For some reason, last week I got it into my head that I needed a new suit. I own a black suit, but it doesn't fit me all that well and so I was hoping to get something new to wear for a birthday party that I am allegedly invited to and even, perhaps, for my upcoming Vegas trip.
So I got it into my head that I needed a new suit, but I didn't have any idea about my measurements.
I looked online for a suit that would be reasonable, thinking I could get it hemmed or whatever they do to make things fit better once I received it. I still didn't know my suit measurements, however.
I went into Men's Wearhouse yesterday, thinking I could get in, get the info, and get out. I wasn't eager to buy there for one primary reason: salesdudes.
Several years ago, well before the current version of my life, I went into Men's Wearhouse to get a suit. I went with my ex- and I was educated/talked to for a long time by a salesdude that seemed about 0.13% (that is about one part in 800) sincere. Maybe I read him wrong, and he was just really passionate about getting people into new clothes so they'd look better, but...
Anyway, I walked into the store I was immediately greeted. Not like a, "What's up?"-type of greeting, but a "I want to sell you a car TODAY!"-type of greeting. My distaste was ameliorated by several large signs up around the store: 50% off all suits. Hmm. Maybe I would buy something.
Or maybe not.
The guy who had pounced upon me talked to me for about 37 seconds, grabbed a suit from the rack, had me try on the jacket and then said he'd be back.
Where was he going? I didn't know. What was I supposed to do other than stare at myself in the mirror while he was gone? I didn't know.
After about five minutes, I noticed he was wrapping up a transaction with another customer... OK. Fine. He'll be right with me, right ... ?
Well. He wasn't. He disappeared again, and I was staring at myself in the same charcoal 39L jacket (which fit pretty well) and I was bored and irritated. Why the f would I want to spend that large of a chunk of my Saturday morning like that?
Further, I was not alone. I was not being actively served, but I was standing next to a salesdude. THE salesdude. After six+ years, the same guy who had helped me was still working there, and still was brimming with the pseudo-passion that he had exhibited so many years before.
After what seemed like forever (but was probably about three minutes more) of not seeing my salesdude, I removed the jacket. I set the suit down. I walked out the store.
That is definitely not the way to sell me a suit.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
I Saw a Dead Man Today
Life is, in many ways, a series of firsts. The first day of school. The first kiss. The first time you see a dead person.
It's not every day that you see a dead man.
Unless "every day" is today and "you" are me. Or you are I. Or however one would state that properly.
I saw a dead man today.
It was not a funeral. It was not the Bodies exhibit. It was a guy, lying outside his apartment building, who had put a gun to his head and turned his body into meat.
We were told, afterwards, that he had purchased a gun two weeks beforehand, and that he had a box full of bullets and he had only removed one. And that one was all it took.
I don't know the man. I don't know why he had tattoos where he did or why he was wearing the hat that he was or what he had for lunch before he took his own life. I certainly don't know why he chose to kill himself.
All I know is that it was a unique experience for me. I would imagine that I will see more dead bodies at some point in my life after this (it seems mathematically probable) but I'll never see a dead body for the first time. While I don't know if the second time will be like the first or, in its own way unique, I am sure this will prove to be unique.
The first thing I noticed was the surreal nature of it. I could see the body through a window, and watched the way the police looked into the situation: they checked his pockets, they took pictures, they placed his hands in paper bags--presumably to protect GSR, although I can't be sure.
That I even know a term like "GSR" indicates why, perhaps, it was so surreal.
It was not that it reminded me of my own mortality. It was not that I felt an overwhelming sadness for a man I never met. It was not that a totally normal day had been interrupted by a unique experience.
It was that it felt a bit like television: looking through a transparent rectangular portal to a scene that was totally foreign to me.
Another odd aspect of this was... irrational happiness. I feel a bit bad even admitting this, but the fact that he was dead and I was alive made me almost giddy. Intellectually, I would have much rather been bored and a stranger be alive, but rather than blaming this odd behavior on some sort of perverted sense of right and wrong, I will call it defense mechanism.
Laughter is a defense mechanism and black humor (the Dr. Stranglove kind, not the Kat Williams kind) is an extension of that, I think... dealing with taboo and difficult situations by twisting them until you can't help but laugh. I wasn't laughing due to the corpse within eyeshot, but I wasn't reacting in the sad manner I would have predicted, either.
Further, during and following battles where people are dying, some people feel elation. This seemingly counterintuitive response may be another way of the body rejecting the possibility/probability of its death. Obviously I was in no danger, but maybe subconsciously I felt more vulnerable than normal, and my body was just pleased to still be alive.
Maybe, of course, I am damaged. Maybe, of course, I am twisted. Maybe.
But I'm alive and I'm glad that I get to keep thinking about it. And I'm not looking forward to seeing how I respond to the next dead body I see.
It's not every day that you see a dead man.
Unless "every day" is today and "you" are me. Or you are I. Or however one would state that properly.
I saw a dead man today.
It was not a funeral. It was not the Bodies exhibit. It was a guy, lying outside his apartment building, who had put a gun to his head and turned his body into meat.
We were told, afterwards, that he had purchased a gun two weeks beforehand, and that he had a box full of bullets and he had only removed one. And that one was all it took.
I don't know the man. I don't know why he had tattoos where he did or why he was wearing the hat that he was or what he had for lunch before he took his own life. I certainly don't know why he chose to kill himself.
All I know is that it was a unique experience for me. I would imagine that I will see more dead bodies at some point in my life after this (it seems mathematically probable) but I'll never see a dead body for the first time. While I don't know if the second time will be like the first or, in its own way unique, I am sure this will prove to be unique.
The first thing I noticed was the surreal nature of it. I could see the body through a window, and watched the way the police looked into the situation: they checked his pockets, they took pictures, they placed his hands in paper bags--presumably to protect GSR, although I can't be sure.
That I even know a term like "GSR" indicates why, perhaps, it was so surreal.
It was not that it reminded me of my own mortality. It was not that I felt an overwhelming sadness for a man I never met. It was not that a totally normal day had been interrupted by a unique experience.
It was that it felt a bit like television: looking through a transparent rectangular portal to a scene that was totally foreign to me.
Another odd aspect of this was... irrational happiness. I feel a bit bad even admitting this, but the fact that he was dead and I was alive made me almost giddy. Intellectually, I would have much rather been bored and a stranger be alive, but rather than blaming this odd behavior on some sort of perverted sense of right and wrong, I will call it defense mechanism.
Laughter is a defense mechanism and black humor (the Dr. Stranglove kind, not the Kat Williams kind) is an extension of that, I think... dealing with taboo and difficult situations by twisting them until you can't help but laugh. I wasn't laughing due to the corpse within eyeshot, but I wasn't reacting in the sad manner I would have predicted, either.
Further, during and following battles where people are dying, some people feel elation. This seemingly counterintuitive response may be another way of the body rejecting the possibility/probability of its death. Obviously I was in no danger, but maybe subconsciously I felt more vulnerable than normal, and my body was just pleased to still be alive.
Maybe, of course, I am damaged. Maybe, of course, I am twisted. Maybe.
But I'm alive and I'm glad that I get to keep thinking about it. And I'm not looking forward to seeing how I respond to the next dead body I see.
Sexual Bending or Comic Sans
I read this earlier today. It involves this announcement for a Wisconsin dance:
I am the last person to fight the power, but:
- Comic sans? Really?
- "No blue jeans" rules are ridiculous. I guess I can understand a blanket "no holes in pants" and/or "no underwear showing" rule, but the continued discrimination against blue jeans (whether at a prom or on a golf course) is ridiculous.
- I had never heard of the term "sexual bending" before... but I'm disappointed to learn that it's only things like "hands on knees". Maybe I've spent too much time in Capitol Hill.
- I think they meant "ensure". But when someone's using Comic Sans looking at grammar seems particularly nitpicky.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
(-er)? Maybe. Old? Not quite yet.
I am the last person in the world who would claim to be whining-free. I like to vent/complain/bemoan/bitch/say "FML" as much as the next guy.
(Probably not as much as the next chick, though, when it comes to saying "FML". I have only seen two guys do it and both of them had their dude card revoked.)
In spite of this general lack of reluctance to whine, I think I've done a reasonably good job of accepting my advancing years with some grace. I rarely complain about the three or four gray hairs I have, and I don't find getting out of bed more difficult now than I did, say, a decade ago. I even attribute my primary physical pain to poor ergonomics, rather that Father Time's invisible hand gripping my right shoulder blade 20 hours a day.
With all of this said? I have been wondering if I've felt old the last week or so. A few little encounters have made given me pause:
On Saturday night I went with some peeps to Hula Hula. I hadn't been there in a month or so, and with my lingering sore throat I hadn't sung much karaoke recently. I had turned in a song and was having a rum and diet when I was approached by a guy I used to bump into around the neighborhood quite a bit.
