Today's unlucky victim of the angry laser is the job. Few things have the ability to control, confuse, upset and demoralize us like our jobs. Granted, we continue to show up out of necessity, or habit, or a delusional hope that one day all of our work will matter in some way. A hope that often seems more feeble with each hour, shift and day that passes.
We will also direct some anger toward the people with careers. The people with vocations. Those people who had a calling to do this. Or just knew they were going to do that. Those smart assholes who went through grad school and made something of themselves. The gifted ones who work in exciting industries. The professional athletes, the actors and musicians. The rich. The famous. Screw those people.
This post is a small, meaningless gesture to all those in the cubicle cage. All the hurried lunch hour people. All the feet hurting or back hurting people. All the dealing with shitty customers people. All the jerk boss who was only promoted instead of you because of politics people.
For a brief moment, a quick nod to those who feel stuck. Those who know too much about dead ends and rat races and ladders leading nowhere. Yeah, yeah. We can change it. If only we had the time. We can go back to school. We can update the resume and send it out there. No, we haven't checked Monster yet. It's on the list. We'll get to it.
Some day we'll go find something better. Some day we'll have the energy or the time to finish school, or get a better degree, or send out a resume. But for now, we have to get back to work. At the job we often hate. It's enough to make you snap.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Going to Snap: Doggy Doo
Since today's episode of Going to Snap is going to feature things being shit on, allow me to take this opportunity to wish all the dads out there a Happy Father's Day. Sure, mothers do plenty of work around the house (and shove 8 pounds humans through their crotch, we know, we know) and keep all the noses clean, but that doesn't mean dads are strangers to sacrifice. Here is a knowing, silent nod of recognition to all the quiet soldiers out there. All the dads. The men. The house fixers. The creature killers. The lift heavy thingers. The protectors. The bad cops. Go ahead and grab the drumstick, Dad. You deserve it.
One of the domains which usually belongs to Pops is the yard. Along with the garage, and potentially a secured sector of the basement, the grass is usually Dad's responsibility. Sure, mom has her flowers and vegetables. But we are referring to the rolling prairies of green. The endless waves of soft blades that tickle your feet in the summertime as you eat a Popsicle while running through a sprinkle and chasing after fireflies on your way to grab a hot dog off the grill after you just got out of a swimming pool that cooled you off after getting hot at your little league game. You know, the yard. Dad spends lots of time manicuring and fertilizing. Mowing and trimming. Standing and admiring. Chest puffing and patting self on back.
You may not have a large piece of Earth. But the key is usually that it's your piece of Earth. No matter what happens in this country, you can still stand firmly planted near the border of your own property and if an intruder crosses that line, you can still stick a shotgun in their face and say "get off my lawn." Sorry, they kept playing that commercial for Gran Torino coming out on DVD all weekend.
One of the domains which usually belongs to Pops is the yard. Along with the garage, and potentially a secured sector of the basement, the grass is usually Dad's responsibility. Sure, mom has her flowers and vegetables. But we are referring to the rolling prairies of green. The endless waves of soft blades that tickle your feet in the summertime as you eat a Popsicle while running through a sprinkle and chasing after fireflies on your way to grab a hot dog off the grill after you just got out of a swimming pool that cooled you off after getting hot at your little league game. You know, the yard. Dad spends lots of time manicuring and fertilizing. Mowing and trimming. Standing and admiring. Chest puffing and patting self on back.
You may not have a large piece of Earth. But the key is usually that it's your piece of Earth. No matter what happens in this country, you can still stand firmly planted near the border of your own property and if an intruder crosses that line, you can still stick a shotgun in their face and say "get off my lawn." Sorry, they kept playing that commercial for Gran Torino coming out on DVD all weekend.
