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From the pointless researcher department…
Did you know Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer was a girl? It’s true because I saw it in print. I’m not sure if I blame the journalist or the “experts” who debated this topic, but overthinking like this really sucks the fun out of Christmas.
Last week at work we had our annual white elephant gift exchange. At this point, I’m sure everyone is familiar with the concept (if not, Wikipedia it). Since I’m blessed with the unique combination of being extremely lazy and remarkably cheap, I decided to put zero time, money, and effort into a gift. Instead of trying to give a good/funny gift, I decided to give the lamest piece of crap that came to my mind. I reached this conclusion while reading an old newspaper…which prompted the idea to GIVE an old newspaper.
The Wife quickly protested the idea. “That’s an awful gift,” she said. “You can’t give that.”
“It’s supposed to be an awful gift,” I pleaded. “The only people who give anything good or nice are newbies–suckers who are too afraid to give junk.”
Despite much–uh, persistence–on her part, I stuck to my guns and wrapped up a week-old . . . . .
The company Christmas party is coming up and we’re feeling the affects of a fleeting economy: we went from a catered affair to a potluck dinner. On top of that, my employer is requiring a $5 donation to attend the Christmas party. They told us they’re collecting the money for a charity to “help those less fortunate than us.” While I suppose technically, it’s a ‘good’ cause I’m still very uncomfortable with it. This isn’t just because I don’t believe in charity–I really don’t like the idea of being forced to donate. The loophole around this is probably that this isn’t a required event and attendance isn’t mandatory. But I know if I spend the afternoon in my office, it’ll be a bad PR move. What right do the party planners have to say there’s other people in more need of money than me? I have about $3 of disposable income every month–people should be collecting donations for me. I get paid jack squat. My rent goes up. The cost of food goes up. The cost of gas goes up. Why doesn’t someone pass the hat around for me?
One time I was having lunch with The Wife at Wienerschnitzel . . . . .
As someone who works in the entertainment business, I find it amusing how many fans care more about our media than us–the folks who produce it. When we canceled a program a few months back we were bombard by emails and phone calls from angry viewers who were horrified their show was no longer on the air. You should see some of the letters we received–folks were talking like they lost their only reason to live. The ironic part is no one who works at our station ever bothered even watching the show.
Employees of the station act like we’re performing some service to the community and publicly emphasizes our quality and importance. But everyone–from the cameramen on the floor to the directors in the booth to the talent we have on screen–we all know it’s kind of a joke. To all of us, it’s just a paycheck; to some viewers, it’s a daily ritual.
I know this expands far beyond my little podunk television station. I listen to podcasts and radio shows were the host clearly doesn’t know as much about their show as I do. I can think of one podcast in particular. It’s only about 20 minutes . . . . .
I don’t like to tell stories other people told me because it’s gossip and I generally don’t like being involved in such innuendo. One the important things to remember when telling someone else’s story is that you never know how truthful it is. That’s not to say people lie (some do). But when you’re telling someone else’s story you’re only hearing one side of it. Different things can be interpreted different ways. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s there’s always two sides to every story. That being said, I hafta share a story someone told me today. I heard this from a coworker.
A while back, my employer purchased a bunch of computers from a small, privately-owned computer store. We bought eight computers at around $500 each. The store was very eager to work with us in hopes of having more business with the station in the future. Even though the little store was in a different county, the owner offered to drop the computers off at our offices just to show how eager he was.
That is a fact ’cause I saw it firsthand when the computers arrived. But the next part of this tale is . . . . .
I work for a television station. It’s a crappy television station–but it’s still a television station. Some folks are star-struck when they hear I work in TV (I used it to impress chiks when I single). But when someone gets a first-hand view of it, they realize it is a crappy television and nothing to be impressed with. People have this romantic view of television. They think of stations as big, well-executed, high-tech machines…which is about as far from the truth as possible at my job. The point is no one knows it’s a crappy television station until they see it.
Because we are a television station, any time there’s a job opening–no matter how mundane or small–we get a ton of applicants because people want “to get their foot in the door.” It doesn’t take long for folks to realize that door only leads to a closet–but like I said, no one knows until they’re there. I can’t tell you how many pretty young things with aspirations and dreams we hired…only to quietly disappear a few weeks later. Mailroom assistant, president’s assistant, even assistant’s assistant–all crappy jobs usually applied for by people who want bigger and better things.
Back . . . . .
The gravitational pull that is my giant head pulled in a new object the other day while playing softball. I was walking back to the dugout when someone chucked a bat in my general direction. I didn’t see it–but I heard screams to look out. Instinctively, I crouched down and covered my head with my arms. The bat narrowly missed me, falling in between my legs, ricocheted off the ground, and hit me square in the manhood. I wish I could boast about the benefits of wearing a cup…unfortunately, I’ve never been the athletic support type.
Now the skeptic would say this is proof that my head isn’t that large and it doesn’t have its own gravitational pull. Instead of hitting me in the cranium, the bat fell short. But a softball bat is a heavy object. I believe the gravitational field of my head pulled the bat closer to me–but wasn’t strong enough to fully pull that bat into my head. Kinda like the way comets circle around the sun. Gravity is strong enough to alter the orbit–but not enough to pull the object in.
And that’s what it’s come down to: I’m comparing my head to celestial objects. . . . . .
With me recovering from surgery, I haven’t really felt like writing much. But I suppose that shouldn’t stop me from posting something online. I’ll probably spend the next week or so digging out old stuff I wrote for folks to peruse. Gotta keep my loyal reader (no S) happy.
I found a ring today. Actually it’s more like a band of cheap aluminum (maybe it was part of a pipe). Since I’m drawn to pretty things, I found myself slipping a finger in it and wearing it around. The ring was a little too big and slipped on and off with relative ease. Despite it being tacky, I liked having something on my finger because the noise it made when I tapped things.
Later on in the day, I went to the bathroom. Now I’m not gonna tell you what I did in the bathroom because it’s irrelevant to the story (and probably something you don’t wanna hear). What I will share is that I thoroughly washed my hands afterwards ’cause that’s what I do.
Before I even realized it, the ring slipped off my finger and down the drain. I quickly panicked. The ring clearly clogged the drain as . . . . .
Don’t try to eat Cap’n Crunch when your teeth hurt: you’re better off chewing on tin foil.
While those who are close to me dispute it, I think I definitely look younger than I am. I will admit that I’m having difficulty accepting the fact I’m older and my current age (I still haven’t verbalized it yet), it doesn’t change the fact many people think I’m younger than I am.
We hired a new receptionist about two months ago and just recently I’ve started talking to her. See, everyone wants to be in the television business. We hire a lot of folks who are looking to become stars. They take crappy jobs (like receptionist) in hopes of it getting their foot in the door. Usually after being with us for a month, they realize there is no door and they’re working a crappy job at a tiny television station. The way I see it: why waste my time getting to know someone when there’s a good chance they’re gonna quit in a month anyway?
But since the receptionist has been with us for longer than a month, I decided to start talking to her. We have a bit of a . . . . .
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