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I haven’t had much to be proud of lately. I work at a job that suits the financial needs of a teenager. I haven’t had a good haircut since 2008. I’m a burden on society and take more in government aid than I pay in taxes. But I can proudly proclaim I had a gas-free October. I filled up my gas tank on November 2nd. The last time I bought gas before that was September 23rd–meaning I did not buy gas for the entire month of October. Driving a highly fuel-efficient Honda played a big part in that, but I’ve had the car for almost four years and I’ve been getting 35 miles per gallon from the beginning. I was able to go six weeks in between fill-ups thanks to a perfect storm of events that left my car at home more often than not (no, it didn’t break down–it’s a Honda). Since I’m only taken one class, I only go to school once a week. October was filled with rainouts and byes, so I had only a couple softball games all month. And since work is a mere four-minute walk, it’d be wasteful to drive there. I typically go . . . . .
After cleaning the toilets and taking out the trash, I was called into the manager’s office at URS for my latest lesson in working for a directionless bureaucracy. The manager needed for me to read and sign a document. According to the manager I was doing something wrong at the register. Even though it pertained to me, I was not privy to get a copy of the actual document (company property) so I’m going to do my best to repeat the document the best to my recollection.
Violation: I, Sik Nerd have been made aware that the expected scan rate of SRT is 90 percent. As per company policy, employees must compile 90 when TPS offsets the MRN scan rate. My ASR for the week of October 10th was not 90 percent SRT. Resolution: Follow the guidelines and comply with the expected SRT and ASR. Follow-up: 1 month
Those acronyms probably seem foreign to you* and you’re not alone: I didn’t know any of them. It wasn’t just the acronyms–I found the entire document incompressible. It could have been a recipe for sushi or the biological formula to make liquid hydrogen: in either case, I couldn’t tell the difference.
. . . . .
Last week in soccer class, one of the girls kicked me in the shin. While that’s not an interesting story (actually, it’s a bit embarrassing), the aftermath that followed certainly worth telling. Besides the three-inch by one-inch scab, I also developed a large, yellowish-purple bruise on my leg that could be seen from outer space. My shin became incredibly sensitive to touch (I even hurt myself putting on socks) and on occasions it hurt to walk because I couldn’t put too much weight on it. Since the injury happened at school, I figured I ought to let the school’s health center check me out (that and I don’t have health insurance).
After being admitted, a youngish doctor entered the examining room carrying my chart and an iPhone. “How did you hurt yourself,” she asked me.
“Someone kicked me in the shin,” I told her as she looked at her iPhone. “Since it’s been a week and hasn’t shown any signs of healing, I figured I better get it checked out.”
There was a moment of silence as she typed something on her iPhone. “Uh-huh. What kind of pain do you feel?”
“Ungawdly, tremendous amounts of pain if I touch it . . . . .
Sitting at home on a Friday night, I managed to stumble across something wonderful on the television. I’m sure everyone has heard of the Lingerie Bowl–but did you know there’s actually Lingerie Football League? It’s was the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in months…and not for the reasons you’d think.
The LFL is horrible, hideous, and the most pathetic business venture I’ve seen since my parents decided to open up their own restaurant. The football was beyond bad. The announcers took their job too seriously. And the uniforms looked like a pathetic attempt at creating risqué Halloween costumes. Maybe it’s the part of me that loves watching a train wreck, but I couldn’t look away. I found myself laughing, crying, and wishing I had a bunch of buddies over so I could watch the spectacle with other train wreck fans.
Where do I begin? Wow. Speechless–I feel speechless. I don’t know what to mock first!
I guess we’ll start with the football. As gridiron junkie, I can appreciate good football like a Frenchman saviors a fine cheese. What these girls were playing couldn’t be called football–ten-year olds play better football than what I saw (at least 10-year olds try . . . . .
On of the great aspects of the internet is it gives everyone a voice. Any schmuck–including me–can post anything they want online. It’s great insight to what makes people tick…and away to see what real people are like out there. I stumbled across a web site call ripoffreport.com. It’s a consumer advocacy site that encourages people to discuss potentially fraudulent enterprises. From lost rebates to poor customer service, consumers can share their complaints with other consumers–all in the name of warning the public.
One company that seemed to get a lot of hate was Drivetime Autosales (it also goes by the name Ugly Duckling Car Sales). The list of complaints went on and on. And as I read about a dozen of them, I failed to see a single instance where the consumer was wronged. Sure, the dealer did a lot of shady stuff–but consumers have a right to walk away. People should know better. Anyone who acts that stupid deserves any sorta rip-off that comes there way.
The majority of complaints were what you’d expect for a used car dealer. People complained about this not working or that needed repairs. Anytime you buy a used car you’re taking risks . . . . .
