I was just listening to "I don't feel like Dancing" by The Scissor Sisters. The first time I remember hearing that song was in our hotel room in Mechanicsburg PA back in January when my company training class was there for the Vale Estimating Program. We had such a blast.
By the end of the trip, I was sorely craving a homecooked meal. We ate out every night (obviously, since we didn't have a kitchenette in our room) and went out every night as well. It was tough on my body, but again, it was a great time.
But here's the thing. Mechanicsburg PA. You've never heard of it I'm sure. I never had either. It's a town just to the west of Harrisburg, which is no metropolis either. But that's where we congregated and stayed for two weeks, at the Holiday Inn on the Carlisle Pike.
I find the chances that I'll ever be in Mechanicsburg again to be somewhere between very remote and non-existant. There aren't many places I've been that I can say that about. Even Camp Chatuga in Mountain Rest, SC, where we went for high school football camp, is a place that I might see again at some point, just for sentimental value. I left a part of myself there, and whenever I get back to Georgia, I wouldn't mind seeing the place again. But Mechanicsburg? It's just hard to envision a scenerio that will take me there again.
I left a part of myself there. I made some changes to my routine when I got back to Seattle that I've haven't let go of, so there's that, but even beyond that, with all the experiences there, I know that I left a part of myself behind. And that's fine.
Thinking back on it, and I know it sounds stupid, but I almost wonder if that place even really exists. I'll never see it again I'm sure. Of course I know that there is literally a town there called Mechanicsburg, that's not what I'm saying. It's more abstract than that. That place, as I knew it, might not really be there anymore.
This isn't about anything other than Mechanicsburg. That Scissor Sisters song just got me to thinking about it.
I'll write something funnier later on.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
A capital idea
Go to www.delta.com/change .... this is Delta's page dedicated to all the changes that they are going to make now that they've symbolized their return to the black by donning an all-red logo. There is a section of the site where the common man (people like you) can submit ideas for Delta Airlines, or share tips for your fellow travelers (like "get your children under control, or stop having them.")
Anyway, I didn't want to crash their server with tips for my "fellow passengers".... and besides, I'm a big picture guy anyway. So I made a suggestion directly to Delta Airlines. Here it is:
We've all seen "Airplane" and every red-blooded American man out there knows that he can land a jumbo jet if only the opportunity would present itself. Why not allow Delta to present this opportunity? On each trans-continental flight, one lucky passenger would be chosen at random to land the airplane under the watchful eye of your grandfatherly captain, or failing that, Otto Pilot. It would add quite a bit of intrigue to the phrase "Ladies and Gentleman, we've been cleared by the tower to land."
Anyway, I didn't want to crash their server with tips for my "fellow passengers".... and besides, I'm a big picture guy anyway. So I made a suggestion directly to Delta Airlines. Here it is:
We've all seen "Airplane" and every red-blooded American man out there knows that he can land a jumbo jet if only the opportunity would present itself. Why not allow Delta to present this opportunity? On each trans-continental flight, one lucky passenger would be chosen at random to land the airplane under the watchful eye of your grandfatherly captain, or failing that, Otto Pilot. It would add quite a bit of intrigue to the phrase "Ladies and Gentleman, we've been cleared by the tower to land."
Friday, May 18, 2007
Make sure you get everything!
So I went to check my mail today, a little habit I've developed on all non-Sundays. I had two pieces of mail today. A bill from Comcast was one. I don't know why they send me paper bills. I don't even open them. I pay all my bills online and I get emails informing me when I have a bill anyway, so why waste the postage to tell me in another medium? Who cares? My last cable bill included my MLB Extra Innings charge which made it $257 as opposed to the normal $88. Sure felt good submitted that payment. Anyway, I always think "what are you doing?" when I see a utility bill in the mail.
The other piece of mail I had was of much greater interest and concern to me, however. It was from our friends at the Internal Revenue Service. I could tell by the envelope that it wasn't my "refund" (a term which I don't really care for). My heart immediately went into my throat. I thought I was getting audited, but why? I filed a 1040EZ, it's kind of hard to mess that up, but I did it with Turbo Tax just to make sure. Besides, I spent about 75% of 2006 earning $8.65 an hour. Why would they audit me? Furthermore, what's involved with an audit? This could be a major pain in my ass.
As soon as I got back to my car (my mailbox is a ways away from my apartment, so I usually grab it on the way out the door) I opened the envelope. No audit, thankfully. But what the letter said brought a sad smile to my face. My "refund" due from this most recent tax return was set to be $142. The letter stated that I still owed federal fees of $6.25, so my adjusted return would now be $135.75. Make sure you get every last drop, fellas.
I knew where this came from. Back in 2005, when filing my 2004 return, I noted that nobody could claim me as a dependant, and was due a "refund" of $340. I e-filed that return and cashed my check when it showed up four to six weeks later. Later that summer, for some reason, I looked at the return and noticed that what I put for dependant status. Now, my Dad always files an extension and does his taxes in October, so he hadn't filed his yet. I called him up. This is how that conversation went.
"Dad, I said on my return that no one could claim me as a dependant. Were you planning on claiming me?"
"Uhhh, yeah."
"OK. What should I do?"
"You need to file an amended return. It'll mean a whole lot more money for me than it will for you, and they'll audit the shit out of me if I claim you as one, when you said that nobody else could."
So that's what I did. This was in August 2005. I redid my taxes and filed whatever form the amended 1040EZ is. I wound up owing Uncle Sam $390. They, of course, wanted their $340 back, and the change in status meant that I owed them $50 more. Keep in mind that I'm in college here. I'm making around $8.25 an hour at the animal labs then. Plus, I was trying like crazy to pay my truck off completely. The bill on that was $355 a month. At this point I was paying around $400 a time to take care of late payment charges that I'd accrued a few times in college when I couldn't afford to write that check the day it was due. So it's not like I had a whole ton of extra cash lying around anyway. That August was a VERY lean month for me, in large part because I had to pay for my income tax filing mistake. But I got it taken care of, somehow. Actually, I got through it by borrowing some coin from my grandmother, but that's neither here nor there.
A few months later I get a letter in the mail from the IRS stating that I owe them $6.25 in accrued interest from the amended return. I put this letter on my desk at my house with the intention of paying it. But, as those of you who saw my college house will attest, I didn't live in the cleanest environment. I never saw that letter again and forgot how much they wanted from me anyway. I knew it wasn't much, certainly not enough for them to lock me up over.
