber come out and replaced the stems (again!) because the ones from The Home Depot were crap. A water mitigation came out with their industrial centrifugal blowers and place a half dozen of them around the house. 3 in the laundry room, 1 in the bathroom, and 2 in the master bedroom closet because the adjacent wall and carpet were wet. Now we have to have these things blowing for 96 hours straight.
I suppose things could be worse, but it's still really inconvenient. I'll let you know how everything turns out. Thanks for reading.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Bad Karma? Bad Timing? Bad Luck?
"I've got this thing in my freezer and I don't know how to cook it."
The conversation with my friend and workmate, Tony started innocently enough. A frozen beef tip roast has been sitting in my freezer taking up valuable space and despite my collection of cookbooks, none of them has been able to provide me with a simple enough, yet worthy recipe of how I may prepare it. I figured, if anybody, a fellow carnivore may be able to share some insights, perhaps those involving carbon and a little flame. However, the conversation didn't go that way. At least, not at first…
"Dead Cat"
The comment elicited a snicker from Tony. As an amateur humorist, I took this as a cue to go on.
"Yeah… I've still got the collar and everything. It reads, 'Alice'."
Now, this comment (as I was hoping it would) elicited a response from Tony's cubicle neighbor, Maria. The whole reason I said it was because I know she'd be listening and she has a cat named Alice. Maria is also a friend of mine and part of my personality is to tease people about things like that. Morally wrong, I know, but it's all in good fun and generally received as such.
Maria did say that Alice has been getting out recently where she is predominantly an indoor cat. Not wanting to waste an opportunity to keep the bit going, I continued.
"Yeah, it's a long walk for her from Buckeye to my house in Mesa. No wonder she was so tired walking in the middle of the street."
I wrapped it up shortly after that, not wanting to overstay my welcome and we all had to get back to work. I did ask Tony however, if he had any ideas how to cook the beef tip roast I had in my freezer. Being a fellow carnivore, and fan of food, not to mention being 15 years my senior, I thought he could impart some culinary wisdom. Not so. He apologetically said to me that he was better at eating food than cooking it. I made another joke at his expense about not knowing how to microwave popcorn and walked back to my desk.
The following day, on my way over to my desk to start the day, Tony motioned me over to his desk. Maria wasn't there, but I hadn't noticed. He told me that my timing couldn't have been worse. Perplexed by the comment, I asked him why. He told me that Maria's cat, Alice was hit by a car that morning and she went home. I'm not completely soulless, but part of me couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer irony of the whole thing.
Maria's parting words to Tony were, "Be sure to give Glenn a hard time about this," but he too, was laughing at the irony. I know what its like to lose a pet by way of vehicle and I am still sad about it almost 3 years later. After all that, I'm still left with a frozen hunk of beef, shrink-wrapped and taking up valuable space in my freezer. I'll cook it one of these days, I just don't know how…
The conversation with my friend and workmate, Tony started innocently enough. A frozen beef tip roast has been sitting in my freezer taking up valuable space and despite my collection of cookbooks, none of them has been able to provide me with a simple enough, yet worthy recipe of how I may prepare it. I figured, if anybody, a fellow carnivore may be able to share some insights, perhaps those involving carbon and a little flame. However, the conversation didn't go that way. At least, not at first…
"Dead Cat"
The comment elicited a snicker from Tony. As an amateur humorist, I took this as a cue to go on.
"Yeah… I've still got the collar and everything. It reads, 'Alice'."
Now, this comment (as I was hoping it would) elicited a response from Tony's cubicle neighbor, Maria. The whole reason I said it was because I know she'd be listening and she has a cat named Alice. Maria is also a friend of mine and part of my personality is to tease people about things like that. Morally wrong, I know, but it's all in good fun and generally received as such.
Maria did say that Alice has been getting out recently where she is predominantly an indoor cat. Not wanting to waste an opportunity to keep the bit going, I continued.
"Yeah, it's a long walk for her from Buckeye to my house in Mesa. No wonder she was so tired walking in the middle of the street."
I wrapped it up shortly after that, not wanting to overstay my welcome and we all had to get back to work. I did ask Tony however, if he had any ideas how to cook the beef tip roast I had in my freezer. Being a fellow carnivore, and fan of food, not to mention being 15 years my senior, I thought he could impart some culinary wisdom. Not so. He apologetically said to me that he was better at eating food than cooking it. I made another joke at his expense about not knowing how to microwave popcorn and walked back to my desk.
The following day, on my way over to my desk to start the day, Tony motioned me over to his desk. Maria wasn't there, but I hadn't noticed. He told me that my timing couldn't have been worse. Perplexed by the comment, I asked him why. He told me that Maria's cat, Alice was hit by a car that morning and she went home. I'm not completely soulless, but part of me couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer irony of the whole thing.