You remember in school that there were kids you knew you were not supposed to make fun of, but you did it anyway? Maybe the kid was always dirty, or maybe he smelled bad, or maybe he was mentally slow, or maybe he was a girl. In any case, upon reflection as an adult you wish you hadn't mocked/bullied/mock-bullied?
Well, this guy is one of those kinds of guys. As an adult, I find him strange and off-putting. He's got several things about him that can make the kid in me giggle at him and the adult in me creeped out by him... but I try to treat him with respect and understand that if everyone did then his life would probably be better for it.
Anyway, he was there. He came over to me, as I was drinking my rum and diet, and asked how I was doing, etc., etc. Totally fine and normal conversation until he sort of stopped me with--out of the blue--this proclamation:
Hmm.
It would have been easy to respond with, "You look ugly, stupid-head!" but I did not. I think I joked about how that was sort of rude.
But did I look tired, even though I didn't feel tired? Don't old people look tired when they don't feel tired?
Sunday was the NFL conference championship games. I had been up pretty late Saturday night, but given that the games didn't start until noon I was in prime position to watch both of them. I had no rooting interest, though, and ... just didn't care.
When the second game rolled around, I watched (partially, as I worked on something on my compter) the first quarter and then ... took a long nap. I woke up just in time to turn on the TV and see the Saints kick their game-winning field goal in overtime. And felt nothing. Not merely a lack of excitement, but a lack of interest.
This might be traced back to a lack of someone to root for. During the regular season, I play fantasy football and it gives me players and teams to root for each week (indeed, in most games of every week). Maybe I'm accustomed/programmed to feel that rush of adrenaline in every game, and when it's gone, the interest is gone.
I've noticed something else, though, with the one team I do root for: the Portland Trail Blazers. I made it through the close losses against the Lakers. I weathered the years where they were mocked as the "Jail Blazers". I even managed to make it through losing Greg Oden (one of the best prospects ever) to a knee injury for a year before he played his first game.
But this year? So many injuries. Greg Oden, in his third year, was lost for the rest of the year after the first part of the season, and he's been joined by over a half-dozen teammates with injuries of varying level of severity.
I still watch the Blazers. But I miss games sometimes if I forget to record the games. I don't get upset when they lose on last-second shots. I won't be disappointed if they miss the playoffs this year.
I tell myself that I will care more next year, when the team (including Oden) is healthier. But will I? Have I lost the innocence that is so often associated with sports fandom? Don't old people give up on primarily meaningless hopes that can be easily crushed through no fault of their own?
Monday, after seemingly an eternity, I finally made it back to the dentist's office. Up until this past year, when a little thing called "Funemployment" derailed me, I had gone to the dentist's office regularly. Every six months I got a checkup and an ego boost as I was reminded that, no matter what other shit had been happening in my life, at least my teeth were in reasonably good shape.
By the end of the visit, I had felt the warm and fuzzy feeling that I'd come to know and love from the dentist, but there was a point where I was (lightly) chastised by the hygienist. They do some thing where they prod your gums and can tell the health of them. Evidently I'd had merely two fours, or something, my previous visit, and this visit I had like eight fours and two fives (fives being worse, indicating early periodontal disease symptoms, or something).
Yes, it can be reversed with flossing, and yes, I haven't flossed much lately. But I never had to floss much before to avoid getting fours and fives. Don't old people have early indicators of the onset of periodontal disease?
...
So. I'm old?
I'm not willing to admit it just yet. I still have good vision. I still have all of my hair (most of it not gray). I am able to occasionally trick younger women into hanging out with me. I even get carded at the liquor store occasionally.
I sometimes joke that I'm closer to death now than I ever have been (yes, my humor is occasionally dark). But I shouldn't even be sure of that. With nanotechnology and improved nutrition and the upcoming return of Elvis, I might be farther away from dying now than I was when I was born.
So I am farther from birth than I've ever been before, but--in spite of looking tired, being apathetic to sports and having early signs of gingivitis--I am not willing to concede that I am old.
(Probably not as much as the next chick, though, when it comes to saying "FML". I have only seen two guys do it and both of them had their dude card revoked.)
In spite of this general lack of reluctance to whine, I think I've done a reasonably good job of accepting my advancing years with some grace. I rarely complain about the three or four gray hairs I have, and I don't find getting out of bed more difficult now than I did, say, a decade ago. I even attribute my primary physical pain to poor ergonomics, rather that Father Time's invisible hand gripping my right shoulder blade 20 hours a day.
With all of this said? I have been wondering if I've felt old the last week or so. A few little encounters have made given me pause:
On Saturday night I went with some peeps to Hula Hula. I hadn't been there in a month or so, and with my lingering sore throat I hadn't sung much karaoke recently. I had turned in a song and was having a rum and diet when I was approached by a guy I used to bump into around the neighborhood quite a bit.
You remember in school that there were kids you knew you were not supposed to make fun of, but you did it anyway? Maybe the kid was always dirty, or maybe he smelled bad, or maybe he was mentally slow, or maybe he was a girl. In any case, upon reflection as an adult you wish you hadn't mocked/bullied/mock-bullied?
Well, this guy is one of those kinds of guys. As an adult, I find him strange and off-putting. He's got several things about him that can make the kid in me giggle at him and the adult in me creeped out by him... but I try to treat him with respect and understand that if everyone did then his life would probably be better for it.
Anyway, he was there. He came over to me, as I was drinking my rum and diet, and asked how I was doing, etc., etc. Totally fine and normal conversation until he sort of stopped me with--out of the blue--this proclamation:
"You look tired."
Hmm.
It would have been easy to respond with, "You look ugly, stupid-head!" but I did not. I think I joked about how that was sort of rude.
But did I look tired, even though I didn't feel tired? Don't old people look tired when they don't feel tired?
Sunday was the NFL conference championship games. I had been up pretty late Saturday night, but given that the games didn't start until noon I was in prime position to watch both of them. I had no rooting interest, though, and ... just didn't care.
When the second game rolled around, I watched (partially, as I worked on something on my compter) the first quarter and then ... took a long nap. I woke up just in time to turn on the TV and see the Saints kick their game-winning field goal in overtime. And felt nothing. Not merely a lack of excitement, but a lack of interest.
This might be traced back to a lack of someone to root for. During the regular season, I play fantasy football and it gives me players and teams to root for each week (indeed, in most games of every week). Maybe I'm accustomed/programmed to feel that rush of adrenaline in every game, and when it's gone, the interest is gone.
I've noticed something else, though, with the one team I do root for: the Portland Trail Blazers. I made it through the close losses against the Lakers. I weathered the years where they were mocked as the "Jail Blazers". I even managed to make it through losing Greg Oden (one of the best prospects ever) to a knee injury for a year before he played his first game.
But this year? So many injuries. Greg Oden, in his third year, was lost for the rest of the year after the first part of the season, and he's been joined by over a half-dozen teammates with injuries of varying level of severity.
I still watch the Blazers. But I miss games sometimes if I forget to record the games. I don't get upset when they lose on last-second shots. I won't be disappointed if they miss the playoffs this year.
I tell myself that I will care more next year, when the team (including Oden) is healthier. But will I? Have I lost the innocence that is so often associated with sports fandom? Don't old people give up on primarily meaningless hopes that can be easily crushed through no fault of their own?
Monday, after seemingly an eternity, I finally made it back to the dentist's office. Up until this past year, when a little thing called "Funemployment" derailed me, I had gone to the dentist's office regularly. Every six months I got a checkup and an ego boost as I was reminded that, no matter what other shit had been happening in my life, at least my teeth were in reasonably good shape.
By the end of the visit, I had felt the warm and fuzzy feeling that I'd come to know and love from the dentist, but there was a point where I was (lightly) chastised by the hygienist. They do some thing where they prod your gums and can tell the health of them. Evidently I'd had merely two fours, or something, my previous visit, and this visit I had like eight fours and two fives (fives being worse, indicating early periodontal disease symptoms, or something).
Yes, it can be reversed with flossing, and yes, I haven't flossed much lately. But I never had to floss much before to avoid getting fours and fives. Don't old people have early indicators of the onset of periodontal disease?
...
So. I'm old?
I'm not willing to admit it just yet. I still have good vision. I still have all of my hair (most of it not gray). I am able to occasionally trick younger women into hanging out with me. I even get carded at the liquor store occasionally.
I sometimes joke that I'm closer to death now than I ever have been (yes, my humor is occasionally dark). But I shouldn't even be sure of that. With nanotechnology and improved nutrition and the upcoming return of Elvis, I might be farther away from dying now than I was when I was born.
So I am farther from birth than I've ever been before, but--in spite of looking tired, being apathetic to sports and having early signs of gingivitis--I am not willing to concede that I am old.