The yard is yours. It may not be the greenest or the lushest, but it's yours. All you ask is that God gives you a little rain here and there and that some asshole neighbor who you have yet to catch stops letting their dog take a shit on it in the same place every time, two feet above the park strip, right by the knockout roses. I will go ahead and hop into first person and call this despicable human being out. To whoever lets their dog shit in my yard on a routine basis and doesn't scoop it:
It seems a little backward to call this person out in The Top 11. First of all, someone who lacks any shred of human dignity is not likely to be able to read. On the off chance this person is literate, I can't imagine him or her being the kind of astute and good-looking patron we see so often at The Top 11. But still, just, why? Why do you leave your dog's fecal creations in my yard? Are you really that lazy? No one likes to scoop dog poop, but it sort of goes with the territory of owning a fucking pet. One would like to believe that a grown person would grasp that concept. It's like the classic situation of parents telling the child they can have a pet when they learn to care for it. So perhaps you are a child? That can't be right. This crime routinely goes down in the early morning. Kids aren't up early. Hell, kids don't walk the damn dog anyway. So I guess your dumb parents just didn't have time to teach you about manners and pet ownership, then? Maybe your dad was too busy being a garbage man to spend time with you? Well, that can't be, because surely a man who removes garbage from people's yards would have taught his child to do the same, if nothing else. I guess the learnin' was your momma's job then? Well, let's face it. If your mom couldn't teach you to clean up after taking a shit, it's because she was too busy being a cheap prostitute. Only a woman with such low morals could justify bearing a child who sullies another man's yard and then walks away like a coward.
Unless I actually see a stray dog take a crap in the predetermined "drop zone", I will cast all blame on the owner. While I confess to have entertained sick fantasies of slaughtering this puppy, in the end, it's an animal. It's unlikely the dog knows any better, and if he doesn't hear a rebuke from the owner, why would he stop doing it? Besides, I like dogs. This is all on Fido's master. And it's going to get ugly. Cameras have been installed. Motion sensors activated. Secret neighborhood watch partners have been alerted. We are at mustard level 14 (those in the brotherhood know what this means). I hope this person enjoyed the free doggie toilet up until now. Because this is going to stop. Whether it's good, bad, or well, you get the idea.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
What are you trying to prove, NASA?
These damn kids and their spaceships. Once again, NASA somehow dodges the Congressional red pen and continues to exist. Why is this two bit outfit allowed to remain? Haven't we all had enough of their cutesy "let's look at spaaaaace" bullcrap? As if right on cue, NASA sends off its yearly taxpayer funded rocket ship into the great oblivion and beyond. What are we trying to accomplish here, NASA? Oh, we are sending someone to the moon again? That's cool. What's that you say? There are no people on this rocket? Hmm. Soooo...why do we keep paying you?
Let's see here. In the past 40 years you have gone from sending a human being to the moon (*cough*allegedly*cough*) to sending an...unmanned craft to the moon? Forgive me for holding back my raucous applause, NASA. You have taken 40 years and countless taxpayers dollars and burnt them up in that ridiculous pollution machine you call a space shuttle along with some rockets? Have you really nothing else to show for all your efforts? What, your billions of dollars gave us some moon rocks and this poster:
We won't even mention the fact that two of your priceless little toys happened to explode in fireballs of failure (with real people on them). What is the point?! Don't give me this crap about future discoveries. Don't feed me lies about unseen frontiers and new science. You can't even find oxygen up there, you aren't going to find the cure for cancer or an explanation for why girls don't really act like AXE body spray commercials. So stop trying! If all these nerds want to continue tinkering with chemistry and erector sets, fine. But can we scale the funding back a little bit? How about they each get a small office full of science toys in Branson, Missouri instead of a multi-billion dollar futility complex in Florida. Oh, and one in Texas. Oh, and rocket ships.
Going to the moon, NASA? You disgust me. We went there 40 years ago. What else is on your agenda? Pick up a Beatles album on your way home from protesting Vietnam? What a joke. And this particular mission is to forage around the Moon's surface for landing sites and frozen water?! Well the hell is frozen water? I don't understand your scientific mumbo jumbo. (checking Google...) Wait wait wait. ICE?!?!?!?!?!?! We are spending millions of dollars so you can find ice...on...the...moon. Here's a thought. Let's bet those millions on the horsey races and I will get you some ice out of my freezer. Seriously. Whaddya want? Cubes? Crushed? I got it all.