Maria's parting words to Tony were, "Be sure to give Glenn a hard time about this," but he too, was laughing at the irony. I know what its like to lose a pet by way of vehicle and I am still sad about it almost 3 years later. After all that, I'm still left with a frozen hunk of beef, shrink-wrapped and taking up valuable space in my freezer. I'll cook it one of these days, I just don't know how…
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Update
The holster and memory card arrived via FedEx in a larger than anticipated box a day earlier than expected. So far, I am quite happy with it. It's less cumbersome than my previous bag and despite the fact that it cannot hold my additional lens, it can still hold a lot. Speaking of holding a lot, the memory card is freakin' huge (in capacity). I adjusted my camera's settings to "JPEG Fine" from "JPEG Normal" to increase the quality should I ever want to blow anything up to poster size and the memory card still shows that I have 1,000 pictures available. Oh well, more from me later. I just wanted to share that with you all. Have fun.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Even when you fail to plan, your plan can still fail you
I love to take pictures. It doesn't surprise me that when the hard drive on my personal computer was near the end of its life, I did what most procrastinating reactionaries do and try to back them up before the hard drive goes completely kaput. It doesn't really surprise me that I had over 11,000 digital photos to pull off of there. I am the father of a beautiful 22-month old girl and I love to travel. 8,000 of those photos are probably of my little girl.
A few weeks ago, my wife and daughter packed up and went on a weekend trip to Disneyland and Los Angeles. This post isn't about that trip, sorry. You'll have to wait for the book. Call it what you will, maybe a case of sibling envy or something as simple as technophilia, but last summer, my wife and I shelled out big bucks to purchase a DSLR camera that neither of us know how to work to its full advantage. Looking to take advantage of a package deal, we shelled out more money to get an extra lens, a couple filters, 2 instructional DVDs and a bag to carry all this. Later, we spent even more money on an external flash. Now, aside from looking like a tourist everywhere I go, I look like a damn paparazzo. Lugging around a camera such as this, not to mention all its accessories, can get pretty cumbersome, not to mention heavy.
In an effort ease some travel woes, I went on the e-commerce juggernaut known as Amazon and ordered a camera holster. Not quite as big as a bag, but big enough. I also saw that flash memory is really cheap know, and I figured I'd be taking a lot of pictures, so I splurged and bought a 4GB SDHC card to replace my measly 1GB card I have in there now. For the record, I wound up taking close to 500 pictures the whole weekend. The bag, excuse me, holster was $31.95 and the memory card $12.95. I told you that it was cheap. Heck, I remember when I bought my first digital camera the summer of '02. The largest you could go was 128MB and that cost me almost $100. Anyway, the total was $44.90.
I decided to have it shipped to my in-laws because 1) if it needed a signature when it arrived during the day, the chances of someone being home are far greater than at my place and 2) if the delivery guy would be careless enough to put it on my porch for the world to see, who's to say someone couldn't walk off with it. Granted, I get a lot of my paranoia from my parents, but recently we came home to discover that one of our patio chairs we had moved to our front "stoop" recently disappeared. Hoodlums, no doubt. All the tweakers have moved (I hope).
Back to the story at hand. I ordered this parcel a week before we were to leave for our trip. I did not spring for the extra shipping because a lot of the recent feedback was to the tune of "fast shipping", "got earlier than expected" and the like. Even if it didn't come until we were already on vacation, that's fine. It wasn't absolutely vital to have, it'd just be a convenience.
Well, to make a long story slightly shorter, it never arrived. Delivered by the US Postal Service, documentation states that it was not delivered because the address was not valid. It was valid. I don't know who to blame. The post office, Amazon, or the storefront in Amazon. When such an event occurs, the parcel gets shipped back to the sender in New York and per there policy, refunds the money. 2 weeks after this is set to occur, it finally happens.
My want for such items has not waned in the recent weeks, but in a way this experience was sort of serendipitous. While pining away for my package in the mail, I saw that there was a bigger and better holster for only a few dollars more. It's by the same brand, just a step up. Maybe I'll get that one instead. The holster was $39.95 and the memory card $9.95. The total was $49.90. The holster was a surprisingly $8 more expensive, but surprisingly, the exact same memory card was $3 cheaper only make the order $5 more.
Aside from not completing the ultimate task of actually placing the order in my hands, the storefront I purchased it from did everything right, so I decided to put my letter-writing pen down and give them another shot. We'll see if and when it gets here.
A few weeks ago, my wife and daughter packed up and went on a weekend trip to Disneyland and Los Angeles. This post isn't about that trip, sorry. You'll have to wait for the book. Call it what you will, maybe a case of sibling envy or something as simple as technophilia, but last summer, my wife and I shelled out big bucks to purchase a DSLR camera that neither of us know how to work to its full advantage. Looking to take advantage of a package deal, we shelled out more money to get an extra lens, a couple filters, 2 instructional DVDs and a bag to carry all this. Later, we spent even more money on an external flash. Now, aside from looking like a tourist everywhere I go, I look like a damn paparazzo. Lugging around a camera such as this, not to mention all its accessories, can get pretty cumbersome, not to mention heavy.
In an effort ease some travel woes, I went on the e-commerce juggernaut known as Amazon and ordered a camera holster. Not quite as big as a bag, but big enough. I also saw that flash memory is really cheap know, and I figured I'd be taking a lot of pictures, so I splurged and bought a 4GB SDHC card to replace my measly 1GB card I have in there now. For the record, I wound up taking close to 500 pictures the whole weekend. The bag, excuse me, holster was $31.95 and the memory card $12.95. I told you that it was cheap. Heck, I remember when I bought my first digital camera the summer of '02. The largest you could go was 128MB and that cost me almost $100. Anyway, the total was $44.90.