Friday, January 22, 2010
All About Facial Hair
I didn't really need to shave my face until my death was relatively close.
I didn't have to shave in high school, and I could go for a week without shaving in much of college before anything would be apparent. I still remember my sophomore year I'd decided to leave a little soul patch area under the lip, and a guy in my dorm said, extremely casually (as was Flem's way), "You have something under your lip."
My next stop was my dorm room to shave that shit off.
At some point--probably after law school, when I actually got paid to show up somewhere--I had to start shaving. Even though I could wear shorts and t-shirts much of my time at my first job, I never felt comfortable letting my facial hair grow out.
The last couple of years, however, I've evidently tried to make up for lost time with my facial hair (as I have with so much else).
Last winter, in the midst of my funemployment, my hair was getting super-shaggy and I had a mustache (just a mustache) and I felt like a freak. For over a month, I made an actual effort to maintain a mustache by shaving other parts of my face.
While it might not be the healthiest mental approach, there's something to be said for never going all-out. If you don't give your all, you do not become invested and therefore you can shrug and say that it doesn't really matter. In some ways, it probably doesn't matter. Success has the added sweetness of earned at little cost.
The downside is, of course, potential is never maximized. Opportunities are lost. Discrete failure is averted, but systemic and holistic failure is all but ensured.
When I grow facial hair, it's no big deal. I am not trying to do anything... I'm just letting it go.
Once I decide to shave part of it, though? That means that, at whatever level, I'm making an actual decision. I'm investing some of my very self into a mustache.
I am at that stage with my facial hair, as I sit and type this. I have a mustache and chin beard, and it's been growing for almost two months. The mustache is long enough that when I smile it covers part of my teeth in pictures and it's a constant threat to intermingle with my food and drink (as I consume them; not the stuff I keep in, say, my refrigerator).
So... I have to do something. I am not ready to get rid of it entirely, I don't think, but I fear that if I trim it or attempt to shape it, then I will open myself up to ridicule. To failure.
My life is so difficult.
I didn't have to shave in high school, and I could go for a week without shaving in much of college before anything would be apparent. I still remember my sophomore year I'd decided to leave a little soul patch area under the lip, and a guy in my dorm said, extremely casually (as was Flem's way), "You have something under your lip."
My next stop was my dorm room to shave that shit off.
At some point--probably after law school, when I actually got paid to show up somewhere--I had to start shaving. Even though I could wear shorts and t-shirts much of my time at my first job, I never felt comfortable letting my facial hair grow out.
The last couple of years, however, I've evidently tried to make up for lost time with my facial hair (as I have with so much else).
Last winter, in the midst of my funemployment, my hair was getting super-shaggy and I had a mustache (just a mustache) and I felt like a freak. For over a month, I made an actual effort to maintain a mustache by shaving other parts of my face.
While it might not be the healthiest mental approach, there's something to be said for never going all-out. If you don't give your all, you do not become invested and therefore you can shrug and say that it doesn't really matter. In some ways, it probably doesn't matter. Success has the added sweetness of earned at little cost.
The downside is, of course, potential is never maximized. Opportunities are lost. Discrete failure is averted, but systemic and holistic failure is all but ensured.
When I grow facial hair, it's no big deal. I am not trying to do anything... I'm just letting it go.
Once I decide to shave part of it, though? That means that, at whatever level, I'm making an actual decision. I'm investing some of my very self into a mustache.
I am at that stage with my facial hair, as I sit and type this. I have a mustache and chin beard, and it's been growing for almost two months. The mustache is long enough that when I smile it covers part of my teeth in pictures and it's a constant threat to intermingle with my food and drink (as I consume them; not the stuff I keep in, say, my refrigerator).
So... I have to do something. I am not ready to get rid of it entirely, I don't think, but I fear that if I trim it or attempt to shape it, then I will open myself up to ridicule. To failure.
My life is so difficult.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sometimes I Don't Want to Hear People Talk
I'm usually a pretty forgiving person. Most people who speak have nothing to say, and most people are uncomfortable with silences, so they end up saying nothing in more words than they should. I know this and I understand it and I do not begrudge most things that most people say.
A couple things this weekend, though, I heard and they rubbed me the wrong way.
"What? No Drink?"
I was chilling with Queen Bee and Politica Sunday night at my place. Some TV on DVD was watched and some red wine was consumed. We decided to take a quick walk to the grocery store to get more supplies (food, wine, etc.).
As we entered the establishment, a panhandler struck up a conversation. Here's how a conversation like this usually would go:
This weekend, though, following a bit of wine, I let down my guard, and it went something like this:
The way the purchasing worked, it fell to Queen Bee to pick out the sandwich, and she selected a $6.50 pastrami sandwich. I actually kinda wanted to eat it, myself (I rarely buy myself anything more than a $5 footlong (plus tax and tip)), but she gave it to me to give to the guy on the way out.
Even given that, is a legitimate "Thank you" too much to ask?
"I Had a Dream That My Whites Were Extra Bright"
After walking back from the gym today, a day I have off of work thanks to Martin Luther King Day, I took the elevator up with a pair of guys I'd never seen/met before. They knew each other and had the following exchange as I remained silent:
Setting aside whatever value I may place on marches happening in Seattle on MLK Day, I found it odd that someone else would put enough value on it to consider going... unless laundry had to be done.
That's like saying I would TOTALLY feed my cats unless there's a new episode of Fringe on.
If you want to march because it's important to you: cool. If you want to march because you want to fit in and/or pick up people of the opposite sex: fantastic.
If you want to pay lip service to the importance of the march even as you make a lame excuse for a reason you can't quite make it: that's super-lame.
A couple things this weekend, though, I heard and they rubbed me the wrong way.
"What? No Drink?"
I was chilling with Queen Bee and Politica Sunday night at my place. Some TV on DVD was watched and some red wine was consumed. We decided to take a quick walk to the grocery store to get more supplies (food, wine, etc.).
As we entered the establishment, a panhandler struck up a conversation. Here's how a conversation like this usually would go:
Him: Can I have a buck?The end. Simple, honest, quick. Even if the person endeavors to continue the conversation, I keep walking and establish that I am not interested.
Me: I don't carry cash.
This weekend, though, following a bit of wine, I let down my guard, and it went something like this:
Him: Can I have a buck?And I walked in. That there was no "thank you" or any sense of gratitude struck me as a bit odd, but I figured he doubted my sincerity, so I decided to get him SOMETHING to eat.
Me: I don't carry cash.
Him: Buy me a sandwich?
Me: A sandwich? For a buck?
Him: Nah, man.
Me: What kind of sandwich?
Him: Roast beef. And a drink. Gatorade or something.
Me: I'll buy you some Gatorade.
Him: Buy the roast beef. Get some of that ciabatta bread and they sell the (some weird brand name I'd never heard of) roast beef right there.
Me: Well, we'll see.
The way the purchasing worked, it fell to Queen Bee to pick out the sandwich, and she selected a $6.50 pastrami sandwich. I actually kinda wanted to eat it, myself (I rarely buy myself anything more than a $5 footlong (plus tax and tip)), but she gave it to me to give to the guy on the way out.
Me: Here you go. It's pastrami. Hope that's OK.I was not pleased on the walk back to my place, although I quickly remembered the fact that I was going back to sit on my couch with two attractive women, cuddled under a blanket drinking wine and eating delicious snacks as we watched funny shows on my HDTV. And he wasn't.
Him: What? Yeah. And a drink?
Me: What? Are you serious...?
Him: Thanks, man. But a Gatorade, too? [Flashes me a weak smile]
Me: No, sorry.
Him: OK.
Even given that, is a legitimate "Thank you" too much to ask?
"I Had a Dream That My Whites Were Extra Bright"
After walking back from the gym today, a day I have off of work thanks to Martin Luther King Day, I took the elevator up with a pair of guys I'd never seen/met before. They knew each other and had the following exchange as I remained silent:
Guy #1: How's your day going?*gag*
Guy #2: Pretty good. Doing laundry and listening to NPR.
Guy #1: Ah... it could be worse, right?
Guy #2: Yeah. I was thinking about going to the [MLK Day] march.
Guy #1: Oh, yeah?
Guy #2: I was going to go but I had to do laundry. Otherwise I would have marched.
Guy #1: Ah.
Setting aside whatever value I may place on marches happening in Seattle on MLK Day, I found it odd that someone else would put enough value on it to consider going... unless laundry had to be done.
That's like saying I would TOTALLY feed my cats unless there's a new episode of Fringe on.
If you want to march because it's important to you: cool. If you want to march because you want to fit in and/or pick up people of the opposite sex: fantastic.
If you want to pay lip service to the importance of the march even as you make a lame excuse for a reason you can't quite make it: that's super-lame.