When I filed my return the next year, I owed some money, so I took care of that and didn't think anything more about it. I'd forgotten all about those six plus dollars, but I guess our federal government didn't. By the way, I find it hilarious that they charged me interest over those couple of months when an income tax "refund" is really extra money that you pay to the government over the course of the year, which is held WITHOUT interest, and returned to you as taxable income. Seems like a double standard to me, but I can't get too upset since I'm completely powerless to do anything about it.
The amount of tax that we as citizens pay in this country is simply mind boggling to me. I love it when I hear one of these pseudo-intellectuals say "well we don't pay that much because people in Europe pay a whole lot more." By that logic, Adolph Hitler wasn't such a bad guy because Pil Pot killed a whole lot more people.
Think about everything that we are taxed on. Here is a list right off the top of my head. And before I write this list, think about the recent crackdown on Online Gambling that this country saw this past fall. Is there any reason to wage such an attack on this industry, other than that the government can't tax the billions of dollars flowing down the Caribbean for gambling purposes?
Income tax
Property tax
Ad Volorem tax
Estate tax
Gift tax
Capital Gains tax* (didn't Bush repeal that? That would be one of the rare good things that he has done)
Sales tax
State income tax
Excise tax
City tax (if you live in New York City for example)
Gas tax
Benefit taxes (IE, the taxes that have to be paid on the $100 gift cards we got at work)
Airport taxes
Rental car taxes
Sept 11 Security Fees
Tax on early withdrawal of 401(k) or IRA
Liquor tax
Tobacco tax
etc etc etc
I seem to recall that the issue of too much taxation was a major causal factor the revolution some years back. I remember hearing about how a bunch of guys were pissed off about the idea of a "tea tax" that they threw a couple tons of tea into the Boston Bay as a way of telling England "you can stick this tea and tea tax straight up your non-representative asses." Now we have a bunch of pussies who go around saying "We have no right to complain about our taxes when you consider what they pay in Europe." You know, the day I start feeling good about things here because of the standards in France, that's the day I'll just go ahead and roll all the way over.
This isn't about the Fair Tax or anything like that, although I think it's a great idea, too great and too fair to ever have a chance of passing. This is about us, as citizens, being taxed at every single turn of our lives. It's not right. I realize that the government is running a fairly large deficit right now. And if they'd spend their money with any level of discipline or prudence, I'd feel more sympathetic to their plight. But as far as I can tell, they just waste money up there. Do we really need a National Endowment for the Arts? Do we really need to programs like "Partnership for a Drug Free America"?
Would you feel sorry for a neighbor who asked you to borrow money if he had 50" television, the best cable TV package, a top model cell phone, a cabinet full of liquor and a refrigerator full of beer, and a pocket bulging with a pack of cigarettes? You'd probably say "You know, if you'd stop pissing your money away on things that you don't need, you'd be able to take care of things that you do."
Unfortunately, the only way to tell the government that is at the ballot box, and good luck there. The majority of people in this country don't even realize how much tax they're paying because they get a "refund" after filing their income taxes, and simply don't think about how the $4 here and $9 there in sales and other embedded taxes add up.
So take your damn $6.25. Maybe you can buy some hunk of twisted iron to stick in front of a courthouse somewhere.
The other piece of mail I had was of much greater interest and concern to me, however. It was from our friends at the Internal Revenue Service. I could tell by the envelope that it wasn't my "refund" (a term which I don't really care for). My heart immediately went into my throat. I thought I was getting audited, but why? I filed a 1040EZ, it's kind of hard to mess that up, but I did it with Turbo Tax just to make sure. Besides, I spent about 75% of 2006 earning $8.65 an hour. Why would they audit me? Furthermore, what's involved with an audit? This could be a major pain in my ass.
As soon as I got back to my car (my mailbox is a ways away from my apartment, so I usually grab it on the way out the door) I opened the envelope. No audit, thankfully. But what the letter said brought a sad smile to my face. My "refund" due from this most recent tax return was set to be $142. The letter stated that I still owed federal fees of $6.25, so my adjusted return would now be $135.75. Make sure you get every last drop, fellas.
I knew where this came from. Back in 2005, when filing my 2004 return, I noted that nobody could claim me as a dependant, and was due a "refund" of $340. I e-filed that return and cashed my check when it showed up four to six weeks later. Later that summer, for some reason, I looked at the return and noticed that what I put for dependant status. Now, my Dad always files an extension and does his taxes in October, so he hadn't filed his yet. I called him up. This is how that conversation went.
"Dad, I said on my return that no one could claim me as a dependant. Were you planning on claiming me?"
"Uhhh, yeah."
"OK. What should I do?"
"You need to file an amended return. It'll mean a whole lot more money for me than it will for you, and they'll audit the shit out of me if I claim you as one, when you said that nobody else could."
So that's what I did. This was in August 2005. I redid my taxes and filed whatever form the amended 1040EZ is. I wound up owing Uncle Sam $390. They, of course, wanted their $340 back, and the change in status meant that I owed them $50 more. Keep in mind that I'm in college here. I'm making around $8.25 an hour at the animal labs then. Plus, I was trying like crazy to pay my truck off completely. The bill on that was $355 a month. At this point I was paying around $400 a time to take care of late payment charges that I'd accrued a few times in college when I couldn't afford to write that check the day it was due. So it's not like I had a whole ton of extra cash lying around anyway. That August was a VERY lean month for me, in large part because I had to pay for my income tax filing mistake. But I got it taken care of, somehow. Actually, I got through it by borrowing some coin from my grandmother, but that's neither here nor there.
A few months later I get a letter in the mail from the IRS stating that I owe them $6.25 in accrued interest from the amended return. I put this letter on my desk at my house with the intention of paying it. But, as those of you who saw my college house will attest, I didn't live in the cleanest environment. I never saw that letter again and forgot how much they wanted from me anyway. I knew it wasn't much, certainly not enough for them to lock me up over.
When I filed my return the next year, I owed some money, so I took care of that and didn't think anything more about it. I'd forgotten all about those six plus dollars, but I guess our federal government didn't. By the way, I find it hilarious that they charged me interest over those couple of months when an income tax "refund" is really extra money that you pay to the government over the course of the year, which is held WITHOUT interest, and returned to you as taxable income. Seems like a double standard to me, but I can't get too upset since I'm completely powerless to do anything about it.
The amount of tax that we as citizens pay in this country is simply mind boggling to me. I love it when I hear one of these pseudo-intellectuals say "well we don't pay that much because people in Europe pay a whole lot more." By that logic, Adolph Hitler wasn't such a bad guy because Pil Pot killed a whole lot more people.
Think about everything that we are taxed on. Here is a list right off the top of my head. And before I write this list, think about the recent crackdown on Online Gambling that this country saw this past fall. Is there any reason to wage such an attack on this industry, other than that the government can't tax the billions of dollars flowing down the Caribbean for gambling purposes?