I decided to have it shipped to my in-laws because 1) if it needed a signature when it arrived during the day, the chances of someone being home are far greater than at my place and 2) if the delivery guy would be careless enough to put it on my porch for the world to see, who's to say someone couldn't walk off with it. Granted, I get a lot of my paranoia from my parents, but recently we came home to discover that one of our patio chairs we had moved to our front "stoop" recently disappeared. Hoodlums, no doubt. All the tweakers have moved (I hope).
Back to the story at hand. I ordered this parcel a week before we were to leave for our trip. I did not spring for the extra shipping because a lot of the recent feedback was to the tune of "fast shipping", "got earlier than expected" and the like. Even if it didn't come until we were already on vacation, that's fine. It wasn't absolutely vital to have, it'd just be a convenience.
Well, to make a long story slightly shorter, it never arrived. Delivered by the US Postal Service, documentation states that it was not delivered because the address was not valid. It was valid. I don't know who to blame. The post office, Amazon, or the storefront in Amazon. When such an event occurs, the parcel gets shipped back to the sender in New York and per there policy, refunds the money. 2 weeks after this is set to occur, it finally happens.
My want for such items has not waned in the recent weeks, but in a way this experience was sort of serendipitous. While pining away for my package in the mail, I saw that there was a bigger and better holster for only a few dollars more. It's by the same brand, just a step up. Maybe I'll get that one instead. The holster was $39.95 and the memory card $9.95. The total was $49.90. The holster was a surprisingly $8 more expensive, but surprisingly, the exact same memory card was $3 cheaper only make the order $5 more.
Aside from not completing the ultimate task of actually placing the order in my hands, the storefront I purchased it from did everything right, so I decided to put my letter-writing pen down and give them another shot. We'll see if and when it gets here.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Getting Back To My Roots
For a while now, I've been thinking about using this blogging forum as means to dispense non-sequitur quips rather than stream of consciousness rants or anything that has an agenda. If any of you out there in cyberspace want to read my media-inspired social diatribes or anything like that, subscribe to my newsletter … or join my religion. A newsletter subscription is included upon conversion.
I'm not saying I'm not going to continue to rant like an uneducated nonsensical street preacher, I'm just going to try and give you all more opportunities to enter the mind of Glenn, which as it has often been said, "It's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there." Think of it like Twitter, but without the 140 character limitation (as I tend to be quite verbose) and potentially not as narcisistic in the vaguely cultish goal to accumulate more "followers". That's what religions are for. I'll just write, and if you choose to read, great. If not, then so be it. This will just be another page on the world wide web that isn't visited. There are plenty of those …
I'm not saying I'm not going to continue to rant like an uneducated nonsensical street preacher, I'm just going to try and give you all more opportunities to enter the mind of Glenn, which as it has often been said, "It's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there." Think of it like Twitter, but without the 140 character limitation (as I tend to be quite verbose) and potentially not as narcisistic in the vaguely cultish goal to accumulate more "followers". That's what religions are for. I'll just write, and if you choose to read, great. If not, then so be it. This will just be another page on the world wide web that isn't visited. There are plenty of those …
Friday, July 4, 2008
Reunited
Forgive me blog, for I have lived. It has been 320 days since my last blogging. Wow. It really has been a long time since I've written. The sad part is I have all these ideas of what I want to write about, including a few unfinished passages saved on my computer. So, it's not really like I don't want to write. I do. It's just that I work on a computer all day, and when it all comes down to it, anything I really want to write about takes second fiddle to me wanting to spend time with my wife and daughter. Well… here we are together again. Writer and Reader. Literary artist and dutiful audience. Sporadic Blogger and … Glenn Fan Club Member. I'm only kidding about that last one. Nevertheless, this is an event that should be recognized. It is, after all, a reunion of sorts, and reunions have been on my mind lately…
It has been 10 years since my wife and I graduated high school. We graduated from different high schools from different towns, but yet both were in Arizona. We have each gotten our respective invitations and were thankful that they were on different weekends so we can go to each other's events. I believe I may have had a trial run of what I think mine may be like at our friends' wedding last summer. Two friends of mine, whom I've known for a good many years and attended junior high and high school with, were married. Casual acquaintances throughout those years, they didn't start dating until after high school, despite attending different colleges many states apart. They've still kept in contact with many of our high school circle of our friends while I remained friends with them on a more isolated level after voluntarily severing ties with the group 7 years prior. At the wedding, my wife and I were seated away from the table of these old comrades and aside from the occasional exchange of pleasantries and the whole "what are you up to now?" conversations from a few of the members, it was evident that we would probably not rekindle the flames of the friendships we once shared.
I've never been a fan of goodbyes. Emotional separations aside, the whole thing seems so definite and terminal. Should the opportunity ever arise where I know this would be the last time I would see a person for 7 years, or perhaps longer, I'd much rather prefer the whole, "…until we meet again". This way, it leaves things potentially a little less awkward once you do, in fact, meet again. Personally I believe that there is not often an opportunity where you wouldn't cross paths with someone you had once known. Through serendipitous circumstance, it has happened to me on more than one occasion. In fact, I had a reunion of sorts last night.