Seattle Hip Hop Show Generator 1.0
I walked into the half-full venue, noticing that a single guy was on stage, DJing, presumably, in front of a projection screen that read "Chop Suey Screen Graphic". The music might have been bumping but the crowd was not jumping. This was my first introduction to the Seattle hip hop scene.
Before I get into the bulk of the blog (randomly generating your own Seattle Hip Hop Show experience), let me remind everyone that I have serious sample size issues with all of this. I don't claim to be a hip hop expert by any means (necessary) and I am sure that if I went to a few more shows (a massive "if", at this point) my position would change and become more confidently stated. With all of that said, here are some thoughts on the evening:
Here's my report on Spaceman, the second act we saw that night (ignore the parenthetical numbers for now):
In case you can't make it to Chop Suey to check out a Seattle Hip Hop show, grab your ten-sided die (or visit this site in another browser window, making sure to select D10) and make your own!
Start off with selecting an artist (do a Web search for one, imagine yourself as the star, or use the "Special Guest Generator", below). Create a Song Preamble, and create Song Content. Repeat as long as you'd like. I chose to go until I got to five songs.
Make sure to enjoy your special guests!
Performance Flow
Instructions: Roll a 10-sided die and check against the Song Preamble list. Document and follow instructions. When "Start performing song" comes up, roll three times from the Song Content list.
Song Preamble
Instructions: Roll a 10-sided die and check against the Name One list, the Name Two list, the Name Three list, and the Name Order list. Document and follow instructions. Generate results from each of the remaining Special Guest Generator lists and return to the Performance Flow list.
Name One
Before I get into the bulk of the blog (randomly generating your own Seattle Hip Hop Show experience), let me remind everyone that I have serious sample size issues with all of this. I don't claim to be a hip hop expert by any means (necessary) and I am sure that if I went to a few more shows (a massive "if", at this point) my position would change and become more confidently stated. With all of that said, here are some thoughts on the evening:
- The act we bought tickets to see, Fresh Espresso, was unavailable due to illness. Bummer. We saw them on NYE and I thought they were pretty good... Flowers and Raftmate and the others fell in love with them, so it was particularly disappointing to them.
- I felt less white than I was anticipating. I mean... I'm pretty damn white (culturally and pigmentation-ly) but while it was a more... urban scene than I'm normally frequenting, I felt less un-hip (hop) than I was thinking I would. Maybe it was because I had thoroughly prefunked, or maybe because, well, it's Seattle. And Seattle Urban is less urban than other cities? I dunno.
- There were a lot of special guests. The people on the stage were moved off and on with every song. I'm actually slightly surprised that Natty didn't contribute to a song or two.
- I love making fun of things I don't understand (climate change, women) and hip hop definitely fits the bill. As a result of the number of special guests, about 10% of the audience actually were performing that night! It made mocking the performers slightly more tricky... and while the performers, themselves, didn't deserve mockery (at least at the tip of my ignorant tongue)... the structure did.
Here's my report on Spaceman, the second act we saw that night (ignore the parenthetical numbers for now):
- Spaceman opened with a dark stage. Robotic voice implored/chastised/explained something to the crowd as Spaceman (one guy with sunglasses and a stocking cap) waited.
- Spaceman invited a special guest on stage. (4)
- Ol' D Seatown (5,4,7, 6), a black guy wearing a baseball cap and baggy jeans with a t-shirt (1, 9, 3, 3)
- Spaceman and Ol D' Seatown denigrated the current state of hip hop for a bit (7) and then began a "Space-MAN!" chant (6) and then started it again (6) before Spaceman invited up another guest to the stage
- Diamond (7, 4, 3, 2), an African American wearing a baseball cap and a baggy hoody with jeans (3, 9, 7, 3)
- Spaceman, Ol' D Seatown and Diamond started a song (8) about hip hop, women, and money (9, 5, 1). I found the references to women distasteful.
- Diamond and Ol' D Seatown left the stage, and Spaceman performed a song, solo (10), about how Seattle bitches love money (1, 5, 6).
- After he completed that song, Spaceman implored the crowd to make some noise (1) and then implored the ladies in the house to make some noise (2) before performing another song (9)... this one about Seattle, ho's and the need to get up and stand up (6, 4, 8).
- Following this rousing song, Spaceman again told the ladies to make some noise (2) but they didn't make enough, so he told them to do it again (2) and then he invited another special guest up
- C Midnight Guru (7, 3, 8, 7), a white kid wearing a t-shirt and baggy jeans and nerdy glasses (8, 4, 10).
- C Midnight Guru came on stage and assisted Spaceman in denigrating the current state of hip hop, claiming they were going to bring it back to previous glory (7). The two then performed a song about how Spaceman and C Midnight Guru were smoking chronic and getting bitches (7, 10, 4).
- C Midnight Guru left and Spaceman performed (10) a song about smoking weed and bitches that smoke weed (4, 7, 7) .
In case you can't make it to Chop Suey to check out a Seattle Hip Hop show, grab your ten-sided die (or visit this site in another browser window, making sure to select D10) and make your own!
Start off with selecting an artist (do a Web search for one, imagine yourself as the star, or use the "Special Guest Generator", below). Create a Song Preamble, and create Song Content. Repeat as long as you'd like. I chose to go until I got to five songs.
Make sure to enjoy your special guests!
Performance Flow
Instructions: Roll a 10-sided die and check against the Song Preamble list. Document and follow instructions. When "Start performing song" comes up, roll three times from the Song Content list.
Song Preamble
- Implore crowd to make some noise [Roll again]
- Implore ladies to make some noise [Roll again]
- Invite Special Guest out [Use Special Guest Generator; Roll again]
- Invite Special Guest out [Use Special Guest Generator; Roll again]
- Invite Special Guest out [Use Special Guest Generator; Roll again]
- Begin artist-specific chant [Roll again]
- Denigrate current state of hip hop [Roll again]
- Start performing song
- Start performing song
- Start performing song
- Money
- Women (polite)
- Women (denigrating)
- Women (denigrating)
- Women (denigrating)
- Seattle
- Chronic
- Getting up/Standing up/Making noise
- Hip hop
- The performer
Instructions: Roll a 10-sided die and check against the Name One list, the Name Two list, the Name Three list, and the Name Order list. Document and follow instructions. Generate results from each of the remaining Special Guest Generator lists and return to the Performance Flow list.
Name One
- Da
- Fresh
- Rip
- Kid
- Ol'
- Puff
- Guru
- Tone
- Tre
- [Roll Twice]
- A
- B
- C
- D
- E
- F
- G
- J
- Z
- [Roll Twice]
- Black
- Blue
- Diamond
- Green
- Ice
- JayJay
- SeaTown
- Midnight
- Smoov
- [Roll Twice]
- One
- Three
- One Two
- One Three
- Two Three
- One Two Three
- Two Three One
- One Three Two
- [Roll Again, Reverse Results]
- [Roll Again, Reverse Results]
- Black
- Black
- Black
- Black
- Black
- Black
- White
- White
- Asian
- Pacific Islander
- T-shirt, baggy jeans with exposed underwear
- T-shirt, baggy jeans with exposed underwear
- T-shirt, baggy jeans with exposed underwear
- T-shirt, baggy jeans with exposed underwear
- Track suit
- Sweater with collared shirt underneath
- Baggy hoody and jeans
- Stocking cap [Roll again]
- Baseball cap [Roll again]
- Outfit change [Roll Twice, with period of shirtlessness due to on-stage costume change]
- None
- None
- None
- None
- Sunglasses
- Sunglasses
- Sunglasses
- Sunglasses
- Nerdy glasses
- Nerdy Glasses
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sample Size, Hip Hop and Herpes
I studied statistics in college. Not all of it stuck, of course, which might have been at least partially based on my unwillingness to go to class at even semi-regular intervals, but one thing that did is about sample size.
Essentially (up to a point) the more data you have, the more confidence you can have in your conclusion based on that data set.
Let's look at it mathematically at a very high level before I apply it to some semi-real life situations and finally bring up why I bring it up (it actually has to do with the next blog entry I plan on writing).
Imagine that Truth is a line. You know it's on an X-Y axis, but you don't know the function that determines the line. We're going to examine how easily (and how confidently) we can tell the "truth" from limited data. (I'm not going to apply numbers to any of this... it's just all abstract generalities).
Let's start with a blank slate. No data points. We literally know nothing about the situation.
We COULD guess the Truth, right? ("Chocolate Babies".) But... yeah.
Let's try one step up from that. A big step, but still in a rough spot:
So we have one data point (the green dot). We know that the green dot is a part of the Truth (we're ignoring that the data we have might be bad/not part of Truth). But what can we do with that? There are still so many possibilities for Truth. Note that each of the gray lines represent possible Truths.
Let's take a look at two data points.
At a glance? We've got it. After all, we can "connect the dots," right?