Income tax
Property tax
Ad Volorem tax
Estate tax
Gift tax
Capital Gains tax* (didn't Bush repeal that? That would be one of the rare good things that he has done)
Sales tax
State income tax
Excise tax
City tax (if you live in New York City for example)
Gas tax
Benefit taxes (IE, the taxes that have to be paid on the $100 gift cards we got at work)
Airport taxes
Rental car taxes
Sept 11 Security Fees
Tax on early withdrawal of 401(k) or IRA
Liquor tax
Tobacco tax
etc etc etc
I seem to recall that the issue of too much taxation was a major causal factor the revolution some years back. I remember hearing about how a bunch of guys were pissed off about the idea of a "tea tax" that they threw a couple tons of tea into the Boston Bay as a way of telling England "you can stick this tea and tea tax straight up your non-representative asses." Now we have a bunch of pussies who go around saying "We have no right to complain about our taxes when you consider what they pay in Europe." You know, the day I start feeling good about things here because of the standards in France, that's the day I'll just go ahead and roll all the way over.
This isn't about the Fair Tax or anything like that, although I think it's a great idea, too great and too fair to ever have a chance of passing. This is about us, as citizens, being taxed at every single turn of our lives. It's not right. I realize that the government is running a fairly large deficit right now. And if they'd spend their money with any level of discipline or prudence, I'd feel more sympathetic to their plight. But as far as I can tell, they just waste money up there. Do we really need a National Endowment for the Arts? Do we really need to programs like "Partnership for a Drug Free America"?
Would you feel sorry for a neighbor who asked you to borrow money if he had 50" television, the best cable TV package, a top model cell phone, a cabinet full of liquor and a refrigerator full of beer, and a pocket bulging with a pack of cigarettes? You'd probably say "You know, if you'd stop pissing your money away on things that you don't need, you'd be able to take care of things that you do."
Unfortunately, the only way to tell the government that is at the ballot box, and good luck there. The majority of people in this country don't even realize how much tax they're paying because they get a "refund" after filing their income taxes, and simply don't think about how the $4 here and $9 there in sales and other embedded taxes add up.
So take your damn $6.25. Maybe you can buy some hunk of twisted iron to stick in front of a courthouse somewhere.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Going to Maine
Yeah, so I'm going to Maine the last week in July for a rafting trip with some of the folks from the training class (as well as some other people). I think this is going to be a good time. I had a few ideas for things this summer, and this is the direction that I'm going to go.
Today I filled out a "time off" sheet and handed it to my supervisior saying "I want to be off on these days, and furthermore I want to be compensated for the time that I'm gone." After telling me "that's quite a demand there" the days were approved and it's all but official (I still have to buy plane tickets).
It looks like I'm going the AirTran route because it's far and away the cheapest. Evidently, it's far and away the most logical route too, because both trips between Seattle and Boston connect in Atlanta. I guess that "The A" is AirTran's only hub, so what can I say?
I'm flying in Thursday, we're going to Maine on Friday, rafting on Saturday, and going back Sunday. I'm thinking that I'm going to fly back Wednesday though, because I want to catch a Red Sox game at Fenway that Tuesday night.
This should be fun. I figure by that time I'll be wanting another vacation, and the folks in the office will prolly be needing a break from me as well.
The boss put me in "timeout" yesterday because I was being disruptive. I don't know if it was the singing of "Superman" at my desk, the throwing of paper airplanes across the office, or toking a camel wide while I did the above, but she was none too amused. She said "Peacock, if you're not going to work, you should just go home." I said "I thought you told me I had to come in because I wasn't getting my work done at home." She paused for a second, "touche'" written across her face. She didn't want to tell me I had a point, but her face gave her away. Instead she said "OK, go sit in the corner and think about what you've done." I felt kind of stupid. A college graduate being placed in timeout by his boss, only for being himself. Some smartass threw one of my paper airplanes at me while I was facing the wall. It hit me right in the back of the head. I got up and beat the living the shit out of that girl. It took three cops to finally sedate me, and I got to ride in the back of their cop car. It all worked out pretty well though, because I had to go to the police station anyway to pick up an incident report for yet another theft loss.
Today I filled out a "time off" sheet and handed it to my supervisior saying "I want to be off on these days, and furthermore I want to be compensated for the time that I'm gone." After telling me "that's quite a demand there" the days were approved and it's all but official (I still have to buy plane tickets).
It looks like I'm going the AirTran route because it's far and away the cheapest. Evidently, it's far and away the most logical route too, because both trips between Seattle and Boston connect in Atlanta. I guess that "The A" is AirTran's only hub, so what can I say?
I'm flying in Thursday, we're going to Maine on Friday, rafting on Saturday, and going back Sunday. I'm thinking that I'm going to fly back Wednesday though, because I want to catch a Red Sox game at Fenway that Tuesday night.
This should be fun. I figure by that time I'll be wanting another vacation, and the folks in the office will prolly be needing a break from me as well.
The boss put me in "timeout" yesterday because I was being disruptive. I don't know if it was the singing of "Superman" at my desk, the throwing of paper airplanes across the office, or toking a camel wide while I did the above, but she was none too amused. She said "Peacock, if you're not going to work, you should just go home." I said "I thought you told me I had to come in because I wasn't getting my work done at home." She paused for a second, "touche'" written across her face. She didn't want to tell me I had a point, but her face gave her away. Instead she said "OK, go sit in the corner and think about what you've done." I felt kind of stupid. A college graduate being placed in timeout by his boss, only for being himself. Some smartass threw one of my paper airplanes at me while I was facing the wall. It hit me right in the back of the head. I got up and beat the living the shit out of that girl. It took three cops to finally sedate me, and I got to ride in the back of their cop car. It all worked out pretty well though, because I had to go to the police station anyway to pick up an incident report for yet another theft loss.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
My Email to Adidas
Hey fellas,
I'm not one to normally complain, but today I think that my complaints are warranted.
I am a claims adjuster for an auto/ home insurance company. Well, that was accurate this morning. I'm not anything now, and in a way, it's your fault.
I was working on a theft loss claim this afternoon. I had a list of things that had been jacked by from our policy holder, and was in the process of verifying the values of everything, by finding prices for all of these items on the internet. Apparently, this fella liked to workout because he had a good bit of athletic equipment stolen. Apparently, he knew what he was doing too because almost all of his stuff was Nike.
Now, for the record, their page pissed me off as well. I couldn't just get a price for anything, I had to go through all these steps of personalizing all the shit that I was looking up. Like who gives a damn really? If the fact that the Swoosh on your gymbag is teal, instead of green, who cares? Let me know how much it costs before I have "Bad Motherfucker" stitched across the top.