On my weekly visit to my wife at her place of business, she had previously communicated to me that some of my old co-workers were dining at the restaurant she managed. Patrons of other locations within the same company has permitted my wife the opportunity to cross their paths before, but I have yet to have the opportunity to see them since 2005. Their names are Norman and Edwin. They're brothers, a few years older than me, but during the early stages of my career, they were peers as well as colleagues. We all worked for the same company in different capacities, but we were all there with 2 others when the doors closed for the final time in the fall of 2005. Normally, Norm would take out his family to any number of restaurants in the area around his home, including the store at which my wife once worked. Due to corporate downsizing it has since closed and more recently another closed so that left Norm to take his family to a restaurant outside his usual perimeter to redeem coupons his children had received. Coincidentally, it was the night my wife was working and also the night I came to see her.
We shot the breeze like old times and it was nice to see how big Norm's son had gotten and I even got the chance to see a baby girl that I'd heard about, but never seen. But this isn't the story I want to tell you about. I want to tell you a story of a reunion that didn't happen by coincidence, but purely random chance.
In early May, before the temperatures rose and the gas prices skyrocketed, Liz and I packed up the baby in the new(ish) SUV and set out on a road trip. It was the first vacation we've taken since the baby was born last November. I called it "The Great Southwestern Road Trip" but all it really did was create a big loop between Arizona and New Mexico. Our mission was simple. Visit with friends. Show off baby. See the countryside, no matter how desolate and arid it may be. Spanning a little under a week, we saw dinosaurs in Holbrook (Ariz.), a giant roadrunner made of trash outside of Las Cruces (N.M.) and came up short on our quest for chicken at a KFC in Lordsburg, New Mexico.
On the second stop on our 3-city tour, we pulled into a Super 8 Motel in Las Cruces. At the front desk, while checking in, I was observing the local reading material provided as a service to the guests. One piece caught my eye. It was small newspaper, showcasing the latest in local events, celebrity gossip and some other stuff called "What's Up?" I took an issue with me to read later while in the motel room. Later that evening, I had just settled in for a little "me" time and opened the newspaper to read. Since I've started working at a newspaper in the advertising department, I pay attention to the advertisements before the copy. Something caught my eye though. On page 2, the inside flap, I noticed the roster of the paper. Instantly, without any particular reason, I was immediately fixated on a name. The name before "Production Manager/Graphic Artist". It was a name I recognized.
In the Southwestern United States, the name Edgar Gonzalez is not all that uncommon. The Arizona Diamondbacks have a pitcher by that name. It's a different guy because this Edgar Gonzalez was in advertising. … This Edgar was from El Paso, where this publication was produced. … This Edgar had a middle initial of "B". … This Edgar … was a friend of mine in college.
… Or at least it could be. Like I said, there are probably dozens of Edgar Gonzalez, perhaps even hundreds. I suppose the only way to find out if this was the Edgar I knew was to call him. It was past working hours, so calling him was out of the question. It'd have to wait 'till morning. And wait I did.
When I placed the call to the number in the paper and dialed his extension, I was greeted by a voicemail message. It sounded like the guy I knew, but it was hard to tell, because I hadn't spoken to him since he graduated from the Associates program 3 months before I did, in the year 2000. I left a message, bizarre as it may sound to the casual listener, much less the person receiving it if in the event it was not the Edgar I thought I knew.
A little while later, he called back. It was him! I could hardly believe it. It seemed so surreal. We talked for about 30 – 45 minutes about how I figured it out it was him, and of course, the whole "what are you up to now?" questions, but we parted with the possibility of once again, opening the lines of communication. We hadn't seen each other, much less talked since the day of his portfolio review in March of 2000 with none so much as a email address or a phone number to stay in touch. College isn't like high school, you can't scrawl "K.I.T." on yearbooks. It's a lot more difficult than that, but at the very least it's important to remember that there are people out there and whereas you may think you may never see them again, there's always the possibility you will and friendships have the opportunity to be rekindled. Goodnight, my friend. Until we meet again…
It has been 10 years since my wife and I graduated high school. We graduated from different high schools from different towns, but yet both were in Arizona. We have each gotten our respective invitations and were thankful that they were on different weekends so we can go to each other's events. I believe I may have had a trial run of what I think mine may be like at our friends' wedding last summer. Two friends of mine, whom I've known for a good many years and attended junior high and high school with, were married. Casual acquaintances throughout those years, they didn't start dating until after high school, despite attending different colleges many states apart. They've still kept in contact with many of our high school circle of our friends while I remained friends with them on a more isolated level after voluntarily severing ties with the group 7 years prior. At the wedding, my wife and I were seated away from the table of these old comrades and aside from the occasional exchange of pleasantries and the whole "what are you up to now?" conversations from a few of the members, it was evident that we would probably not rekindle the flames of the friendships we once shared.
I've never been a fan of goodbyes. Emotional separations aside, the whole thing seems so definite and terminal. Should the opportunity ever arise where I know this would be the last time I would see a person for 7 years, or perhaps longer, I'd much rather prefer the whole, "…until we meet again". This way, it leaves things potentially a little less awkward once you do, in fact, meet again. Personally I believe that there is not often an opportunity where you wouldn't cross paths with someone you had once known. Through serendipitous circumstance, it has happened to me on more than one occasion. In fact, I had a reunion of sorts last night.