Of course we can. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Have we discovered Truth after only two data points? Does it only take two licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Lollipop?
Well, what about this?
Or this?
There is, after all, no guarantee that the line is straight. So we're almost back to where we were with one data point:
After three points, we're a little better.
Four? Maybe closer.
Twenty? We start to feel better, right? The dots almost start to connect themselves.
If I took the time to do a hundred, we would probably arrive at Truth in this little graph exercise (ignoring the X axis extending infinitely to the right, of course).
Now what about bad data? What if we know there's a chance that one (or more) of our data points are no good... we misinterpreted, or were lied to, or whatever... it sort of depends on which data point. If we make a few data points bad (red)... it changes how we see Truth.
As humans, we're always getting more data. We might meet another single person, and the first data point is initial attraction. Second one is whether she's interested in you. Third is a first date. Fourth is a second date. Twentieth is making out (unless you're me, then it's the third data point). One millionth is having a second child.
How do you know when you can trust her? How do you know when you want to be with her for the rest of your life? How do you know when you still want to be with her the rest of your life?
Data comes in and data becomes bad because things keep moving. People change and circumstances change.
Anyway. That is some nonsense about sample size.
With all of this said... it seems unfair/unwise to generalize after a single data point, right?
It might not be possible, for example, to write a blog about all hip hop shows in Seattle based on my attendance of a single evening at one, right?
Well... I don't think I'm going to let any of that stand in my way. Prepare your bad selves for "Seattle Hip Hop Show Generator 1.0" when I get the time and energy.
It's gonna be the Truth. With a high probability of lots of little red dots.
(That reads like a herpes joke, for some reason.)
Essentially (up to a point) the more data you have, the more confidence you can have in your conclusion based on that data set.
Let's look at it mathematically at a very high level before I apply it to some semi-real life situations and finally bring up why I bring it up (it actually has to do with the next blog entry I plan on writing).
Imagine that Truth is a line. You know it's on an X-Y axis, but you don't know the function that determines the line. We're going to examine how easily (and how confidently) we can tell the "truth" from limited data. (I'm not going to apply numbers to any of this... it's just all abstract generalities).
Let's start with a blank slate. No data points. We literally know nothing about the situation.
We COULD guess the Truth, right? ("Chocolate Babies".) But... yeah.
Let's try one step up from that. A big step, but still in a rough spot:
So we have one data point (the green dot). We know that the green dot is a part of the Truth (we're ignoring that the data we have might be bad/not part of Truth). But what can we do with that? There are still so many possibilities for Truth. Note that each of the gray lines represent possible Truths.
Let's take a look at two data points.
At a glance? We've got it. After all, we can "connect the dots," right?
Of course we can. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Have we discovered Truth after only two data points? Does it only take two licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Lollipop?
Well, what about this?
Or this?
There is, after all, no guarantee that the line is straight. So we're almost back to where we were with one data point:
After three points, we're a little better.
Four? Maybe closer.
Twenty? We start to feel better, right? The dots almost start to connect themselves.
If I took the time to do a hundred, we would probably arrive at Truth in this little graph exercise (ignoring the X axis extending infinitely to the right, of course).
Now what about bad data? What if we know there's a chance that one (or more) of our data points are no good... we misinterpreted, or were lied to, or whatever... it sort of depends on which data point. If we make a few data points bad (red)... it changes how we see Truth.
As humans, we're always getting more data. We might meet another single person, and the first data point is initial attraction. Second one is whether she's interested in you. Third is a first date. Fourth is a second date. Twentieth is making out (unless you're me, then it's the third data point). One millionth is having a second child.
How do you know when you can trust her? How do you know when you want to be with her for the rest of your life? How do you know when you still want to be with her the rest of your life?
Data comes in and data becomes bad because things keep moving. People change and circumstances change.
Anyway. That is some nonsense about sample size.
With all of this said... it seems unfair/unwise to generalize after a single data point, right?
It might not be possible, for example, to write a blog about all hip hop shows in Seattle based on my attendance of a single evening at one, right?
Well... I don't think I'm going to let any of that stand in my way. Prepare your bad selves for "Seattle Hip Hop Show Generator 1.0" when I get the time and energy.
It's gonna be the Truth. With a high probability of lots of little red dots.
(That reads like a herpes joke, for some reason.)
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Gathering of Friends and Freaks
Thursday night tends to mean drinking in my apartment with my friends and then going out and about Lower Queen Anne. Specifically, it tends to mean Chopstix nowadays.
Flowers and Thor showed up and we discussed some work-related war stories. We looked at pics from 4chan.org (don't click on that... trust me. Don't.) and discussed the impact the site has on public consciousness. We discussed Haiti for a bit (fortunately for all involved, this was post-Hamburger consumption). We drank. And then we left.
I used to hate Chopstix, which is a bar with "dueling pianos" where popular songs are played and people request what they want to hear (and tip for the privilege).
I didn't hate it because of the idea of it... I just never really had fun and never met girls there (are the two related? Perhaps...) Flowers and TM2000 and F-Bomb all enjoyed it, though, so I kept going. And it grew on me.
Why did it grow on me? At least four reasons:
Last night was so odd. Flowers and Thor were there, of course. Politica and Queen Bee were, too. Stix was working. Oops (the recipient of my embarrassing mis-sent txt on NYE) showed up, too. Of course The Regular made an appearance (read more about him here).
Cool. Fine.
But... there was more. A heck of a lot more. Let's explore it in charts and graphs, shall we?
"Interest Level"
"Ladies Night"
One reason that Chopstix is an occasion on Thursday nights is that it's Ladies Night... $3 gets any drink that any woman wants. Let's talk about that word: "woman".
Just as I once learned the difference between speed and acceleration, I eventually learned the difference between "sex" and "gender". I'm no expert, but one has to do with physical state of man/womanhood, and the other has to do with the role one assumes--irrespective of the bits and pieces that exist below one's clothing.
Chopstix uses "women" in the gender sense... as a result, there are transgender individuals that occasionally visit... men dressed like women who get cheap-ass drinks in an environment where no one will be mean, etc.
That's cool. Whatever. I actually have a semi-friend (friend of a friend) who I've come to know a bit who partakes in that sort of thing.
Last night, though? It was a bit out of control. As you can clearly see, there were a LOT more dudes ("M") than chicks ("F")... and when one accounts for the transgenders ("F'") the scales become even more unbalanced.
Which was less than ideal for at least two reasons: first of all, it's more fun for me to look at women than at guys (whether they're wearing backwards baseball caps or shabby wigs); secondly, Queen Bee and Politica and Oops were getting winked at, talked to, their backs lightly touched by guys who were passing by. (And by me, but they like it coming from me! (I like to tell myself.))
But whatever. People were being people. At least I didn't want to punch someone in the throat.
Oh, wait...
"Throat Punching %"
I am not, by my nature, a violent man. Maybe it's because I suck at fighting video games. Maybe it's because I suck at fighting in real life. Maybe it's because I've ascended to a higher plane than most of the morons on this planet... even if I think people are morons, I rarely want to physically punish them for their existence or actions.
Last night, though? I was about to make an exception.
There is a part of the bar that we usually set up camp... along a counter that separates the table area from the dance floor. It lets us place our drinks on the counter and watch people dance and the pianists play.
One of the first things I noticed last night was a guy, we'll call him Four Eyes because I was (and am) in a pre-hamburger state of mind about this guy, who walked from our left at a table (with the F' group) across the (empty) dance floor to our right. Then back across. Then, after a brief pause, back to the right. And the left. And the right... I have no idea why, but it was driving me insane.
And I really felt like punching him right in the ol' throat. His throat, specifically.
This graph is a bit ambiguous at first glance. It represents, over time, (a) the number of times Four Eyes crossed the dance floor, and (b) the chance of me punching him in the throat over time. You can see that his movement was pretty consistent, while my rage had various slopes over time.
If you look closely, you can see two vertical lines towards the middle of the t axis... he left at right about that point, so he only had about a 52% chance of getting his larynx crushed by my fist.
...
Charts and graphs at Chopstix are fun, and they're a great way to document an evening, chastise friends, and make fun of strangers... all while exposing my sloppy penmanship to everyone who cares to see it! What more could one ask for, right?
Flowers and Thor showed up and we discussed some work-related war stories. We looked at pics from 4chan.org (don't click on that... trust me. Don't.) and discussed the impact the site has on public consciousness. We discussed Haiti for a bit (fortunately for all involved, this was post-Hamburger consumption). We drank. And then we left.
I used to hate Chopstix, which is a bar with "dueling pianos" where popular songs are played and people request what they want to hear (and tip for the privilege).
I didn't hate it because of the idea of it... I just never really had fun and never met girls there (are the two related? Perhaps...) Flowers and TM2000 and F-Bomb all enjoyed it, though, so I kept going. And it grew on me.