After I got this guy's Nike stuff squared away, I turned my attention to your page to look up the value of a pair of pants. That's it. A pair of "classic" tear-away fucking pants. Why do you guys call them "classic" anyway? Anything that you can buy at K-Mart is not, by definition, classic. Anything that is made by people in third world countries for four cents an hour isn't classic. It's a pair of pants, get over yourselves.
Anyway, so I load up www.adidas.com.... and that reminds me, does that name really stand for "All Day I Dream About Soccer"? I always feel like a liar for saying that in my head, because of all the things that I day dream about during the day, soccer gets less brain time than your "classic" tear-away pants, and if all you dream about is soccer, why make basketball pants?
What's the story with your website anyway? I practically had to shave again by the time that intro finished loading. "Impossible is nothing?" Would it be possible for me to access your regular site before I start collecting my social security? For a second there, I didn't think you sold anything on your website except for paintings which look vaguely like Gilbert Arenas. And I do mean "vaguely"... Maybe Gilbert should spend more time trying to assemble better players around him, then maybe nobody would have seen the Wizards advance to the second round as opposed to nobody seeing the Wizards get knocked out in the first round. Seriously, I only know like three people who watch the NBA and they all hang out together. When you guys advertise during the NBA playoffs, how many people see it, like 12?
So I click on "basketball" to try and find the price of these "classic" pants, and I see this big fucking hand on the screen and the words "adidas Basketball. Click here to launch experience." I think that you guys are a little full of yourself. Las Vegas is an experience. Sitting around with a thumb up your ass trying to order sweatpants online is no more of an "experience" than those pants are "classic." What are you going to say? "Honey, I paid $50 for a pair of sweatpants with buttons from the ankle to the hip... I could've gotten a pair of sweatpants from Sears for $11, but it was all about the 'experience' of paying a 3,000% markup." Do ad campaigns like that work on anyone?
Your page is so slow. You should change your slogan to "The Brand of Three Shits" because that's how many times I wound up getting up to use the bathroom while waiting on your page to load. In between, I got bored so I beat freecell, did my income taxes (I got quite a laugh on April 17 when I mailed the IRS an envelope full of Pizza Hut coupons), beat solitaire, read half of Faust, beat Minesweeper, and finally started looking at some porn right there in my cubicle because I wanted to beat off while I waited.
That's pretty much how I got in trouble. The third time I got up to use the restroom (to urinate), my boss was standing next to my desk when I came back. She pointed at my moniter and said "What the hell is that?" I said "I don't know the exact pronunciation, but I believe it's 'man-ahge-a-twah.'" She was not impressed, even though the fella had a huge dong.
I had several other windows open, and one of the others was pretty nasty, even by my standards. She wrote on my termination slip that I was viewing on company computer equipment "sexually explicit material including orgy and boocockay." She didn't even know it's spelled "bukkake." Hilarious.
So I don't have a job now, and it's pretty much your fault because I wouldn't have been porning if your website ran efficiently. Ironically enough, I'm going to be spending a lot of time wearing sweatpants.... it's all about the experience.
I'm not one to normally complain, but today I think that my complaints are warranted.
I am a claims adjuster for an auto/ home insurance company. Well, that was accurate this morning. I'm not anything now, and in a way, it's your fault.
I was working on a theft loss claim this afternoon. I had a list of things that had been jacked by from our policy holder, and was in the process of verifying the values of everything, by finding prices for all of these items on the internet. Apparently, this fella liked to workout because he had a good bit of athletic equipment stolen. Apparently, he knew what he was doing too because almost all of his stuff was Nike.
Now, for the record, their page pissed me off as well. I couldn't just get a price for anything, I had to go through all these steps of personalizing all the shit that I was looking up. Like who gives a damn really? If the fact that the Swoosh on your gymbag is teal, instead of green, who cares? Let me know how much it costs before I have "Bad Motherfucker" stitched across the top.
After I got this guy's Nike stuff squared away, I turned my attention to your page to look up the value of a pair of pants. That's it. A pair of "classic" tear-away fucking pants. Why do you guys call them "classic" anyway? Anything that you can buy at K-Mart is not, by definition, classic. Anything that is made by people in third world countries for four cents an hour isn't classic. It's a pair of pants, get over yourselves.
Anyway, so I load up www.adidas.com.... and that reminds me, does that name really stand for "All Day I Dream About Soccer"? I always feel like a liar for saying that in my head, because of all the things that I day dream about during the day, soccer gets less brain time than your "classic" tear-away pants, and if all you dream about is soccer, why make basketball pants?
What's the story with your website anyway? I practically had to shave again by the time that intro finished loading. "Impossible is nothing?" Would it be possible for me to access your regular site before I start collecting my social security? For a second there, I didn't think you sold anything on your website except for paintings which look vaguely like Gilbert Arenas. And I do mean "vaguely"... Maybe Gilbert should spend more time trying to assemble better players around him, then maybe nobody would have seen the Wizards advance to the second round as opposed to nobody seeing the Wizards get knocked out in the first round. Seriously, I only know like three people who watch the NBA and they all hang out together. When you guys advertise during the NBA playoffs, how many people see it, like 12?
So I click on "basketball" to try and find the price of these "classic" pants, and I see this big fucking hand on the screen and the words "adidas Basketball. Click here to launch experience." I think that you guys are a little full of yourself. Las Vegas is an experience. Sitting around with a thumb up your ass trying to order sweatpants online is no more of an "experience" than those pants are "classic." What are you going to say? "Honey, I paid $50 for a pair of sweatpants with buttons from the ankle to the hip... I could've gotten a pair of sweatpants from Sears for $11, but it was all about the 'experience' of paying a 3,000% markup." Do ad campaigns like that work on anyone?
Your page is so slow. You should change your slogan to "The Brand of Three Shits" because that's how many times I wound up getting up to use the bathroom while waiting on your page to load. In between, I got bored so I beat freecell, did my income taxes (I got quite a laugh on April 17 when I mailed the IRS an envelope full of Pizza Hut coupons), beat solitaire, read half of Faust, beat Minesweeper, and finally started looking at some porn right there in my cubicle because I wanted to beat off while I waited.
That's pretty much how I got in trouble. The third time I got up to use the restroom (to urinate), my boss was standing next to my desk when I came back. She pointed at my moniter and said "What the hell is that?" I said "I don't know the exact pronunciation, but I believe it's 'man-ahge-a-twah.'" She was not impressed, even though the fella had a huge dong.
I had several other windows open, and one of the others was pretty nasty, even by my standards. She wrote on my termination slip that I was viewing on company computer equipment "sexually explicit material including orgy and boocockay." She didn't even know it's spelled "bukkake." Hilarious.