On my weekly visit to my wife at her place of business, she had previously communicated to me that some of my old co-workers were dining at the restaurant she managed. Patrons of other locations within the same company has permitted my wife the opportunity to cross their paths before, but I have yet to have the opportunity to see them since 2005. Their names are Norman and Edwin. They're brothers, a few years older than me, but during the early stages of my career, they were peers as well as colleagues. We all worked for the same company in different capacities, but we were all there with 2 others when the doors closed for the final time in the fall of 2005. Normally, Norm would take out his family to any number of restaurants in the area around his home, including the store at which my wife once worked. Due to corporate downsizing it has since closed and more recently another closed so that left Norm to take his family to a restaurant outside his usual perimeter to redeem coupons his children had received. Coincidentally, it was the night my wife was working and also the night I came to see her.
We shot the breeze like old times and it was nice to see how big Norm's son had gotten and I even got the chance to see a baby girl that I'd heard about, but never seen. But this isn't the story I want to tell you about. I want to tell you a story of a reunion that didn't happen by coincidence, but purely random chance.
In early May, before the temperatures rose and the gas prices skyrocketed, Liz and I packed up the baby in the new(ish) SUV and set out on a road trip. It was the first vacation we've taken since the baby was born last November. I called it "The Great Southwestern Road Trip" but all it really did was create a big loop between Arizona and New Mexico. Our mission was simple. Visit with friends. Show off baby. See the countryside, no matter how desolate and arid it may be. Spanning a little under a week, we saw dinosaurs in Holbrook (Ariz.), a giant roadrunner made of trash outside of Las Cruces (N.M.) and came up short on our quest for chicken at a KFC in Lordsburg, New Mexico.
On the second stop on our 3-city tour, we pulled into a Super 8 Motel in Las Cruces. At the front desk, while checking in, I was observing the local reading material provided as a service to the guests. One piece caught my eye. It was small newspaper, showcasing the latest in local events, celebrity gossip and some other stuff called "What's Up?" I took an issue with me to read later while in the motel room. Later that evening, I had just settled in for a little "me" time and opened the newspaper to read. Since I've started working at a newspaper in the advertising department, I pay attention to the advertisements before the copy. Something caught my eye though. On page 2, the inside flap, I noticed the roster of the paper. Instantly, without any particular reason, I was immediately fixated on a name. The name before "Production Manager/Graphic Artist". It was a name I recognized.
In the Southwestern United States, the name Edgar Gonzalez is not all that uncommon. The Arizona Diamondbacks have a pitcher by that name. It's a different guy because this Edgar Gonzalez was in advertising. … This Edgar was from El Paso, where this publication was produced. … This Edgar had a middle initial of "B". … This Edgar … was a friend of mine in college.
… Or at least it could be. Like I said, there are probably dozens of Edgar Gonzalez, perhaps even hundreds. I suppose the only way to find out if this was the Edgar I knew was to call him. It was past working hours, so calling him was out of the question. It'd have to wait 'till morning. And wait I did.
When I placed the call to the number in the paper and dialed his extension, I was greeted by a voicemail message. It sounded like the guy I knew, but it was hard to tell, because I hadn't spoken to him since he graduated from the Associates program 3 months before I did, in the year 2000. I left a message, bizarre as it may sound to the casual listener, much less the person receiving it if in the event it was not the Edgar I thought I knew.
A little while later, he called back. It was him! I could hardly believe it. It seemed so surreal. We talked for about 30 – 45 minutes about how I figured it out it was him, and of course, the whole "what are you up to now?" questions, but we parted with the possibility of once again, opening the lines of communication. We hadn't seen each other, much less talked since the day of his portfolio review in March of 2000 with none so much as a email address or a phone number to stay in touch. College isn't like high school, you can't scrawl "K.I.T." on yearbooks. It's a lot more difficult than that, but at the very least it's important to remember that there are people out there and whereas you may think you may never see them again, there's always the possibility you will and friendships have the opportunity to be rekindled. Goodnight, my friend. Until we meet again…
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Measure of a Man's Wealth
I know it has been a while since I've posted, but my passive attempts at achieving worldwide fame have gone unnoticed and therefore unsuccessful. Nevertheless, there may be many reasons why you're reading this post. Perhaps you're the type of person who peruses blogspot.com, or perhaps while searching Google in the quest for knowledge, you click "more" to search the blogs. Almost sounds like a metaphor for life, doesn't it? How many times do we look for information and when we take it one step further to search for more, all we find is random people's opinions?
Maybe it's not any of the reasons above. It could just be that you've read some of my previous postings and you have enjoyed them enough to read this one as well. After all, if you're reading the sentence in context, I thank you for your continued support. Worldwide fame is that much closer. Taking it back a bit, the primary reason you've found yourself here is not because you're on some existential quest, but probably because you saw a link on MySpace and decided to click it. You are, after all, a friend.
Being a friend of mine, I thought I'd share with you little bit about everyone else in this community called my friends list. All 50 of you. I'm not much of one for statistics, which is why I chose to do it now. 50 is a nice round number and easy to extract percentages from it with little arithmetic. I first got this idea before I actually reached 50 friends on MySpace. Interestingly enough, there's an error in the page code where it miscounts the actual number tricking you into have more friends that you actually do. "Oh cruel fate, why do you mock me?" (Simpson, 1990) Sounds like I need to talk with certain 2% of you who can't count. Tom, I'm looking in your direction. I later discovered that this error is simply a bug in the code that counts the friends that have actually accepted you to be their friends and for whatever reason (if their account is deleted, they sever MySpace ties with you, etc.) their little avatar may go away, but they are still in the count. You have to go in and physically delete them from your list
It wasn't too long ago since (out of complete boredom) I analytically organized a list of another group of fifty to the point of even making a pie chart out of the data. It was the 50 states of the union and their corresponding two-letter postal code. If you wish to know details, it is simply this. I plotted data as to organize the postal code correlation to the full name of each state and tallied which relationship(s) said postal code fell in to. For instance, CA, California's postal code falls into the First 2 Letters category as well as the First & Last Letters category. This unique combination, held by only a few states, was enough to warrant a separate category on its own and therefore precludes it from being categorized in either of the two other categories. 5 is 2+3, and 4+1, but 5 can't be in with the 1's, 2's, 3's or 4's. Isn't that right, Tom?