Why did it grow on me? At least four reasons:
- Heavier alcohol consumption;
- I met some chicks there and now know it's possible (if still unlikely, relative to, say the Frontier Room);
- Over time, I've come to know and really enjoy some of the peeps that work there, and
- I've taken to grabbing request slips and a pencil and making charts and graphs about what I am seeing and thinking about and talking about.
Last night was so odd. Flowers and Thor were there, of course. Politica and Queen Bee were, too. Stix was working. Oops (the recipient of my embarrassing mis-sent txt on NYE) showed up, too. Of course The Regular made an appearance (read more about him here).
Cool. Fine.
But... there was more. A heck of a lot more. Let's explore it in charts and graphs, shall we?
"Interest Level"
I hadn't seen Oops in a few months, and it was a pleasant surprise that she made an appearance. She used to work there and so she made the rounds to the employees, saying hi, and then she settled in next to Politica and me. I introduced them, and Oops said that she had to see the new menu.
This chart captures, with perfect mathematical accuracy and a high level of precision, Oops's interest level in talking to Politica and me vs. checking out the new menu.
I actually drew this chart for Oops and her mouth was saying, "No! That's crazy!" but her eyes were saying, "Damn straight!" as they surveyed the establishment for a menu.
One reason that Chopstix is an occasion on Thursday nights is that it's Ladies Night... $3 gets any drink that any woman wants. Let's talk about that word: "woman".
Just as I once learned the difference between speed and acceleration, I eventually learned the difference between "sex" and "gender". I'm no expert, but one has to do with physical state of man/womanhood, and the other has to do with the role one assumes--irrespective of the bits and pieces that exist below one's clothing.
Chopstix uses "women" in the gender sense... as a result, there are transgender individuals that occasionally visit... men dressed like women who get cheap-ass drinks in an environment where no one will be mean, etc.
That's cool. Whatever. I actually have a semi-friend (friend of a friend) who I've come to know a bit who partakes in that sort of thing.
Last night, though? It was a bit out of control. As you can clearly see, there were a LOT more dudes ("M") than chicks ("F")... and when one accounts for the transgenders ("F'") the scales become even more unbalanced.
Which was less than ideal for at least two reasons: first of all, it's more fun for me to look at women than at guys (whether they're wearing backwards baseball caps or shabby wigs); secondly, Queen Bee and Politica and Oops were getting winked at, talked to, their backs lightly touched by guys who were passing by. (And by me, but they like it coming from me! (I like to tell myself.))
But whatever. People were being people. At least I didn't want to punch someone in the throat.
Oh, wait...
"Throat Punching %"
Last night, though? I was about to make an exception.
There is a part of the bar that we usually set up camp... along a counter that separates the table area from the dance floor. It lets us place our drinks on the counter and watch people dance and the pianists play.
One of the first things I noticed last night was a guy, we'll call him Four Eyes because I was (and am) in a pre-hamburger state of mind about this guy, who walked from our left at a table (with the F' group) across the (empty) dance floor to our right. Then back across. Then, after a brief pause, back to the right. And the left. And the right... I have no idea why, but it was driving me insane.
And I really felt like punching him right in the ol' throat. His throat, specifically.
This graph is a bit ambiguous at first glance. It represents, over time, (a) the number of times Four Eyes crossed the dance floor, and (b) the chance of me punching him in the throat over time. You can see that his movement was pretty consistent, while my rage had various slopes over time.
If you look closely, you can see two vertical lines towards the middle of the t axis... he left at right about that point, so he only had about a 52% chance of getting his larynx crushed by my fist.
...
Charts and graphs at Chopstix are fun, and they're a great way to document an evening, chastise friends, and make fun of strangers... all while exposing my sloppy penmanship to everyone who cares to see it! What more could one ask for, right?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
What a Difference a Burger Can Make
Today was a rough day. Or was it?
Events are subjectively viewed and things that are considered bad by one person can be considered good by another. Or a viewpoint can change over time.
I learned this evening that a viewpoint can change after the consumption of a hamburger sandwich.
Yesterday I didn't eat a lot of food. I almost never eat breakfast, and I managed to just sneak in a couple of scone portions during the day. I met up with TM2000 and TM2KsGF and Quarter Port for happy hour and TM2000 and I split some nachos. I had some adult beverages, too, but generally I didn't eat a lot.
Today I didn't eat much, either. I'd intended to have lunch, but...
Back in December I went to a birthday party for Stix the night before I left for Wisconsin. I took a cab about a mile and paid with credit card, much to the annoyance of the cab driver. It was a $5.50 fare and because he was being a whiny little bitch I had him run it for $7 (I usually tip more generously).
Somehow, it showed up as $17 on my account. I called a few times and it seemed it was going to be taken care of, but when it was not, I made some calls today (to Orange Cab and Chase) and was not able to receive satisfaction. (Part of the problem is that I did not keep the receipt.)
So I was hungry and grumpy and out $10 when I walked to Subway for lunch. It's about 10 minutes each way, and the rain made it miserable. When I got to the establishment I was looking forward to a black forest ham sanga with chedder cheese (toasted), lettuce, cucumbers, extra black olives, banana peppers and honey mustard dressing... just the sandwich and with a bag.
But, alas, my credit card was sitting on my desk in the office--a result of the frustrating Chase conversation I'd had.
Back into the rain, sans sammich, I went. Another 10 minute walk. Hungry and miserable and grumpy.
The rest of the work day went on. I don't think that my grouchiness was uncovered to my coworkers, but everything I read online seemed to outrage me. I read an article about the DOJ and the Kindle and it reminded me of a Vonnegut dystopic future and pissed me off. I read quotes from Haitians that actually angered me.
Really?
Angered me? One of the poorest countries just got hit by a massive earthquake and I'm getting angry at their frustration?
Wow.
Clearly I needed food. I knew it, intellectually. I chatted with one or two friends and apologized for being calorie-deprived and so mean.
Once I ate, though, the emotions caught up with the intellect... and I saw the day differently. Both moving through the rest of the night, I was in a better mood and it changed how I saw the day that had just happened.
Specifically:
Life is better with a hamburger, as it turns out.
Events are subjectively viewed and things that are considered bad by one person can be considered good by another. Or a viewpoint can change over time.
I learned this evening that a viewpoint can change after the consumption of a hamburger sandwich.
Yesterday I didn't eat a lot of food. I almost never eat breakfast, and I managed to just sneak in a couple of scone portions during the day. I met up with TM2000 and TM2KsGF and Quarter Port for happy hour and TM2000 and I split some nachos. I had some adult beverages, too, but generally I didn't eat a lot.
Today I didn't eat much, either. I'd intended to have lunch, but...
Back in December I went to a birthday party for Stix the night before I left for Wisconsin. I took a cab about a mile and paid with credit card, much to the annoyance of the cab driver. It was a $5.50 fare and because he was being a whiny little bitch I had him run it for $7 (I usually tip more generously).
Somehow, it showed up as $17 on my account. I called a few times and it seemed it was going to be taken care of, but when it was not, I made some calls today (to Orange Cab and Chase) and was not able to receive satisfaction. (Part of the problem is that I did not keep the receipt.)
So I was hungry and grumpy and out $10 when I walked to Subway for lunch. It's about 10 minutes each way, and the rain made it miserable. When I got to the establishment I was looking forward to a black forest ham sanga with chedder cheese (toasted), lettuce, cucumbers, extra black olives, banana peppers and honey mustard dressing... just the sandwich and with a bag.
But, alas, my credit card was sitting on my desk in the office--a result of the frustrating Chase conversation I'd had.
Back into the rain, sans sammich, I went. Another 10 minute walk. Hungry and miserable and grumpy.
The rest of the work day went on. I don't think that my grouchiness was uncovered to my coworkers, but everything I read online seemed to outrage me. I read an article about the DOJ and the Kindle and it reminded me of a Vonnegut dystopic future and pissed me off. I read quotes from Haitians that actually angered me.
Really?
Angered me? One of the poorest countries just got hit by a massive earthquake and I'm getting angry at their frustration?
Wow.
Clearly I needed food. I knew it, intellectually. I chatted with one or two friends and apologized for being calorie-deprived and so mean.
Once I ate, though, the emotions caught up with the intellect... and I saw the day differently. Both moving through the rest of the night, I was in a better mood and it changed how I saw the day that had just happened.
Specifically:
- I became pleased that the cabby "only" ripped me off for $10
- I learned that I need to keep receipts for cab transactions to protect myself in the future
- In some ways, I "only" lost $3.50, since I didn't spend $5.50 plus a buck tip at Subway due to my own incompetence at life.
Life is better with a hamburger, as it turns out.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Early 2010 Frustrations and Adventures
2010 is off and running. New people. New prices at the Signature. New adventures and frustrations.
Here are a couple.