So I don't have a job now, and it's pretty much your fault because I wouldn't have been porning if your website ran efficiently. Ironically enough, I'm going to be spending a lot of time wearing sweatpants.... it's all about the experience.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
The 800 Pound Jesus
I don't know who did this song first, but I know that Sawyer Brown did a version and so did Paul Thorn. Here it is:
"I saw a garage sale
Pulled up in the yard
Found a statue of Jesus
It was eight feet tall
He held out his arms
And he seemed all alone
So I loaded him up
And drove him home
Out by my driveway he
Looks down the street
With his long hair and sandals made
Of rebar and concrete
I painted him white with a long purple robe
He's a rock of ages on our gravel road
Chorus
He's an eight-hundred pound Jesus
Standing taller than a tree
He's an eight-hundred pound Jesus
A bigger man than you or me
I thought loosin' my job was
The end of the world
Till my best pal ran off with my best girl
I felt suicidal with no real friends
So I walked outside with a rope in my hand
Out by that statue there's a big old tree
So I stood on his shoulders
And I counted to three
I had every intention of buying the farm
But when I jumped off he caught me in his arms
Chorus
I wanted to return the favor to him
Cause I never had a more solid friend
So I planted some flowers
All around his feet
And I bought him a flock
Of ceramic sheep
Chorus
He's a bigger man
Than you or me"
My dad had that song on his desktop when I was back home two weeks ago and I wound up listening to it a lot. It got stuck in my head and in a very short time came to symbolize my trip back to Athens. Reading those lyrics or singing it to myself takes me back to the good times and bad times that I had there, which seems like a while back now, even it was only a handful of days in the past.
I was pretty depressed about coming back to Seattle. I knew that I would be though. It was something that I tried not to think a whole lot about, but in the months leading up to it, I always knew that when the week was over, it would be very hard for me to get on the plane to fly back to the northwest. Back in March, I tried to tell myself that I hoped it would be hard, because that would mean that I had a good trip. But that's not really even true, no matter what kind of time I had there, it could've been the worst week of my life, I still would've had a hard time saying goodbye to everyone all over again.
It's hard, those last hours that you spend with your family and friends before leaving again. Everyone is down, and everyone tries to play it off. I said to myself after Christmas that "If it's going to be this hard to leave, I'm not coming back home until it's permanent." Of course I didn't really mean that either.
When the plane touched down at Sea-Tac, I grabbed my bags and hopped on the shuttle to my off-site lot where I parked. Driving out of the airport, for the first time in a few days, I felt excited again. I'm going to be in Seattle for a while longer. The only way I won't be (barring some unforseen catastrophe) is if I screw up bad enough at work to get fired, or I quit. And I'm not a quitter. So I was looking around as we were leaving the airport, and I thought that to myself, that I could either bitch and moan about being away from Athens, or I could make the best out of this incredible opportunity that I have. You probably know which way I'll go. As the van turned down Hwy 99, I said to myself "you know, we can really make something play in this city."
You ever seen "Blue Chips"? It's a basketball movie, stars Nick Nolte and Ed O'Neill. It's pretty good. There is one scene where Notle, as head coach Pete Bell, is talking to a corrupt booster, named Happy. They are talking about a player who Happy "bought" who is suddenly discontent with his situation on the basketball team. Happy tells Bell "You can sell ice water to eskimos and you can sell this spoiled little BRAT on how happy he really is."
Sometimes I think I kind of acted like a brat about coming back up here after Christmas and then two weeks ago. This is what I asked for, this is what I wanted. I prayed a lot about the Amica job and about coming to Seattle. Even before I went to training and saw the list of openings, I was telling people that I hoped to wind up in Seattle. Go all the way back to fall 2002, I told my parents that me moving to the northwest wasn't a matter of if, but when. One of my co-workers comes out here and completely falls in love with this place. Says he'd move out here in a heartbeat. And while I do think that's perfectly natural to feel a level of depression about having to say goodbye to your family for a few months, I also believe that it's bratty to almost dread having to get on the airplane and come back. I was standing in the baggage claim in Atlanta when I touched down two weeks ago. I heard an all-call go over the PA for soldiers heading to Fort Jackson and Paris Island, which as you know, is the basic training site for the Army and Marines, respectively. I prayed for those kids, because I can't even imagine the nerves and anxiousness that they might be feeling. Those guys are, voluntarily, going to be seperated from their famlies and loved ones to defend our nation, our way of life, for the next three or four years..... They're defending a culture and way of life that allows me my standard of living. And I'M the one bitching about saying good bye?
Things are fine up here. I'm making money, making friends, and feeling more comfortable every day. I spent a lot of time on Wikipedia last week trying to learn more about this region, the Cascades, Puget Sound, all that stuff, because I want to be able to appreciate it more. I'm getting back into the routine of working and working out and have already signed up for another softball league this summer. And on that note, I think I'll drive out to Mt. Rainer.
"I saw a garage sale
Pulled up in the yard
Found a statue of Jesus
It was eight feet tall
He held out his arms
And he seemed all alone
So I loaded him up
And drove him home
Out by my driveway he
Looks down the street
With his long hair and sandals made
Of rebar and concrete
I painted him white with a long purple robe
He's a rock of ages on our gravel road
Chorus
He's an eight-hundred pound Jesus
Standing taller than a tree
He's an eight-hundred pound Jesus
A bigger man than you or me
I thought loosin' my job was
The end of the world
Till my best pal ran off with my best girl
I felt suicidal with no real friends
So I walked outside with a rope in my hand
Out by that statue there's a big old tree
So I stood on his shoulders
And I counted to three
I had every intention of buying the farm
But when I jumped off he caught me in his arms
Chorus
I wanted to return the favor to him
Cause I never had a more solid friend
So I planted some flowers
All around his feet
And I bought him a flock
Of ceramic sheep
Chorus
He's a bigger man
Than you or me"
My dad had that song on his desktop when I was back home two weeks ago and I wound up listening to it a lot. It got stuck in my head and in a very short time came to symbolize my trip back to Athens. Reading those lyrics or singing it to myself takes me back to the good times and bad times that I had there, which seems like a while back now, even it was only a handful of days in the past.
I was pretty depressed about coming back to Seattle. I knew that I would be though. It was something that I tried not to think a whole lot about, but in the months leading up to it, I always knew that when the week was over, it would be very hard for me to get on the plane to fly back to the northwest. Back in March, I tried to tell myself that I hoped it would be hard, because that would mean that I had a good trip. But that's not really even true, no matter what kind of time I had there, it could've been the worst week of my life, I still would've had a hard time saying goodbye to everyone all over again.