I no longer have that data, but I'm sure given minimal effort I could figure it all out again. With today's technology, I could even make a new pie graph, maybe 3-D, with a drop shadow. Anyway, I've stalled long enough. Here's the real reason you're all here. I warn you. Anyone who has a phobia or a strong adversity to statistics, please leave now. Otherwise, prepared to completely bored and delve into another dark corridor that is Glenn's brain.
58% of you, my friends, are male. Simple subtraction states that 42% of you are female. 26% you attended the same high school, and coincidentally 26% have shared the same employer. Almost six years since graduating from college at AIPx, only 6% have accepted me to be your "friend". Conversely, twice as many attended ASU. The same amount attended elementary school with me as well. 16% of you and I went to jr. high together. I was in scouts with 14% of you.
I'm related to only 4% of you through blood, yet 6% of my friends are celebrities whom I've never met. MySpace is not only an excellent place for fans to communicate with their favorite celebrities, it's a place for musicians to share their talent with the rest of the world. Another 6% of you have music oriented pages. 16% of you I consider friends I've originally met through other friends but we're all friends, so that doesn't matter. And since MySpace is such a great place to keep in touch with people it allows me to keep in touch with 30% of you who no longer live in Arizona.
Despite the numbers, 100% of you, for whatever reason, agreed to be my friend. When it all comes down to it, it's not always money or worldwide fame that describes a man's treasures. It's his friends, and for that I consider myself to be very rich. Thank you.
Maybe it's not any of the reasons above. It could just be that you've read some of my previous postings and you have enjoyed them enough to read this one as well. After all, if you're reading the sentence in context, I thank you for your continued support. Worldwide fame is that much closer. Taking it back a bit, the primary reason you've found yourself here is not because you're on some existential quest, but probably because you saw a link on MySpace and decided to click it. You are, after all, a friend.
Being a friend of mine, I thought I'd share with you little bit about everyone else in this community called my friends list. All 50 of you. I'm not much of one for statistics, which is why I chose to do it now. 50 is a nice round number and easy to extract percentages from it with little arithmetic. I first got this idea before I actually reached 50 friends on MySpace. Interestingly enough, there's an error in the page code where it miscounts the actual number tricking you into have more friends that you actually do. "Oh cruel fate, why do you mock me?" (Simpson, 1990) Sounds like I need to talk with certain 2% of you who can't count. Tom, I'm looking in your direction. I later discovered that this error is simply a bug in the code that counts the friends that have actually accepted you to be their friends and for whatever reason (if their account is deleted, they sever MySpace ties with you, etc.) their little avatar may go away, but they are still in the count. You have to go in and physically delete them from your list
It wasn't too long ago since (out of complete boredom) I analytically organized a list of another group of fifty to the point of even making a pie chart out of the data. It was the 50 states of the union and their corresponding two-letter postal code. If you wish to know details, it is simply this. I plotted data as to organize the postal code correlation to the full name of each state and tallied which relationship(s) said postal code fell in to. For instance, CA, California's postal code falls into the First 2 Letters category as well as the First & Last Letters category. This unique combination, held by only a few states, was enough to warrant a separate category on its own and therefore precludes it from being categorized in either of the two other categories. 5 is 2+3, and 4+1, but 5 can't be in with the 1's, 2's, 3's or 4's. Isn't that right, Tom?
I no longer have that data, but I'm sure given minimal effort I could figure it all out again. With today's technology, I could even make a new pie graph, maybe 3-D, with a drop shadow. Anyway, I've stalled long enough. Here's the real reason you're all here. I warn you. Anyone who has a phobia or a strong adversity to statistics, please leave now. Otherwise, prepared to completely bored and delve into another dark corridor that is Glenn's brain.
58% of you, my friends, are male. Simple subtraction states that 42% of you are female. 26% you attended the same high school, and coincidentally 26% have shared the same employer. Almost six years since graduating from college at AIPx, only 6% have accepted me to be your "friend". Conversely, twice as many attended ASU. The same amount attended elementary school with me as well. 16% of you and I went to jr. high together. I was in scouts with 14% of you.
I'm related to only 4% of you through blood, yet 6% of my friends are celebrities whom I've never met. MySpace is not only an excellent place for fans to communicate with their favorite celebrities, it's a place for musicians to share their talent with the rest of the world. Another 6% of you have music oriented pages. 16% of you I consider friends I've originally met through other friends but we're all friends, so that doesn't matter. And since MySpace is such a great place to keep in touch with people it allows me to keep in touch with 30% of you who no longer live in Arizona.