Yet again, NASA is wasting our money. It may a drop in the bucket compared to the bazillions that Obama is creating with a wave of the magic wand, but it's the principle of the thing. We continue to send satellites and rockets and cameras and probes just so we can look at neat-o pictures. We continue to treat the UFO crowd like a bunch of tinfoil hat weirdos even though they are at least trying to discover something new. Looking for aliens may be crazy, but is it that much worse than looking for ice on a celestial body we already conquered 40 years ago?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Commencement Speech: Pomp and Consequence
Dear Class of 2009,
Today we honor you, our graduates. Students from all levels of education have gathered here to receive their degree or diploma or photocopied Pre-ploma with SpongeBob on it. No matter your age or class, we congratulate all the graduates who have completed this wonderful step in their lives. You sit before us capped, gowned and tasseled. Wide-eyed and ready for more school, or a new career. Perhaps a family or religious vocation awaits you.
We suppose by now you have heard the cliches about wearing sunscreen. The cliches about living each day as if it were your last. Carpe diem and habeas corpus. You have been told to seek out that which you love, and try to make your career at it. Unless what you love is pornography. Then you should just keep that to yourself and find a cubicle job somewhere. Maybe work at a bank for a while, see if a rich friend offers you a management gig. You'll find something. The point is, you have all heard the usual song and dance routine at a graduation ceremony. Today, we send you forth into the world with one small piece of advice.
That piece of advice is: don't become one of the jerk offs who have whittled the graduation ceremony down to a joyless, unnecessarily formal, monotonous ritual that students will inevitably remember all their lives...because of how stupid and pointless it was. It is true, this event that was once appreciated and celebrated has now become a pointless recitation of names in a crowded hall. A boring speech from a boring person is given. And a juvenile pissing match from school administrators looking to punish parents that cheer for their children outside of the predetermined "cheering window." Or parents who want to wear shorts because the gym doesn't have air conditioning and it's going to be 116 degrees will be escorted out. Or kids who write on their caps will be booted. Or maybe a girl who had a discrepancy on her community service report won't get to participate. Yes, the graduation ceremony is a yearly ritual of sending our young minds into the world with a clear message, epitomized at the very ceremony in which they walk across that stage: take life so seriously that nothing is fun, no one is an individual, and nothing is cheered for outside of the predetermined cheer window. These are the rules. Follow them or you will bepolitely asked to leave arrested.
Those of you graduates who aren't looking at Susie Johnson's legs or playing PSP right now may be asking yourself: how do I prevent myself from becoming a fun-hating douche bag school administrator? Since a couple of you are paying attention, we will offer some simple rules to live by.
1. Don't Overreact
Sometimes in life, people will make a fuss. People will hoot and holler when they aren't supposed to. People will be rude, or self-involved. Even if they are cheering their own child, they may not understand they are ruining a moment for someone else. People will insult you. People will betray you. Make fun of you. Lie to you. Cheat you. Slap you. Shoot you in the abdomen, take your wallet and say, "Welcome to Detroit." Take one breath before you react. Maybe two. The whole counting to ten thing seems a bit excessive, try 4 or 5. I mean really, who has time to count to ten? What is this, preschool? Just don't overreact. Try to find a creative way to solve the problem. Let's say you're putting on a commencement ceremony at a high school. Over the past couple years, some parents have been cheering their child in a disruptive way. It tends to ruin the moment for some of the other kids and add time to the ceremony. You would like for people to show some class. What is your first course of action? If you answered, "have them arrested by a state trooper!", you may need to relax a bit if you are going to make it through life.
2. Don't be self-important
Who said a graduation had to be a "formal" event? Some definition in Webster's for commencement? Who cares. Think about what you are suggesting. We in the education world are so damn important that each year needs to end with a solemn ceremony. Something so drab and formal it would be fitting as a funeral for the Queen. No offense, but the most formal event in life shouldn't be watching 18 year olds walk across a stage because they scored the bare minimum on standardized tests. Sure, it's an achievement. But they are still kids. You cooped them up for four years in that rule-laden prison you call a high school and your final gesture is still something as boring as an English lecture? Get a clue. It's not evil to celebrate an achievement instead of strangely mourning it. Get over yourself. Let people enjoy something they worked hard to achieve. Let emotion happen. Anything is possibbbbblllllleeeeeeeee!!!