It's hard, those last hours that you spend with your family and friends before leaving again. Everyone is down, and everyone tries to play it off. I said to myself after Christmas that "If it's going to be this hard to leave, I'm not coming back home until it's permanent." Of course I didn't really mean that either.
When the plane touched down at Sea-Tac, I grabbed my bags and hopped on the shuttle to my off-site lot where I parked. Driving out of the airport, for the first time in a few days, I felt excited again. I'm going to be in Seattle for a while longer. The only way I won't be (barring some unforseen catastrophe) is if I screw up bad enough at work to get fired, or I quit. And I'm not a quitter. So I was looking around as we were leaving the airport, and I thought that to myself, that I could either bitch and moan about being away from Athens, or I could make the best out of this incredible opportunity that I have. You probably know which way I'll go. As the van turned down Hwy 99, I said to myself "you know, we can really make something play in this city."
You ever seen "Blue Chips"? It's a basketball movie, stars Nick Nolte and Ed O'Neill. It's pretty good. There is one scene where Notle, as head coach Pete Bell, is talking to a corrupt booster, named Happy. They are talking about a player who Happy "bought" who is suddenly discontent with his situation on the basketball team. Happy tells Bell "You can sell ice water to eskimos and you can sell this spoiled little BRAT on how happy he really is."
Sometimes I think I kind of acted like a brat about coming back up here after Christmas and then two weeks ago. This is what I asked for, this is what I wanted. I prayed a lot about the Amica job and about coming to Seattle. Even before I went to training and saw the list of openings, I was telling people that I hoped to wind up in Seattle. Go all the way back to fall 2002, I told my parents that me moving to the northwest wasn't a matter of if, but when. One of my co-workers comes out here and completely falls in love with this place. Says he'd move out here in a heartbeat. And while I do think that's perfectly natural to feel a level of depression about having to say goodbye to your family for a few months, I also believe that it's bratty to almost dread having to get on the airplane and come back. I was standing in the baggage claim in Atlanta when I touched down two weeks ago. I heard an all-call go over the PA for soldiers heading to Fort Jackson and Paris Island, which as you know, is the basic training site for the Army and Marines, respectively. I prayed for those kids, because I can't even imagine the nerves and anxiousness that they might be feeling. Those guys are, voluntarily, going to be seperated from their famlies and loved ones to defend our nation, our way of life, for the next three or four years..... They're defending a culture and way of life that allows me my standard of living. And I'M the one bitching about saying good bye?
Things are fine up here. I'm making money, making friends, and feeling more comfortable every day. I spent a lot of time on Wikipedia last week trying to learn more about this region, the Cascades, Puget Sound, all that stuff, because I want to be able to appreciate it more. I'm getting back into the routine of working and working out and have already signed up for another softball league this summer. And on that note, I think I'll drive out to Mt. Rainer.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
I think I met a serial killer
Tuesday, May 1. I might have been brutally murdered that day. Or I might have just gone to a gas station.
One of the less glamorous parts of my job as an adjuster is the so called "locus work" for an auto accident. Now, don't misunderstand me, I don't mind doing it. I actually like doing it. I get to be out of the office, driving around the Seattle area, seeing things that I haven't seen before. Even on days when the weather sucks, I'd still rather be doing that than sitting at my desk in the office. But the reason I say that it's less glamorous is because I sometimes feel kind of silly walking down the side of a road taking pictures of an intersection. If I saw a guy dressed in "business casual" literally taking pictures of pavement, I'd laugh. I laugh at myself really, when I'm doing it.
So Tuesday was one such day. I had to take some pictures of a locus that, according to the telephone loss report, was "WA-169 between Black Diamond and Enumclaw." That's an eight mile stretch of road. Nobody could narrow it down further, but it wasn't such a big deal. WA-169 is fairly desolate in that area, and I figured I could find it fairly easily. And I did.
I'll try to explain the layout of the road, although if you could see the Locus Diagram that I did yesterday and posted the file, you'd understand exactly, because it was pretty damn well done. WA-169 is a standard two lane road, one lane of travel in each direction. There is a fairly wide shoulder on either lane, which is about 12 feet wide. Shoulder driving is allowed, because it's a little bit hilly there (foothills of the Cascades you see). I parked my car in the north bound shoulder, and proceeded to start taking pictures. I walked toward the accident scene in the south bound shoulder to capture pics from one point of view, with the intention of walking back in the north bound shoulder to get pics from the other point of view.
So there I am, walking in the south bound shoulder of WA-169. It's downhill, so I'm walking at a brisker than normal pace. I've got my camera in my right hand, snapping pics every several feet. Traffic is driving past me, at a level which I'd describe as "moderate".... there was a car every five to ten seconds or so it seemed like. It was about 1:30PM, fairly good weather. Nice day. I hear this truck coming up behind me, and I hear it slow down quickly. The truck, which is an old suburban with dark tinted windows, is braking hard as it passes me. The driver pulls the suburban over onto the shoulder about 40 feet in front of me. I see the guy poke his head out the window and hear him saying something, but I couldn't make out what he was asking with the traffic noise.
He kept the suburban parked as I continued to walk toward it. As I neared the vehicle, I moved toward the road a little bit, thinking to myself that, like a cop, I should probably keep some distance from the guy's door. As I move in front of his window he says, in a very polite voice, "Didja run outta gas or something?"
The guy was a small man. He wore glasses, and had a buzz cut that looked like it was grown out about a month too long. He had a very round face and an expression that just made you feel a little bit uneasy. If you had to cast a child molester in a movie, this guy would at least go to the final cut. But regardless of how he looked, it was a very nice gesture to stop and ask if I needed help.
This is exactly what I replied:"Oh no, nothing like that. I work for an insurance company..... we had an accident out here a while back and I was just taking some pictures. I 'pre-shate-cha stopping though."
The man didn't say anything. He just halfway rolled his eyes and literally drove away. I don't think that he ever responded to my reply other than maybe like a half-audible "yeah".... and I'm not even sure he said that. He got incredibly flustered looking and drove off.
I've heard cops and ex-cops talk about getting a "hinky" feeling in situations like that, or getting chills when they think back about it. But honestly, neither one of those happened to me. I just stood there for a minute thinking "wow, that was strange." I crossed the street, took my pictures from the other shoulder, and drove home.