Despite the numbers, 100% of you, for whatever reason, agreed to be my friend. When it all comes down to it, it's not always money or worldwide fame that describes a man's treasures. It's his friends, and for that I consider myself to be very rich. Thank you.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Dolphin Safe Motorist
Disclaimer: The following paragraphs represent the opinion of one man, the author. If another man shares the same opinion, then it would be the opinions of two men and so forth. Given the nature of the author and his literary style, there may be word usements structured (Martin, 1991) and perhaps even spellings or words in general that may not be actual words. Deal with it.
There is a topic that I'd like to comment on today that is featured on most major news networks on an almost daily basis. LIke many others, I am quite angered by the particular topic. No, it's not the fultility of the war, I could go on great lengths about that. I'm talking about something that may or may not be affected by such a travesty. For weeks, I've sat idly by, stewing in my own juices of disgust, but when it affects other aspects of my life, then it is time to proclaim my frustration of such injustices to an open audience for whomever may read it.
A while back, my debit card's number had been compromised and thus rendered invalid by my financial institution. Someone neglected to tell me this prior to or included with the replacement card and subsequent randomly generated PIN mailed before the card began declining. If anyone has ever had a card decline, it can be an embarrassing and puzzling occurence when you share an account with someone and they are able to use their card without issue. As a matter of coincidence, the cesation of function on this particular card became apparent after work hours on a Friday at the beginning of a three-day weekend with governmental holiday. I would have to place my consumerist compulisions and find time to go to the bank on a more convenient time for them and me.
As I was standing in line waiting to speak with a teller, my credit union has been nice enough to provide those waiting, as well as passersby in the megamarket where the branch is located a pairing of flat panel, LCD screens to advertise their services as well as provide news highlights. It's nice to see where my money is being put to good use. Now, I'm paraphrasing here, but I saw something that frustrated me like a Geico caveman on a moving sidewalk in an airport. "Because of gas prices of over $3 dollars a gallon last year, Exxon Mobil has posted record profits."
Record PROFITS? I don't know who to be angry at more. Is it Exxon Mobil for inflating their prices so they can earn an annual profit of $39.5 BILLION, or the media outlets that lied to us saying that the price of crude oil is going up so the prices have to be increased. Call me selfish. I drive a pickup truck, my wife an SUV, so we may not be the most green people when it comes to the use of finite resourcess. Call me ethnocentric to think that the country that uses the most of said finite resources should get a break on cost where other nations are paying a lot more than we are. Now, for every dollar that we spend on gas, there are various entities that get paid different amounts. That's fine. I understand that. People gotta live.
I didn't learn much in Economics in high school because I was taught by a cynical embittered Viet Nam vet whose focus was on MacroEconomics, a topic most myopic and self-centered high school seniors could care less about. That, and it was first hour during the spring semester. How much do you retain? Anyway. Basic economics teaches that to generate a profit, one has to earn more than they spend on whatever service or good they provide whether it be manhours or tangible product. It doesn't take much to earn a profit. Hell, a profit could be one penny. Sure, [no one] can really live off a penny, but look at the number above. Let's say Exxon Mobil has 10,000 employees. Sounds plausible, right? I like working with easily divisible numbers. If the above profits were shared equally amongst the 10,000 employees, then everyone would be get $39,500. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way and who knows if there are 10,000 employees anyway? My point is. Who needs that much money where the rest of the country is pinching pennies elsewhere so they can just get to work.
Now I hear on the news that the price of milk and eggs are going up because of higher gas prices. Eggs and milk? I'm sure it doesn't end there. What other staples of general consumption will be affected. In the meantime, people may just resort to getting their eggs by buying their filthy feathered producers by the dozen instead of the eggs themselves. Eggs are a popular symbol of birth, especially with the Christian holiday of Easter coming up. This year, they may as well be a symbol of greed.
There is a topic that I'd like to comment on today that is featured on most major news networks on an almost daily basis. LIke many others, I am quite angered by the particular topic. No, it's not the fultility of the war, I could go on great lengths about that. I'm talking about something that may or may not be affected by such a travesty. For weeks, I've sat idly by, stewing in my own juices of disgust, but when it affects other aspects of my life, then it is time to proclaim my frustration of such injustices to an open audience for whomever may read it.
A while back, my debit card's number had been compromised and thus rendered invalid by my financial institution. Someone neglected to tell me this prior to or included with the replacement card and subsequent randomly generated PIN mailed before the card began declining. If anyone has ever had a card decline, it can be an embarrassing and puzzling occurence when you share an account with someone and they are able to use their card without issue. As a matter of coincidence, the cesation of function on this particular card became apparent after work hours on a Friday at the beginning of a three-day weekend with governmental holiday. I would have to place my consumerist compulisions and find time to go to the bank on a more convenient time for them and me.
As I was standing in line waiting to speak with a teller, my credit union has been nice enough to provide those waiting, as well as passersby in the megamarket where the branch is located a pairing of flat panel, LCD screens to advertise their services as well as provide news highlights. It's nice to see where my money is being put to good use. Now, I'm paraphrasing here, but I saw something that frustrated me like a Geico caveman on a moving sidewalk in an airport. "Because of gas prices of over $3 dollars a gallon last year, Exxon Mobil has posted record profits."