3. Have fun
Finally, try to have a little fun. There are a lot of people who will see that beach ball bounce around the graduation rank and file and think, "look at those bastard kids, showing no respect." Don't be one of those people. You don't have to be the guy who brought the beach ball per se, but if it comes your way, give her a smack. You don't wanna be a square, do you? Remember, graduates. The rest of your life will hold plenty of opportunities to sit in your chair, remain silent, cheer at the appropriate time as prescribed by management, hear a boring person tell you how to be or how to live, then walk up to "the man" and kiss his ass with a handshake and a smile, I assure you. Learn to have fun. If you see a struggling family that cheers a kid for whom graduating high school was a miracle, don't remark on the rudeness of it. Rather, try to see the beauty in it. For some families, graduating a kid from school is a huge deal, not an expectation. See love in the mother who says, "I don't care who escorts me out, I'm cheering for my baby because I am proud of her."
Here's hoping all the graduates enjoy the rest of the ceremony. Congratulations on all your achievements and reaching the next step in your life. Oh look, there's the beach ball. What will you do when it comes your way?
Today we honor you, our graduates. Students from all levels of education have gathered here to receive their degree or diploma or photocopied Pre-ploma with SpongeBob on it. No matter your age or class, we congratulate all the graduates who have completed this wonderful step in their lives. You sit before us capped, gowned and tasseled. Wide-eyed and ready for more school, or a new career. Perhaps a family or religious vocation awaits you.
We suppose by now you have heard the cliches about wearing sunscreen. The cliches about living each day as if it were your last. Carpe diem and habeas corpus. You have been told to seek out that which you love, and try to make your career at it. Unless what you love is pornography. Then you should just keep that to yourself and find a cubicle job somewhere. Maybe work at a bank for a while, see if a rich friend offers you a management gig. You'll find something. The point is, you have all heard the usual song and dance routine at a graduation ceremony. Today, we send you forth into the world with one small piece of advice.
That piece of advice is: don't become one of the jerk offs who have whittled the graduation ceremony down to a joyless, unnecessarily formal, monotonous ritual that students will inevitably remember all their lives...because of how stupid and pointless it was. It is true, this event that was once appreciated and celebrated has now become a pointless recitation of names in a crowded hall. A boring speech from a boring person is given. And a juvenile pissing match from school administrators looking to punish parents that cheer for their children outside of the predetermined "cheering window." Or parents who want to wear shorts because the gym doesn't have air conditioning and it's going to be 116 degrees will be escorted out. Or kids who write on their caps will be booted. Or maybe a girl who had a discrepancy on her community service report won't get to participate. Yes, the graduation ceremony is a yearly ritual of sending our young minds into the world with a clear message, epitomized at the very ceremony in which they walk across that stage: take life so seriously that nothing is fun, no one is an individual, and nothing is cheered for outside of the predetermined cheer window. These are the rules. Follow them or you will be
Those of you graduates who aren't looking at Susie Johnson's legs or playing PSP right now may be asking yourself: how do I prevent myself from becoming a fun-hating douche bag school administrator? Since a couple of you are paying attention, we will offer some simple rules to live by.
1. Don't Overreact
Sometimes in life, people will make a fuss. People will hoot and holler when they aren't supposed to. People will be rude, or self-involved. Even if they are cheering their own child, they may not understand they are ruining a moment for someone else. People will insult you. People will betray you. Make fun of you. Lie to you. Cheat you. Slap you. Shoot you in the abdomen, take your wallet and say, "Welcome to Detroit." Take one breath before you react. Maybe two. The whole counting to ten thing seems a bit excessive, try 4 or 5. I mean really, who has time to count to ten? What is this, preschool? Just don't overreact. Try to find a creative way to solve the problem. Let's say you're putting on a commencement ceremony at a high school. Over the past couple years, some parents have been cheering their child in a disruptive way. It tends to ruin the moment for some of the other kids and add time to the ceremony. You would like for people to show some class. What is your first course of action? If you answered, "have them arrested by a state trooper!", you may need to relax a bit if you are going to make it through life.