Is that a roll of quarters in your apartment?
I live in an apartment complex with over 200 units. Most of the units are studios (I have a corner unit, so a one bedroom) and so there are a lot of people packed into a relatively small space. Some of these people are old guys (even older than me!) who have seemingly lived here for decades.
Some of these people are actually young women.
Oddly enough, with few exceptions (including one pretty spectacular one, which shall not be blogged about any time soon, if ever) I rarely see the young women in my building. I think that TM2000 and other visitors see more, in the elevator or at the main entryway, or whatever.
Well, I finally spotted one of the elusive creatures on Friday night.
TM2000, Flowers, Archangel and I had been prefunking at my place. We had decided to roll out and, waiting outside of the elevator on my floor, was a young woman. A young woman who was carrying a laundry basket and wearing what appeared to be underwear. Maybe they were pajamas. Either way, they could have functioned as underwear.
We all got into the elevator and she asked me if it was too late to do laundry, and I said no. She asked if there was a quarters machine in the laundry room, and I, again, had to say no. She held out a small stack of bills, helplessly, and I knew I had to help her.
So I let the guys out in the lobby and Miss Underpants and I went back to my apartment (hehe... this sounds like the start to a much better story). I knew I had about 30 quarters in a partial roll and I said she could bring me back the remainder the next day.
Saturday afternoon she knocked on my door and handed me $8 in bills and about 10 quarters. I handed her back a five, but she was pretty assertive in having done the math correctly. I will leave it to you, the gentle reader, to decide if she did or not.
I guess we all have our strengths and weaknesses.
I have no voice and I must rage.
For the past week or ten days I've had a lingering sore throat situation. It hurts, it doesn't. It hurts, it's raspy. Etc.
Last night I met up with Flowers and Ice at the Signature and my voice was... gone. It had somehow worked during my Miss Underpants-related windfall, but it decided to stop doing so when I was in public.
I consider myself a good listener. I'd like to think I don't need to be the center of conversation and/or attention. I enjoy communicating in nonverbal fashions as much as the next person.
But having no voice SUCKS. I started off trying to talk when there were just three of us, but by the end of the night I was writing stuff down and handing notes... or attempting to speak in extremely deep tones or extremely squeaky ones.
Making things even worse was that we spent time in two karaoke bars. Allah was getting back at me for my personal opinions on showing the Prophet in cartoon form, clearly. But it's all akbar.
Today, the day after my silence, my throat hurts and I have avoided testing my voice out. I'm going to Cinebarre to catch a flick and eat some delicious grub. As long as I don't have to talk much, it should be a good time.
Here are a couple.
Is that a roll of quarters in your apartment?
I live in an apartment complex with over 200 units. Most of the units are studios (I have a corner unit, so a one bedroom) and so there are a lot of people packed into a relatively small space. Some of these people are old guys (even older than me!) who have seemingly lived here for decades.
Some of these people are actually young women.
Oddly enough, with few exceptions (including one pretty spectacular one, which shall not be blogged about any time soon, if ever) I rarely see the young women in my building. I think that TM2000 and other visitors see more, in the elevator or at the main entryway, or whatever.
Well, I finally spotted one of the elusive creatures on Friday night.
TM2000, Flowers, Archangel and I had been prefunking at my place. We had decided to roll out and, waiting outside of the elevator on my floor, was a young woman. A young woman who was carrying a laundry basket and wearing what appeared to be underwear. Maybe they were pajamas. Either way, they could have functioned as underwear.
We all got into the elevator and she asked me if it was too late to do laundry, and I said no. She asked if there was a quarters machine in the laundry room, and I, again, had to say no. She held out a small stack of bills, helplessly, and I knew I had to help her.
So I let the guys out in the lobby and Miss Underpants and I went back to my apartment (hehe... this sounds like the start to a much better story). I knew I had about 30 quarters in a partial roll and I said she could bring me back the remainder the next day.
Saturday afternoon she knocked on my door and handed me $8 in bills and about 10 quarters. I handed her back a five, but she was pretty assertive in having done the math correctly. I will leave it to you, the gentle reader, to decide if she did or not.
I guess we all have our strengths and weaknesses.
I have no voice and I must rage.
For the past week or ten days I've had a lingering sore throat situation. It hurts, it doesn't. It hurts, it's raspy. Etc.
Last night I met up with Flowers and Ice at the Signature and my voice was... gone. It had somehow worked during my Miss Underpants-related windfall, but it decided to stop doing so when I was in public.
I consider myself a good listener. I'd like to think I don't need to be the center of conversation and/or attention. I enjoy communicating in nonverbal fashions as much as the next person.
But having no voice SUCKS. I started off trying to talk when there were just three of us, but by the end of the night I was writing stuff down and handing notes... or attempting to speak in extremely deep tones or extremely squeaky ones.
Making things even worse was that we spent time in two karaoke bars. Allah was getting back at me for my personal opinions on showing the Prophet in cartoon form, clearly. But it's all akbar.
Today, the day after my silence, my throat hurts and I have avoided testing my voice out. I'm going to Cinebarre to catch a flick and eat some delicious grub. As long as I don't have to talk much, it should be a good time.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
2009
Yes, top ten lists are so fresh. I know. I was thinking about 2009 (I didn't get much practice... at least I did it before it was over, right?) and I have many things that I liked. I tried to look at the difference between 2008 and 2009 and see what new stuff I liked... as a result, you won't see things like family and tacos and porn, because those were all pretty good for me in 2008 (and previous years (for the most part; tacos and I had a falling out in '87)).
So. Top Eight list. In no particular order (I know your monkey brain wants to put it in order, but there is no particular conscious order, so feel free to psycho-analyze away...)
1. NFL Red Zone
For many years, I have played fantasy football. And for several years, I had DirecTV and paid to get the NFL Sunday Ticket (which shows all the NFL games every Sunday). In my new life, though (see "Being Single" elsewhere on this list), I switched to Comast... which does not carry the Sunday Ticket.
So for a few years I was stuck watching whatever games Fox and CBS showed me--which was the Seahawks and other stuff. I would be glued to my computer, watching the stats accumulate but not really watching a lot of football very intently.
The Red Zone channel changed that. It flips between games to where scoring is imminent, and it shows all the scores (with a short delay, if it's unexpected like a defensive touchdown or a kickoff return). It is fantastic. Comcast took it to HD halfway through the season and it got even better. It's definite 2009 Top Eight material.
2. Employment is Good
I had a job to open 2008, but about three-quarters of the way through I left. I had been there six years and there were great people, but I needed a change. I goofed around for several months and then started looking for work.
And kept looking. And looking.
As things tend to do, all my looking resulted in a couple of job offers at once, and I took the one that I thought would be most challenging and fulfilling.
Of course, I started working about four months later than I'd planned/intended, and I had got to the point where I was considering doomsday options of moving under a bridge and/or in with my parents. It was stressful, but it makes the job I have now all the sweeter.
Employment is good.
3. Exercise
Between 1992 and 2007, I rarely ate lunch and I almost never ate breakfast. I was on a "one meal a day" plan that allowed me to not become obese while almost never exercising.
In 2008 I made the mistake of signing up for a gym membership, and the membership included some personal training time. I met with the trainer and she encouraged me to eat lunch and balance it out with exercise.
Foolishly, I followed her advice. Well, foolish insofar as I followed half of her advice.
The half I followed was not the kind where one gets nosebleeds and looks weird because they are so thin and muscular. The half I followed led to me standing on a scale in ...'s bathroom, marveling at how much I weighed.
Logically, if one starts eating more without doing more to burn those calories, one is going to gain weight. But it still shocked me.
So fast forward to now. I had extra time on my hands (see "Employment is Good" elsewhere on this list) and I decided to go to the gym. I didn't hit it terrifically hard, but I did it enough to start feeling better about how I look.
I also manage to feel sore a remarkable high percentage of the time and, due to emotional equilibrium, have reestablished my expectations for how I should look, so I'm not entirely happy. But exercise was good to and for me in 2009, so it makes the list.
4. Las Vegas
2008 saw me take a lot of trips. TM2000, Flowers and I went to Vancouver, BC, in January and I went up a couple of other times later in the year. Two of the trips were particularly good. I also went to Mexico in April and Hawaii in the summer.
Lots of traveling with mixed results (Mexico was sort of a bust, Hawaii was great, etc.)
In 2009 I did less traveling (see "Employment is Good" elsewhere on this list) but I did manage, thanks to the support of TM2000 and others, to go to Vegas in April. We went as a large group to see the Killers and you can read my blog accounts of (most of) the highlights here and here and here.
5. Nephews
I'm older than my two siblings and, for a while, it appeared I was well ahead of them in the quest to give our parents grandchildren. It didn't work out that way (see "Being Single" elsewhere on this list) and that's just fine.