Record PROFITS? I don't know who to be angry at more. Is it Exxon Mobil for inflating their prices so they can earn an annual profit of $39.5 BILLION, or the media outlets that lied to us saying that the price of crude oil is going up so the prices have to be increased. Call me selfish. I drive a pickup truck, my wife an SUV, so we may not be the most green people when it comes to the use of finite resourcess. Call me ethnocentric to think that the country that uses the most of said finite resources should get a break on cost where other nations are paying a lot more than we are. Now, for every dollar that we spend on gas, there are various entities that get paid different amounts. That's fine. I understand that. People gotta live.
I didn't learn much in Economics in high school because I was taught by a cynical embittered Viet Nam vet whose focus was on MacroEconomics, a topic most myopic and self-centered high school seniors could care less about. That, and it was first hour during the spring semester. How much do you retain? Anyway. Basic economics teaches that to generate a profit, one has to earn more than they spend on whatever service or good they provide whether it be manhours or tangible product. It doesn't take much to earn a profit. Hell, a profit could be one penny. Sure, [no one] can really live off a penny, but look at the number above. Let's say Exxon Mobil has 10,000 employees. Sounds plausible, right? I like working with easily divisible numbers. If the above profits were shared equally amongst the 10,000 employees, then everyone would be get $39,500. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way and who knows if there are 10,000 employees anyway? My point is. Who needs that much money where the rest of the country is pinching pennies elsewhere so they can just get to work.
Now I hear on the news that the price of milk and eggs are going up because of higher gas prices. Eggs and milk? I'm sure it doesn't end there. What other staples of general consumption will be affected. In the meantime, people may just resort to getting their eggs by buying their filthy feathered producers by the dozen instead of the eggs themselves. Eggs are a popular symbol of birth, especially with the Christian holiday of Easter coming up. This year, they may as well be a symbol of greed.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Why 'Fast Food Sign'?
Hello, and welcome to my blog. I started this at the suggestion of my wife, Liz after a series of frustrated rants (none of which were directed at her). The truth of the matter is that I had actually thought about starting a blog long before they were popular. Many of you are probably going, "Yeah, right. Everybody says they were thinking about doing something before it got popular," like joining MySpace, for instance.
Your first thought may be, "Why 'Fast Food Sign'? If not, the title of this posting asked it for you. My original idea for a blog, came about when I was still in college. Toward the end of my time at The Art Institute of Phoenix, many of my classes would end at 10 pm and it would be a half-hour drive home. Liz and I had been dating for a while and it was common of me to go over to her parents house to hang out with her after school.
On my way home, there was a Burger King at an intersection I often stopped at. The intersection was McKellips and Country Club Drive in Mesa. Like some fast food restaurants, this Burger King had a marquee, back-lit with fluorescent lighting and black block letters would be placed. Often, establishments such as this use this space to advertise specials like a 99¢ Whopper where "For a Limited Time" lasted six years. This sign was different. I'd only assume it was the manager, or the owner of this Burger King, that used this real estate for something else. Space was limited, but that didn't keep [whomever] from posting a little rumination, if you will, generally on the subject of politics or current events. I was inspired by this act and I too was looking for an outlet.
Originally, it would be a daily blurb, posted on a web site offering personal insights for any who would like to read it. There were aspirations to make it "the next big thing", but my real goal was to get my thoughts down and maybe draw a chuckle or an inquisitive "hmmm" from a reader. Daily life and personal laziness has prevented this vehicle from coming to fruition until some 5 oer 6 years later, and the same will probably prevent my daily ruminations from actually being just that, daily.
I've got few rants inside my head already, and I'll probably spew them out in some stream of consciousness nonsense when I have time. Unfortunately, we've got a new puppy and I hear some rustling downstairs. He's probably up to no good. Therefore, I must wrap this up for the evening with an old email signature I once had.
Stay tuned for another episode of… "The __(fill in the blank)__ Adventures of Glenn!" Good night.
Your first thought may be, "Why 'Fast Food Sign'? If not, the title of this posting asked it for you. My original idea for a blog, came about when I was still in college. Toward the end of my time at The Art Institute of Phoenix, many of my classes would end at 10 pm and it would be a half-hour drive home. Liz and I had been dating for a while and it was common of me to go over to her parents house to hang out with her after school.
On my way home, there was a Burger King at an intersection I often stopped at. The intersection was McKellips and Country Club Drive in Mesa. Like some fast food restaurants, this Burger King had a marquee, back-lit with fluorescent lighting and black block letters would be placed. Often, establishments such as this use this space to advertise specials like a 99¢ Whopper where "For a Limited Time" lasted six years. This sign was different. I'd only assume it was the manager, or the owner of this Burger King, that used this real estate for something else. Space was limited, but that didn't keep [whomever] from posting a little rumination, if you will, generally on the subject of politics or current events. I was inspired by this act and I too was looking for an outlet.
Originally, it would be a daily blurb, posted on a web site offering personal insights for any who would like to read it. There were aspirations to make it "the next big thing", but my real goal was to get my thoughts down and maybe draw a chuckle or an inquisitive "hmmm" from a reader. Daily life and personal laziness has prevented this vehicle from coming to fruition until some 5 oer 6 years later, and the same will probably prevent my daily ruminations from actually being just that, daily.
I've got few rants inside my head already, and I'll probably spew them out in some stream of consciousness nonsense when I have time. Unfortunately, we've got a new puppy and I hear some rustling downstairs. He's probably up to no good. Therefore, I must wrap this up for the evening with an old email signature I once had.
Stay tuned for another episode of… "The __(fill in the blank)__ Adventures of Glenn!" Good night.
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