2. Don't be self-important
Who said a graduation had to be a "formal" event? Some definition in Webster's for commencement? Who cares. Think about what you are suggesting. We in the education world are so damn important that each year needs to end with a solemn ceremony. Something so drab and formal it would be fitting as a funeral for the Queen. No offense, but the most formal event in life shouldn't be watching 18 year olds walk across a stage because they scored the bare minimum on standardized tests. Sure, it's an achievement. But they are still kids. You cooped them up for four years in that rule-laden prison you call a high school and your final gesture is still something as boring as an English lecture? Get a clue. It's not evil to celebrate an achievement instead of strangely mourning it. Get over yourself. Let people enjoy something they worked hard to achieve. Let emotion happen. Anything is possibbbbblllllleeeeeeeee!!!
3. Have fun
Finally, try to have a little fun. There are a lot of people who will see that beach ball bounce around the graduation rank and file and think, "look at those bastard kids, showing no respect." Don't be one of those people. You don't have to be the guy who brought the beach ball per se, but if it comes your way, give her a smack. You don't wanna be a square, do you? Remember, graduates. The rest of your life will hold plenty of opportunities to sit in your chair, remain silent, cheer at the appropriate time as prescribed by management, hear a boring person tell you how to be or how to live, then walk up to "the man" and kiss his ass with a handshake and a smile, I assure you. Learn to have fun. If you see a struggling family that cheers a kid for whom graduating high school was a miracle, don't remark on the rudeness of it. Rather, try to see the beauty in it. For some families, graduating a kid from school is a huge deal, not an expectation. See love in the mother who says, "I don't care who escorts me out, I'm cheering for my baby because I am proud of her."
Here's hoping all the graduates enjoy the rest of the ceremony. Congratulations on all your achievements and reaching the next step in your life. Oh look, there's the beach ball. What will you do when it comes your way?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Proper Footwear
Well, here's a quick one for you, folks. I have sat idly by while these ridiculous Crocs shoes continue to permeate our landscape. But since we will be discussing footwear, I will go ahead and lob a grenade at you rubber-soled weirdos out there. I understand that they are comfortable. I get it. They are like walking on an interlaced trampoline of angel wings covered in sleeping puppies. Still, no one can claim they look good. You can't even claim that they look decent. They're hideous. You can't completely shun all fashion sense just because something is comfortable, otherwise guys would try wearing women's underwear. (uncomfortable silence) Let's just move on.
This post isn't actually about Crocs or the people who wear them. It's about the normal, more widely-accepted cousin to the Croc: the flip-flop. Summer is here and that means flip-flops are usually acceptable as the kick du jour. However. Just because the thermometer cracks 75 doesn't mean we can all start exposing our feet willy nilly. The fact is, there are still some times when a flip-flop isn't appropriate. Like an election, Mr. Obama? Anyway, let's think of some times when you shouldn't wear flip-flops, shall we? A wedding? Good. A funeral? Also true. While trying to run away from Godzilla? Excellent, Tommy. During sex? Hmm. You know it really depends on how much time you- When helping someone move? PERFECT EXAMPLE.
A couple weeks ago, I helped my siblings-in-law move stuff out of their house. I think it was well communicated up front that this was going to be the heavy stuff. Furniture. Safes. Cast iron statues of Soviet Union dictators. I showed up at the required time in comfortable clothes, gym shoes and brought a pair of work gloves just in case. Because I am an adult. I couldn't help but notice one of the friends who was also enlisted to help was wearing flippy floppys, but we weren't on a boat. Why would you wear flip flops to move furniture? We can all list the possible negative side effects of this, we don't have to do it here. I didn't even know what to say. I mostly just stared at them with a confused look.
