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Over the end-of-year holidays, I took some time off from work…all kinds of work…including shaving. By the time 2008 rolled in, I had to make a decision. I had to either shave or put a crowbar in my wallet and free $20 for a decent beard trimmer. As cheap as I am, I chose to keep my beard and opted for the trimmers. Now I am assaulted frequently with annoying expression number 34: “Hey, you’re trying to grow a beard.”
Some of my snappy comebacks are “No. It’s grown,” and “Trying? No. I’m doing a damn fine job of it” and “I have to do something with all this testosterone since your wife cut me off.” Grabbing my face like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone and screaming, “Where the hell did this come from?” hasn’t offered the impact I’d hoped.
The reason “Hey, you’re trying to grow a beard” grinds my gears is men are always growing beards. That’s the whole point of shaving every day. By shaving, we men are constantly trying not to grow beards.
Which makes me think of a new witty comeback for the next clean-shaved dunderhead who accosts me with this annoying expression. “I see you’re trying not to, putz.” I should just start walking up to people and saying that without provocation. Lord knows I can be annoying, too. My skills may go soft if I don’t practice more.
Perfect timing. I went to bed Friday night in prefect health and woke up Saturday morning, the first day of my Christmas vacation, sick as a cat. The fire in my chest and head are the harbingers of Christmas this year.
The odd thing is, I rarely get a cold or flu or what ever this burning sensation is. I guess my system is just too toxic to sustain any real disease. Hopefully, this will clear up enough so we can all enjoy the day.
In my delirium, I still had to run to the grocery store (sanitize those cart handles, kids). I threw a couple of game hens in a cart. It wasn’t my cart. I turned around twice, wondering why my hens had escaped. Then I realized I may have stolen someone’s cart and/or randomly thrown poultry around the meat department. These better be the best birds ever. I feel like I really hunted and gathered.
Being a large, bulbous object myself, I have always loved this song. It mentions two of my favorite things: Jean Luc Picard and stupid people. I love stupid people. I love bald people, too. Is it me or is the lead singer the bastard child of me, Sean Penn, Brendan Fraser, and Angus Young (check the foot work)? I mean, I’ve never even met any of those folks, let alone had some freaky exchange of DNA with them, but still, this guy morphs between a younger, slimmer me and Sean, Brendan, and Angus so easily. Enjoy.
It’s not less than easy to hear the lyrics, but just in case, here’s a recap:
Just how far down do you want to go
We can talk it out over a cup of joe
And you can look deep in my eyes
Like I was a super-model.
[here I have to say, I have the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes. There's a blemish in the right, lower quadrant of the left, but it just makes me more endearing.]
Uh huh.
Well it’s just you and me, baby
No one else we can trust
Well say nothing to no one
No how or we’ll bust
Never crack a smile or flinch or cry
For nobody.
Uh huh.
So give your ID card to the border guard
Your alias says you’re Captain Jean Luc Picard
Of the united federation of planets
Cause they won’t speak english anyway
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So meet me at the mission at midnight
Well divvy up there.
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So I got the pistol
So I get the pesos
Yeah, and that seems fair.
Well put the sugar in the tank of the sheriffs car
Well slash the deputy’s tires
They wont get very far
When they finally get the word that theres been a hold-up
So give your ID card to the border guard
Your alias says you’re Captain Jean Luc Picard
Of the united federation of planets
Cause they won’t speak English anyway
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So meet me at the mission at midnight
Well divvy up there
Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people
So I got the pistol
So I get the pesos
That seems fair
I’ve been asked a few times this week, possibly because of this suicidal rant, “Are you like this in real life?” I translate this question as, “Do you have no shame? Do you just say whatever pops into your head out loud? Would you say these things to someone standing in front of you?” I’ll answer this with a true-life account.
Exactly two Thanksgivings ago, the following transpired. No names have been change because I am the only guilty party.
November in Alabama isn’t known for its cold weather. This particular Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving was no exception. It was tolerable. Long sleeves were appropriate for dress. Short sleeves if you were exerting any energy. My new neighbors were expending their energies.