I’m tempted to add the US Postal Service to my long list of banned businesses (including, but not limited to: Toys-R-Us, Purrfect Auto Care, the Walt Disney Corporation, Bank of America, Kevin Costner movies, and KFC–which has since been rescinded). That’s right: the Post Office will never get another dime out of me. Kramer was right ten years ago: the Post Office is simply an entity that outlived its time.
I was at the Post Office because I had to ship a package. When it came time to pay for the postage, the clerk refused my credit card because it wasn’t signed in the back. See, I like to think I’m smarter than the average bear. A signed credit card doesn’t protect you from fraud–hell, it just makes it easier for the criminals to pull off a heist. That’s because with a signed credit card, the deviants have an exact sample of your signature. All they gotta do is practice it at home and–viola!–a perfect forgery. But leaving a blank card is pretty foolish too because the criminal simply sign the card and make “your” signature look anyway he wants. So many years ago, I came up with a foolproof . . . . .
I spent much of November badmouthing elections–always with the disclaimer that I don’t vote. I figured I didn’t have to expand on the issue because it had already been discussed. But when I looked back through past archives, I realized that I never directly explained why I don’t vote. I’ve made comments here and there, but I have never sat down and detailed my logical reasons as to what I’m not part of the process. So here goes.
I don’t vote because I hate the system. It’s flawed, hypocritical, and a total charade. What we call modern elections isn’t what our forefathers conceived 200 years ago. It’s a far cry from the practice Socrates and Aristotle practiced in ancient Greece. Elections are a joke and I refuse to be a part of them.
Elections have nothing to do with candidates or issues: it’s about who puts on the better ad campaign. I’ve heard numerous pundits discuss how excellent Obama’s campaign was and that’s probably why he won. Meanwhile, most experts agreed McCain’s campaign was hectic, unorganized, and a bit of joke. That’s why he lost.
Ideally, a voter listens to both candidate discuss the issues and chooses the one he . . . . .
Why is Jessica Alba considered a star? What has she ever done? She was on a short-lived television show about a decade ago. She was in the “Fantastic Four”–but it’s not like that increased her star power. And that’s about the only two things I think she’s ever done. I guess there’s no limits to how far a pretty face can take you.
Once again, I am completely out of the loop. Yahoo! released its annual list of top ten searches for 2008. These are the words and terms people most frequently type in the Yahoo! search engine. Of the ten, I can tell you that I have search for exactly zero of them. Not just in 2008–but my entire lifetime. I have never Yahooed Britney Spears (nor could I pick her out of a lineup of six other blonde girls). I never wanted to know anything about Angelina Jolie. I don’t think I’ve ever read an article about Lindsay Lohan. But it gets worse. Not only am I so anti-mainstream to never have searched for any of the ten terms, I never even heard of two of them. Who is Naruto and what the heck is a RuneScape?
I . . . . .
On Black Friday, there were three shopping-related deaths (giving new meaning to the term “shop ’til you drop”). I don’t understand the frenzy that motivates someone to kill for $3 off a Tickle-Me-Elmo doll, but then again there’s a lot I don’t understand about this world. Black Friday typically has some good deals but rarely anything good enough to get me out of bed before 5 am–and certainly nothing worth killing for. Like cattle being chase by a hound, dozens of Wal-Mart customers trampled a man as the store open. And at a Toys-R-Us, two men–both armed–shot each other.
While what happened at that Toys-R-Us is a tragedy (that’s what some would say; I think it’s a good thing when you rid the world full of two bozos who take guns to go toy shopping), I think the overreaction by Toys-R-Us and local police is a bit of a joke. On Saturday, deputies patrolled the Palm Desert store, ensuring there wouldn’t be repeat. Really? Is that necessary? What happened on Black Friday was the perfect storm: a mad rush of shoppers, two armed idiots, and a crowd of people who had to watch the Lions game on TV. No one . . . . .
I recently wrote about my spouse and referred to her as “The Girlfriend.” Now that we’re married, I probably should start calling her The Wife…but I’m not sure I like it. While, technically, it is her new title–it just feels weird. Not to have a wife–I’m okay with that–I just don’t like the idea of changing someone’s name. The Girlfriend is embedded in me. It rolls off the tongue. Whenever I look at my beloved, I see “The Girlfriend.” It’s kinda like when a long-time friend decides he’s no longer Robert and wants to be called Roberta. As much as you wanna honor their wishes, old habits die hard. It’s gonna be tough, but I’ll do it. Besides, if I keep calling her The Girlfriend it’s going to get complicated when I get a mistress.
I hate computer geeks. These tech guys…they’re just so pathetic. They’re obsessed with technology. Not practical technology–just raw numbers and specs. It’s all about the latest and greatest with computer geeks. Old is always bad…even though 95 percent of the population would be perfectly content with five-year old technology. They’re all like some sorta bad cliché.
I took a computer repair class this fall (not . . . . .
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