Right about the time my anger over this occurrence subsided (8-9 days), my neighbor across the street had a "contractor" show up to his house to work on the siding and trim. As I watched him cutting 2 x 4's on a saw while wearing his fancy tool belt, and walking boards and siding around to the side of the house I saw them...flip flops. Working on a house with wood, siding, power tools, etc. Flip flops. I couldn't process what I saw so I ended up getting a headache only above my left eye for like twenty minutes.
I don't need to carry on, it should make sense why this is asinine.
This post isn't actually about Crocs or the people who wear them. It's about the normal, more widely-accepted cousin to the Croc: the flip-flop. Summer is here and that means flip-flops are usually acceptable as the kick du jour. However. Just because the thermometer cracks 75 doesn't mean we can all start exposing our feet willy nilly. The fact is, there are still some times when a flip-flop isn't appropriate. Like an election, Mr. Obama? Anyway, let's think of some times when you shouldn't wear flip-flops, shall we? A wedding? Good. A funeral? Also true. While trying to run away from Godzilla? Excellent, Tommy. During sex? Hmm. You know it really depends on how much time you- When helping someone move? PERFECT EXAMPLE.
A couple weeks ago, I helped my siblings-in-law move stuff out of their house. I think it was well communicated up front that this was going to be the heavy stuff. Furniture. Safes. Cast iron statues of Soviet Union dictators. I showed up at the required time in comfortable clothes, gym shoes and brought a pair of work gloves just in case. Because I am an adult. I couldn't help but notice one of the friends who was also enlisted to help was wearing flippy floppys, but we weren't on a boat. Why would you wear flip flops to move furniture? We can all list the possible negative side effects of this, we don't have to do it here. I didn't even know what to say. I mostly just stared at them with a confused look.Right about the time my anger over this occurrence subsided (8-9 days), my neighbor across the street had a "contractor" show up to his house to work on the siding and trim. As I watched him cutting 2 x 4's on a saw while wearing his fancy tool belt, and walking boards and siding around to the side of the house I saw them...flip flops. Working on a house with wood, siding, power tools, etc. Flip flops. I couldn't process what I saw so I ended up getting a headache only above my left eye for like twenty minutes.
I don't need to carry on, it should make sense why this is asinine.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Going to Snap: Car Repairs
If you are middle class, you have probably been driving ever since your parents gave you a car at 16. No, it wasn't brand new, or a convertible (unless you are that bitch Chrissy from my high school) or even special to anyone other than you. But it was yours. As you burnt tire and asphalt out of the driveway, it hardly registered in your feeble mind when dad said a car was a responsibility. Sure it is, pops. A responsibility to get laid in the back seat! Dad is so lame! Turn that Bel Biv Devoe up! That girl is posioooooooon...
Somewhere between taking your friends home from a party and adding yet another air freshener to the rear view mirror, your car may have developed a small knocking sound. Maybe a clink. Maybe a clunk. Maybe a whozit or floozit or zunk. Whatever the problem was, you were introduced at a young age what it's like to need a car repair. And how much it sucks. At that tender age, maybe Dad was still springing for the repairs. Either way, you knew it required paying money, and being without your chariot of teen angst for a day or two.
As you get older, you can likely recount some of the bigger repairs you have been saddled with over the years. That cracked radiator in Tuscon (86') or the smashed windshield outside of Birmingham (92'). Of course there was the time the brakes gave out and you rammed the tour bus for Smashmouth on their Hey Now, You're an All-Star and other Songs tour ('99). You tremble to think what the grand total of owning an automobile would be if you tallied up the serpentine belts and the brake pads and the power steering pumps. Better to just erase it from memory and ponder what life would be like without your car.
When dad finally cuts your umbilical cord, you move out into the burbs and have kids and have two cars. Life becomes a cycle of trying to save money and getting sweet potatos out of a onesie. This is when a car repair is crippling. This is when life likes to pimp slap you for the fun of it and run away, just to see how you react. This is where blown engines happen and axles fall off. Your trust of a mechanic will be pushed to the limit as your older wisdom knows everyone is trying to make a buck. Really? The back wheels both just fell off? Yeah, I mean, do you know how much it will be? Yeah, I guess go ahead and do it. Oh, it needs new seats, too? Um...yeah ok. Yeah, I can pick it up three Thursdays from now.