This young couple only knew me as the helpful guy who owned the house next to the one they purchased 2 months ago. He and I had talked, but she and I had only waved. This left her unprepared for that Wednesday when I returned from work to find her holding a ladder and him stringing Christmas lights on their virgin home.
I whipped into my driveway, slammed my car door loudly, checked my mail loudly and marched single-mindedly down the sidewalk and up their driveway to announce loudly, “Hi! I’m not only your neighbor, but I’m also with the Neighborhood Watch Committee. I MUST inform you, the rules of the neighborhood FORBID the hanging of Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. I know y’all are new, but I must INSIST you take these lights down. I’m happy to help you take this all down, if necessary.”
Her protest began immediately. “Are you serious?”
“Yes’um. The neighborhood rules are quite firm on this,” I deadpanned.
“But we’re going out of town tomorrow to spend Thanksgiving with my parents. We won’t be back until Monday and we just wanted to decorate before we left.” Her husband was sliding down-ladder like a sailor onboard a ship. His motion was an involuntary, instinctual movement brought on by stifled laughter.
“Honey, I think he’s kidding,” he said trying to hang on to his hammer.
“No. This is a serious offense. We can’t let the neighborhood get out of control,” I said as he and I exchanged glances.
Her confused and questioning eyes darted between her husband and her new, obnoxious neighbor about half-a-dozen times before we men could not contain our smiles any longer.
In answer to the question, yes, I’m just like that in real life. I take every opportunity to laugh, love and enjoy life. I believe I could make chocolate out of mud, if I gave it a good effort.
It couldn’t even be one of the fun sick days where you feel too bad to go to work, but not to play. Today was a crappy sick day. If it could have just been one where my brain still functioned, it would have been OK. The level of meds required to kill the pain fogged my brain so much, I couldn’t do much of anything. I have a couple of writing project started, but there was no working on them today.
The old lumbar has been squirrelly for a few days and it finally screamed, “No mas!” The best I have for pain is ibuprofen. The prescription muscle relaxer are keeping my brain in a fog. At least I’m getting plenty of rest. I take two hour naps every 3 hours. Not much else to do but lie on the heating pad and watch TV. Mindless internet surfing helps take my mind of the pain. But cute kittens with misspelled captions get old pretty fast.
This half-sleep half-awake world I’m in sucks hose water. It’s not my idea of slack. I’ll be happy when I can stop taking these pills. Until then, I think…
Email is the blessing and bane of daily life. Get too much and you can’t get any real work done because you are just replying to emails. Get none and you start wondering if the pink slip is the next message you will receive. When emails start to drive you mad, take your revenge creatively with these suggestions.
Fun with acronyms
Every industry or company has their own language. One of the unfortunate side effects of jargon is that common phrases turn into acronyms. Honestly, most people in the company have no idea what 99% of the acronyms represent. So make some up and put them in the signature of your emails.
I once managed a mailing list of about 300 people that used a particular computer system. Monthly or weekly communications were my responsibility and I would sign every email with “MOBTAS LOAIS” under my name. After 18 months and hundreds of emails, only one lady ever asked me what the acronym meant. Everyone else either ignored it, thought it was some project code, or was too proud to admit they didn’t know. The lady that finally called me on it had a good laugh when I told her it stood for “Master of Both Time and Space. Lord of all I Survey.”
Be creative, but not crude with your acronyms. A wonderful alternative to this is to remove all vowels from your emails completely. Oddly, they remain readable.
Fun with Languages
Use a free on-line translation service like BabelFish or FreeTranslation to translate your text into a foreign language. I like to use Dutch or Norwegian. Don’t use Spanish or French since everyone learned a little of those in high school. Non-Latin alphabet languages don’t work well for this game. You might try sending one to yourself just to check the font.