I am a good bit bigger than this fellow was, and I'm sure that I could've overpowered him if the situation came to that. But who knows? Part of me wonders what would've happened if I'd actually been out of gas, and hopped in the car with him. One thing is for sure, he was completely flustered when I indicated that I didn't need a ride from him. Maybe he was angry that I just walked up to his card and didn't really pick up my pace while he waited. But as I mentioned, I was already walking down hill, already walking at a brisk pace, and didn't think it'd be a good idea to just RUN up to the guy's window. So maybe that set him off. I don't know. But what I do know is that he was very willing to give me a ride, and was then very, at best, irritated, when he couldn't do it.
He drove off down WA-169 toward Enumclaw and I doubt our paths will ever cross again. But still I wonder, what would have happened?
One of the less glamorous parts of my job as an adjuster is the so called "locus work" for an auto accident. Now, don't misunderstand me, I don't mind doing it. I actually like doing it. I get to be out of the office, driving around the Seattle area, seeing things that I haven't seen before. Even on days when the weather sucks, I'd still rather be doing that than sitting at my desk in the office. But the reason I say that it's less glamorous is because I sometimes feel kind of silly walking down the side of a road taking pictures of an intersection. If I saw a guy dressed in "business casual" literally taking pictures of pavement, I'd laugh. I laugh at myself really, when I'm doing it.
So Tuesday was one such day. I had to take some pictures of a locus that, according to the telephone loss report, was "WA-169 between Black Diamond and Enumclaw." That's an eight mile stretch of road. Nobody could narrow it down further, but it wasn't such a big deal. WA-169 is fairly desolate in that area, and I figured I could find it fairly easily. And I did.
I'll try to explain the layout of the road, although if you could see the Locus Diagram that I did yesterday and posted the file, you'd understand exactly, because it was pretty damn well done. WA-169 is a standard two lane road, one lane of travel in each direction. There is a fairly wide shoulder on either lane, which is about 12 feet wide. Shoulder driving is allowed, because it's a little bit hilly there (foothills of the Cascades you see). I parked my car in the north bound shoulder, and proceeded to start taking pictures. I walked toward the accident scene in the south bound shoulder to capture pics from one point of view, with the intention of walking back in the north bound shoulder to get pics from the other point of view.
So there I am, walking in the south bound shoulder of WA-169. It's downhill, so I'm walking at a brisker than normal pace. I've got my camera in my right hand, snapping pics every several feet. Traffic is driving past me, at a level which I'd describe as "moderate".... there was a car every five to ten seconds or so it seemed like. It was about 1:30PM, fairly good weather. Nice day. I hear this truck coming up behind me, and I hear it slow down quickly. The truck, which is an old suburban with dark tinted windows, is braking hard as it passes me. The driver pulls the suburban over onto the shoulder about 40 feet in front of me. I see the guy poke his head out the window and hear him saying something, but I couldn't make out what he was asking with the traffic noise.
He kept the suburban parked as I continued to walk toward it. As I neared the vehicle, I moved toward the road a little bit, thinking to myself that, like a cop, I should probably keep some distance from the guy's door. As I move in front of his window he says, in a very polite voice, "Didja run outta gas or something?"
The guy was a small man. He wore glasses, and had a buzz cut that looked like it was grown out about a month too long. He had a very round face and an expression that just made you feel a little bit uneasy. If you had to cast a child molester in a movie, this guy would at least go to the final cut. But regardless of how he looked, it was a very nice gesture to stop and ask if I needed help.
This is exactly what I replied:"Oh no, nothing like that. I work for an insurance company..... we had an accident out here a while back and I was just taking some pictures. I 'pre-shate-cha stopping though."
The man didn't say anything. He just halfway rolled his eyes and literally drove away. I don't think that he ever responded to my reply other than maybe like a half-audible "yeah".... and I'm not even sure he said that. He got incredibly flustered looking and drove off.
I've heard cops and ex-cops talk about getting a "hinky" feeling in situations like that, or getting chills when they think back about it. But honestly, neither one of those happened to me. I just stood there for a minute thinking "wow, that was strange." I crossed the street, took my pictures from the other shoulder, and drove home.
I am a good bit bigger than this fellow was, and I'm sure that I could've overpowered him if the situation came to that. But who knows? Part of me wonders what would've happened if I'd actually been out of gas, and hopped in the car with him. One thing is for sure, he was completely flustered when I indicated that I didn't need a ride from him. Maybe he was angry that I just walked up to his card and didn't really pick up my pace while he waited. But as I mentioned, I was already walking down hill, already walking at a brisk pace, and didn't think it'd be a good idea to just RUN up to the guy's window. So maybe that set him off. I don't know. But what I do know is that he was very willing to give me a ride, and was then very, at best, irritated, when he couldn't do it.
He drove off down WA-169 toward Enumclaw and I doubt our paths will ever cross again. But still I wonder, what would have happened?
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
My Email to 960TheRef
For those of you who don't know, AM 960 is a local sports radio station in Athens, Georgia. They are affiliated with ESPN Radio, so they broadcast the Colin Cowherd show, as well as Dan Patrick, and the regular ESPN Radio night feed. More specifically, they broadcast UGA sports such as football, baseball, basketball, and occasionally something else, like soccer.
They do two shows on 960. There is "The Morning Show" which runs from 6-10AM. It's VERY good. I used to listen to it every morning on my way to work or school, and pretty much whenever I was in the car during those hours. The two hosts are funny guys and always seem to talk about something of interest to me.
There is also "The Home Team" which airs from 4-6PM. Although they do talk about a lot of Georgia stuff, and Jeff Dantzler is one of the only people out there whose knowledge of Georgia football I consider superior to mine, their show isn't quite as good as The Morning Show.
I've won a number of things from 960 TheRef over the years, everything from combo meals at Krystal, to college football trivia book, to tickets to Monday Night Football in Atlanta. Well, that's actually about all that I've won, but whatever.
I wrote the guys at The Morning Show this email on Sunday night. Since I live in Seattle, and 960's broadcast range is about 40 miles, I can't really pick them up, so I don't know if they ever read it on the air or not. But I thought it was funny.
Here it is:
"Hey fellas.
So when you graduate from high school, pretty much everyone gives you cash. I made out pretty well upon high school graduation. Five years later when I graduated from UGA, I felt like a lot of people didn't really know what to give me. I already had a job lined up, and judging by the lack of monetary gifts that I received, I think it is safe to say that people felt somewhat uncomfortable in again piling cash (in the form of checks) at my feet. So I got some interesting gifts.
One of those gifts came from my aunt. She gave me a "960TheRef" t-shirt. It's pretty sharp.
So fast forward a few months, and I find myself living here in Seattle Washington and working at that aforementioned job.
In an attempt to subject one (or more) "lucky" females to my advances, I joined a co-ed softball league. It's pretty informal. And by "informal" I mean "beer league"....our second baseman was chugging cans of PBRs that SHE carried in her gym bag before the first game.