From little to large, you paid a lot of money for your ride and it's irritating when anything breaks on it. Whether it's a knob on the radio or the transmission, you have to pay pay pay and wait wait wait. You curse the lazy bastards at GM or Honda for having no pride in their work. Is it that hard to use plastic that doesn't crack? We put people on the moon yet no one has invented an alternator that lasts more than 60,000 miles? Car repairs are going to happen sooner or later. Hopefully they don't cost too much.
Drive safe.
Somewhere between taking your friends home from a party and adding yet another air freshener to the rear view mirror, your car may have developed a small knocking sound. Maybe a clink. Maybe a clunk. Maybe a whozit or floozit or zunk. Whatever the problem was, you were introduced at a young age what it's like to need a car repair. And how much it sucks. At that tender age, maybe Dad was still springing for the repairs. Either way, you knew it required paying money, and being without your chariot of teen angst for a day or two.
As you get older, you can likely recount some of the bigger repairs you have been saddled with over the years. That cracked radiator in Tuscon (86') or the smashed windshield outside of Birmingham (92'). Of course there was the time the brakes gave out and you rammed the tour bus for Smashmouth on their Hey Now, You're an All-Star and other Songs tour ('99). You tremble to think what the grand total of owning an automobile would be if you tallied up the serpentine belts and the brake pads and the power steering pumps. Better to just erase it from memory and ponder what life would be like without your car.
When dad finally cuts your umbilical cord, you move out into the burbs and have kids and have two cars. Life becomes a cycle of trying to save money and getting sweet potatos out of a onesie. This is when a car repair is crippling. This is when life likes to pimp slap you for the fun of it and run away, just to see how you react. This is where blown engines happen and axles fall off. Your trust of a mechanic will be pushed to the limit as your older wisdom knows everyone is trying to make a buck. Really? The back wheels both just fell off? Yeah, I mean, do you know how much it will be? Yeah, I guess go ahead and do it. Oh, it needs new seats, too? Um...yeah ok. Yeah, I can pick it up three Thursdays from now.
From little to large, you paid a lot of money for your ride and it's irritating when anything breaks on it. Whether it's a knob on the radio or the transmission, you have to pay pay pay and wait wait wait. You curse the lazy bastards at GM or Honda for having no pride in their work. Is it that hard to use plastic that doesn't crack? We put people on the moon yet no one has invented an alternator that lasts more than 60,000 miles? Car repairs are going to happen sooner or later. Hopefully they don't cost too much.
Drive safe.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Layoffs at Facebook
As the economy continues to limp along on life support, more and more businesses are in the news for downsizing, not meeting profit expectations, bankruptcies and closures. Perhaps the worst economic indicator to fill our TV screens is the announcement of layoffs. No one enjoys hearing about someone being laid off. No matter how far away we may be from the place or factory where it happens, we know there is always an uneasy family behind every lost American job.
The economy continues to dive and even the strongest companies have been feeling the effects. Now, even the Interweb juggernaut that is Facebook is doing the same. Ok, so the actual company isn't laying people off. But I am personally laying off 10-25% of my friends on Facebook and thought a formal announcement was in order. Decisions like this are never easy. But as we all know, cost-cutting and efficiency are taking the place of corporate excess and bloat. You have to slim down if you want to survive.
First off, we are sad to say that anyone who was graciously added as a friend in the past, yet is still unidentifiable is no longer going to be a Facebook friend. This includes randoms from across the nation who seemingly only have the goal of gaining lots of friends. This will also include spouses or younger siblings of people I don't even hang out with. Considering these people had absolutely no tie-in and contributed nothing, there will be no severance.
Next, after careful consideration, we are no longer keeping former coworkers from summer jobs as friends. Unless these persons have a legitimate claim to ongoing friendship, our one magical summer in the kitchen of a restaurant is no longer a strong enough bond to unite us online. None of your status updates make any sense, and I know no one in your pictures. Again, no severance.