I have a nephew who is about 15 months old and another one that is about a month. I met them for the first time in 2009 and I already am amazed at how quickly they change and learn and grow. They are little man-made (and woman-made, I suppose) miracles who are very lucky to have the family that they do (and the middle name that they share).
7. New Funny Stuff
New in absolute terms? Hardly. New to me? Yes. And I am all that matters. It's my list. And my world... you just live here. Mainly my list, though.
Lonely Island: Cum in my Pants. I'm on a Boat. Hot Rod. I'd seen Lazy Sunday, but I hadn't experienced the joy of Andy Samberg, Jorma Taccone and Akiva Shaffer until 2009. Better late than never.
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia: Yes, it's in season five right now. Yes, I probably watched some of it in 2008. But 2009 was when I fell in love.
8. Technology
Google Chrome is simple and fast and a huge upgrade in my browsing experience from IE and Firefox. I made the swap from MySpace to Facebook on a full-time basis. I bought a DSLR to play with.
2008 saw no shortage of new technologies that I appreciated, and 2010 promises to be even better (Lala.com, the Droid, etc.) but I liked what happened in 2009.
###
So. There's the list. Hopefully 2010 builds on 2009's momentum... happy new year to everyone.
So. Top Eight list. In no particular order (I know your monkey brain wants to put it in order, but there is no particular conscious order, so feel free to psycho-analyze away...)
1. NFL Red Zone
For many years, I have played fantasy football. And for several years, I had DirecTV and paid to get the NFL Sunday Ticket (which shows all the NFL games every Sunday). In my new life, though (see "Being Single" elsewhere on this list), I switched to Comast... which does not carry the Sunday Ticket.
So for a few years I was stuck watching whatever games Fox and CBS showed me--which was the Seahawks and other stuff. I would be glued to my computer, watching the stats accumulate but not really watching a lot of football very intently.
The Red Zone channel changed that. It flips between games to where scoring is imminent, and it shows all the scores (with a short delay, if it's unexpected like a defensive touchdown or a kickoff return). It is fantastic. Comcast took it to HD halfway through the season and it got even better. It's definite 2009 Top Eight material.
2. Employment is Good
I had a job to open 2008, but about three-quarters of the way through I left. I had been there six years and there were great people, but I needed a change. I goofed around for several months and then started looking for work.
And kept looking. And looking.
As things tend to do, all my looking resulted in a couple of job offers at once, and I took the one that I thought would be most challenging and fulfilling.
Of course, I started working about four months later than I'd planned/intended, and I had got to the point where I was considering doomsday options of moving under a bridge and/or in with my parents. It was stressful, but it makes the job I have now all the sweeter.
Employment is good.
3. Exercise
Between 1992 and 2007, I rarely ate lunch and I almost never ate breakfast. I was on a "one meal a day" plan that allowed me to not become obese while almost never exercising.
In 2008 I made the mistake of signing up for a gym membership, and the membership included some personal training time. I met with the trainer and she encouraged me to eat lunch and balance it out with exercise.
Foolishly, I followed her advice. Well, foolish insofar as I followed half of her advice.
The half I followed was not the kind where one gets nosebleeds and looks weird because they are so thin and muscular. The half I followed led to me standing on a scale in ...'s bathroom, marveling at how much I weighed.
Logically, if one starts eating more without doing more to burn those calories, one is going to gain weight. But it still shocked me.
So fast forward to now. I had extra time on my hands (see "Employment is Good" elsewhere on this list) and I decided to go to the gym. I didn't hit it terrifically hard, but I did it enough to start feeling better about how I look.
I also manage to feel sore a remarkable high percentage of the time and, due to emotional equilibrium, have reestablished my expectations for how I should look, so I'm not entirely happy. But exercise was good to and for me in 2009, so it makes the list.
4. Las Vegas
2008 saw me take a lot of trips. TM2000, Flowers and I went to Vancouver, BC, in January and I went up a couple of other times later in the year. Two of the trips were particularly good. I also went to Mexico in April and Hawaii in the summer.
Lots of traveling with mixed results (Mexico was sort of a bust, Hawaii was great, etc.)
In 2009 I did less traveling (see "Employment is Good" elsewhere on this list) but I did manage, thanks to the support of TM2000 and others, to go to Vegas in April. We went as a large group to see the Killers and you can read my blog accounts of (most of) the highlights here and here and here.
5. Nephews
I'm older than my two siblings and, for a while, it appeared I was well ahead of them in the quest to give our parents grandchildren. It didn't work out that way (see "Being Single" elsewhere on this list) and that's just fine.
I have a nephew who is about 15 months old and another one that is about a month. I met them for the first time in 2009 and I already am amazed at how quickly they change and learn and grow. They are little man-made (and woman-made, I suppose) miracles who are very lucky to have the family that they do (and the middle name that they share).
6. Being Single
I was single in 2008. And 2007. And for the majority of 2006. 2008, though, started out rough on the dating front and was odd. "Odd" is normally good, but it had more angst and difficulties than 2007 did, and while it certainly had its high points, it was not easy.
No offense to everyone/anyone I spent time with in 2008, but 2009 was better: smoother and more varied.
I think I'm gonna move onto the next one before I dig myself a hole here...
7. New Funny Stuff
New in absolute terms? Hardly. New to me? Yes. And I am all that matters. It's my list. And my world... you just live here. Mainly my list, though.
Lonely Island: Cum in my Pants. I'm on a Boat. Hot Rod. I'd seen Lazy Sunday, but I hadn't experienced the joy of Andy Samberg, Jorma Taccone and Akiva Shaffer until 2009. Better late than never.
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia: Yes, it's in season five right now. Yes, I probably watched some of it in 2008. But 2009 was when I fell in love.
8. Technology
Google Chrome is simple and fast and a huge upgrade in my browsing experience from IE and Firefox. I made the swap from MySpace to Facebook on a full-time basis. I bought a DSLR to play with.
2008 saw no shortage of new technologies that I appreciated, and 2010 promises to be even better (Lala.com, the Droid, etc.) but I liked what happened in 2009.
###
So. There's the list. Hopefully 2010 builds on 2009's momentum... happy new year to everyone.
Friday, January 1, 2010
201Oops
It was the end of 2009. I wasn't quite ready for the year to end (my "Best of 2009" blog post isn't quite done) but I was ready to rock.Flowers, Thor, Ice, and Raftmate were among the party people that hit up the Crocodile to see some good groups I'd frankly never heard of. We'd had a delightful feast of and a considerable amount of booze before we headed from Raftmate's Capitol Hill apartment to the venue.
I'd never been to the Crocodile. It was closed for a few years, but has long been a staple of the Seattle music scene, and I was interested to see what the hubbub was about. I also was eager to hear some music and do a little dancin' and drinkin' and txtin'. Standard stuff.
First, a word about my phone. I have a Sidekick LX that I desperately want to replace. I want to run apps. I want to have a phone that can store more than 135 txts on it at a time. I want a phone that doesn't have non-functional buttons.
I keep about 120 txt messages from the last couple of years. Particularly memorable ones, particularly painful ones, etc. It's sort of a time capsule/journal/whatever.
My Sidekick stopped working well about a year ago. The scrollball on the right side does not allow me to scroll down, which is at least half of the reason the scrollball exists. But I have a couple more months until my contract expires and I can buy a Droid or something else that is a clear upgrade. So I power through. And usually it's OK.
Last night, it was not OK.
As I mentioned previously, I had been drinking. My intoxication level was not extreme, though, and I normally have the capability to work with it. Last night, though, it went ape shit.
More on that in a moment.
One of the top new words of 2009 (in spite of the University of Michigan's position (who trusts a state school from the Big 10, anyway?)) was "sexting"... sending naughty txt messages back and forth.
Honestly, I don't do that very often. Not because I don't find it intriguing... I just don't do it that often.
So when I did do it, some time back, I kept a couple of messages, including the final one I sent. The final one that was... descriptive and ... uh ... climactic.
Back to my phone. Freaking out.
(Yeah... you have NO idea where this is going, do you?)
I was checking my phone, minding my own business. Some people in the crowd were giving me grief for using my phone, rather than watching the band on stage, but I was receiving New Year's greetings, and I wanted to respond.And then my phone went ape shit.
You know how when you're on a computer without popup blockers and you get in a tunnel of popups? How you close one and another pops up, or you move your mouse and two pop up, or you blink and two close and a third opens? Seemingly random stuff happening and you want to unplug your computer just to make it stop?
Well... my phone did something like that last night.
Interface windows I never accessed were opening. I tried to close them and txts were started and I tried to exit and stuff was pasted.
And a txt from my archive was somehow forwarded to a friend that I had recently exchanged "Merry Christmas" greetings with. Which txt?
Yes, the climactic one.
I can't imagine what went through her mind as she read that txt. Happy New Years to her, right?
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