Our team isn't very good. We lose by scores that would be considered ass kickings in football. I'd like to say that I do my job, but I guess that isn't entirely accurate. I did pretty well for the first game, going 2-2 with 2 RBIs.
Then the second game rolled around. Unable to continue to torrent hit streak, I saw my average plummet .400 points in one afternoon following a 1-3 day. My last at-bat, I grounded out to the pitcher, and very frankly, lost control of myself in a fit of rage. Deadly ill over the prospect of falling to 0-2 while my teammates literally drank in the dugout, I slammed my bat down so hard that Joey Side must have smiled somewhere, and launched into a profanity laced tirade so foul that a small boy vomited.
Several days later, after calming down, I came to a conclusion over luke warm bourbon and South Park reruns. I needed a spark on this softball field. And since our team is too disorganized to have uniforms (or practices), the solution was simple. Rather than practice, I'd break out a new shirt for game 3.
With a renewed since of vigor (and bad headache from the night before) I dressed myself for game 3 with one noteable change. I would still sport the gray baseball pants, pulled halfway up my shins (a la Rip Warren) with black socks (since I'm not buying another pair of baseball pants or tall black socks, one of each is plenty), only this time, I'd don the 960TheRef shirt that my aunt had presented me with way back in May 06.
I think the main thing that it gave me was an additional sense of pride. I felt that, by wearing this shirt, I would play to a higher level, or at least not lower my average by .400 points again.
So I'm staring at myself in the mirror before I leave my apartment, as I'm wont to do, and I can't get over how good I look in my 960TheRef shirt. I mean, I look good in everything, but even against myself, I looked pretty sharp on this day.
Sometimes I like to change things up and speak in street lingo, and I found the morning of game 3 to be one such time. I looked at myself and said "aight, you'd better step it up homeboy. 'Cause you're not only repping The G, but you're repping their Speak too." I didn't really know a good street term for "radio station" but I thought that "speak" was a pretty good guess.
As for game 3, well, we still lost, which was about as predictable as rain up here. But I played great. I went 3-4 with a couple RBIs. The highlight though was a triple that I laced into left center field, which I managed to leg into a double. From now on, 960TheRef will be worn proudly at the diamond, and hopefully kept clean, although I can't promise that I won't fall down when I attempt to run to first base.
So even though we lost, it was an all around great day, expect for our second basewomen who got so drunk that she told everyone that she and her husband live in downtown "Cialis" before passing out on the dugout bench in the third inning.
I love softball."
They do two shows on 960. There is "The Morning Show" which runs from 6-10AM. It's VERY good. I used to listen to it every morning on my way to work or school, and pretty much whenever I was in the car during those hours. The two hosts are funny guys and always seem to talk about something of interest to me.
There is also "The Home Team" which airs from 4-6PM. Although they do talk about a lot of Georgia stuff, and Jeff Dantzler is one of the only people out there whose knowledge of Georgia football I consider superior to mine, their show isn't quite as good as The Morning Show.
I've won a number of things from 960 TheRef over the years, everything from combo meals at Krystal, to college football trivia book, to tickets to Monday Night Football in Atlanta. Well, that's actually about all that I've won, but whatever.
I wrote the guys at The Morning Show this email on Sunday night. Since I live in Seattle, and 960's broadcast range is about 40 miles, I can't really pick them up, so I don't know if they ever read it on the air or not. But I thought it was funny.
Here it is:
"Hey fellas.
So when you graduate from high school, pretty much everyone gives you cash. I made out pretty well upon high school graduation. Five years later when I graduated from UGA, I felt like a lot of people didn't really know what to give me. I already had a job lined up, and judging by the lack of monetary gifts that I received, I think it is safe to say that people felt somewhat uncomfortable in again piling cash (in the form of checks) at my feet. So I got some interesting gifts.
One of those gifts came from my aunt. She gave me a "960TheRef" t-shirt. It's pretty sharp.
So fast forward a few months, and I find myself living here in Seattle Washington and working at that aforementioned job.
In an attempt to subject one (or more) "lucky" females to my advances, I joined a co-ed softball league. It's pretty informal. And by "informal" I mean "beer league"....our second baseman was chugging cans of PBRs that SHE carried in her gym bag before the first game.
Our team isn't very good. We lose by scores that would be considered ass kickings in football. I'd like to say that I do my job, but I guess that isn't entirely accurate. I did pretty well for the first game, going 2-2 with 2 RBIs.
Then the second game rolled around. Unable to continue to torrent hit streak, I saw my average plummet .400 points in one afternoon following a 1-3 day. My last at-bat, I grounded out to the pitcher, and very frankly, lost control of myself in a fit of rage. Deadly ill over the prospect of falling to 0-2 while my teammates literally drank in the dugout, I slammed my bat down so hard that Joey Side must have smiled somewhere, and launched into a profanity laced tirade so foul that a small boy vomited.
Several days later, after calming down, I came to a conclusion over luke warm bourbon and South Park reruns. I needed a spark on this softball field. And since our team is too disorganized to have uniforms (or practices), the solution was simple. Rather than practice, I'd break out a new shirt for game 3.
With a renewed since of vigor (and bad headache from the night before) I dressed myself for game 3 with one noteable change. I would still sport the gray baseball pants, pulled halfway up my shins (a la Rip Warren) with black socks (since I'm not buying another pair of baseball pants or tall black socks, one of each is plenty), only this time, I'd don the 960TheRef shirt that my aunt had presented me with way back in May 06.
I think the main thing that it gave me was an additional sense of pride. I felt that, by wearing this shirt, I would play to a higher level, or at least not lower my average by .400 points again.
So I'm staring at myself in the mirror before I leave my apartment, as I'm wont to do, and I can't get over how good I look in my 960TheRef shirt. I mean, I look good in everything, but even against myself, I looked pretty sharp on this day.
Sometimes I like to change things up and speak in street lingo, and I found the morning of game 3 to be one such time. I looked at myself and said "aight, you'd better step it up homeboy. 'Cause you're not only repping The G, but you're repping their Speak too." I didn't really know a good street term for "radio station" but I thought that "speak" was a pretty good guess.
As for game 3, well, we still lost, which was about as predictable as rain up here. But I played great. I went 3-4 with a couple RBIs. The highlight though was a triple that I laced into left center field, which I managed to leg into a double. From now on, 960TheRef will be worn proudly at the diamond, and hopefully kept clean, although I can't promise that I won't fall down when I attempt to run to first base.
So even though we lost, it was an all around great day, expect for our second basewomen who got so drunk that she told everyone that she and her husband live in downtown "Cialis" before passing out on the dugout bench in the third inning.
I love softball."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)