Now begins the cuts that may be a surprise and really hurt us in management when we decided them. Any and all persons who are updating their status more than 24 times a day are now gone. We have tried to cover your incessant headaches and fatigue with the company health plan. We have attempted to expedite the work week every time you asked if it was Friday yet. We even feigned excitement when we heard your family was coming into town, and when you got a puppy. Inevitably, the constant updating proved to be a horrific bottleneck to our overall ability to remain in touch with desired friends through Facebook. You will receive a severance of civility when we see you at a bar, if you ever get off your fucking computer.
We will also be laying off those who continue to partake in completely asinine quizzes and polling. While it may be an effective use of the company time to inform us of your favorite movies, or even which character from an 80's sitcom you identify with most, we simply can no longer afford to read whether you roll toilet paper over or under, like crunchy or creamy peanut butter, or like Pepsi over Coke. These banalities offer nothing to our bottom line and prove you have a penchant for wasting time, a habit we simply can't endorse. You are eligible for re-hire if you exhibit 3 months of quiz-free behavior.
All friends in the following groups will remain for now but should exercise caution in the future should the market continue to slide: excessive Mafia Wars players, moms only talking about their children and diapers, people who amazingly have the capacity to use Facebook yet can not seem to read or write, girls who excessively use the word "babe", and my mom.
As always, my close and cool friends, siblings and wife are safe. As are hot chicks from high school who I always lusted after and now stalk via their wedding reception photos from the summer. Thank you all for your understanding in this trying time. We encourage all former and current friends to remain in touch (not really!) and try to get outside once in a while.
The economy continues to dive and even the strongest companies have been feeling the effects. Now, even the Interweb juggernaut that is Facebook is doing the same. Ok, so the actual company isn't laying people off. But I am personally laying off 10-25% of my friends on Facebook and thought a formal announcement was in order. Decisions like this are never easy. But as we all know, cost-cutting and efficiency are taking the place of corporate excess and bloat. You have to slim down if you want to survive.
First off, we are sad to say that anyone who was graciously added as a friend in the past, yet is still unidentifiable is no longer going to be a Facebook friend. This includes randoms from across the nation who seemingly only have the goal of gaining lots of friends. This will also include spouses or younger siblings of people I don't even hang out with. Considering these people had absolutely no tie-in and contributed nothing, there will be no severance.
Next, after careful consideration, we are no longer keeping former coworkers from summer jobs as friends. Unless these persons have a legitimate claim to ongoing friendship, our one magical summer in the kitchen of a restaurant is no longer a strong enough bond to unite us online. None of your status updates make any sense, and I know no one in your pictures. Again, no severance.
Now begins the cuts that may be a surprise and really hurt us in management when we decided them. Any and all persons who are updating their status more than 24 times a day are now gone. We have tried to cover your incessant headaches and fatigue with the company health plan. We have attempted to expedite the work week every time you asked if it was Friday yet. We even feigned excitement when we heard your family was coming into town, and when you got a puppy. Inevitably, the constant updating proved to be a horrific bottleneck to our overall ability to remain in touch with desired friends through Facebook. You will receive a severance of civility when we see you at a bar, if you ever get off your fucking computer.
We will also be laying off those who continue to partake in completely asinine quizzes and polling. While it may be an effective use of the company time to inform us of your favorite movies, or even which character from an 80's sitcom you identify with most, we simply can no longer afford to read whether you roll toilet paper over or under, like crunchy or creamy peanut butter, or like Pepsi over Coke. These banalities offer nothing to our bottom line and prove you have a penchant for wasting time, a habit we simply can't endorse. You are eligible for re-hire if you exhibit 3 months of quiz-free behavior.
All friends in the following groups will remain for now but should exercise caution in the future should the market continue to slide: excessive Mafia Wars players, moms only talking about their children and diapers, people who amazingly have the capacity to use Facebook yet can not seem to read or write, girls who excessively use the word "babe", and my mom.
As always, my close and cool friends, siblings and wife are safe. As are hot chicks from high school who I always lusted after and now stalk via their wedding reception photos from the summer. Thank you all for your understanding in this trying time. We encourage all former and current friends to remain in touch (not really!) and try to get outside once in a while.
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