When the bewildered response comes, translate your reply again. When you finally get the inevitable phone call from the befuddle recipient, insist that you are sending plain English and the problem must be on their end. Tell them to check their software settings. Recommend they uninstall and reinstall their software or operating system. Be adamant that they must have some strange font installed on their computer. When they say, “But it only happens to your emails,” tell them it must be a virus that soon will spread to other emails. Convince them to unplug from the network until help arrives.
Fun with Sound
Record yourself reading the email text and attach the sound file to the email. This is actually a really helpful tip if the recipient is blind, but it’s fun for the sighted, too. Where does the really fun part come in? Record something other than the email text and attach it.
Imagine an email with very dry, technical, run-of-the-mill facts in the text with a recording of Robert Frost’s “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening” attached. You might even attach a paranoid, lunatic rant, including Biblical prophetic citations of the end of the world, about how your dog is stealing your girlfriend and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are tunneling under your house every morning at 3 o’clock.
It really confuses them if you sent a few recordings that match the text and then suddenly attach a recording of Hamlet’s soliloquy to your monthly report. Pairing “fourth quarter sales are up 8%” with a recording of your best falsetto Lady Macbeth’s “out, out damned spot” speech is always a boardroom winner.
Fun with Legalities
Sign all your emails with a paragraph of legal jargon in 4 point type. Make it light gray to make it even more unreadable. You can reproduce a product warning label or use a software programs “terms of use” text as the source.
I get emails every once in a while with “if you are not the intended recipient…” under the sender’s signature. If I’m not, you shouldn’t have sent it to me. Be more creative than that guy. Make your “terms of use” say
By reading this email you acknowledge from henceforth and in perpetuity to:
Wash the sender’s car on alternate odd Saturdays.
Profess to the world on every Federal holiday, the sender’s genius.
Love the sender’s dog even when he has the mange.
Refer to the sender as “Loretta” on Wednesdays
Call random recipients up four weeks in the future and ask them when they are coming over to wash your car. Threaten them with breach of contract if they don’t show up by 5PM, Greenwich Mean Time.
One word of caution if you follow through with these ideas, keep your resume up to date. I can’t be held accountable for your insanity. We all have to find our own, personal madness and make it work.
Neglect is an ugly word. The connotations bring images of abandon children and starving puppies to mind.
Hi, My name is Barefoot and I’m neglectful. I’ve neglected the blog for a few days. I’ve been distracted with work. You know work. It’s that darn four-letter word that pays the mortgage and pesky grocery bill. I have to focus on it every now and again.
Right now, I’m creating thousands of tiny SQL statements. Oh, the joy! Problems solving with programming doesn’t get any better than this.
Then there was the whole Associated Content snafu yesterday. Seems they miscalculated the cumulative count of hits for the last few weeks. When caught and corrected, people were understandably bummed that their huge increases weren’t what they were all cracked up to be. Tempest in a teapot compared to the price of gasoline.
Speaking of gasoline, when did they stop mixing it with ethanol? My car ran just fine on that and it was so much cheaper. I hear Brazil makes ethanol out of sugar cane is is 100% energy independent. Brazil did it. Why can’t the U.S.?
We have tons and tons of viable material. We have the technology to build dual-fuel-source cars. I’m going to have to buy a scooter. My minivan is just sucking the life out of me.
I hate most holidays. Most have lost their original meaning. Nowadays, the only real reason for a holiday is to take a day off work and slack around. I always felt some holidays were more contrived than others. Columbus Day was at the top of that list until I realized the true potential of memorializing Christopher Columbus.
Not really, but by choice. I’m putting the blog on hold for a few days. I’m disappearing from the internet completely for a few days.
Taking downtime is sometimes more important than downloads. Family, food, fun, and no computer. The laptop stays home. I’m going to take a notebook and pen. Doing things the old fashion way will be a great change of pace. Plus no batteries to recharge but my own.
Every trip has an economic impact. With gas at its current price, I decided to look at some alternate means of transportation. Fly? No, you can’t get there from here without making a few stops. Layovers suck. Airport security sucks. By the time you fly, you could drive there. Narrow-ass seats to boot.
The deal is, I need to get to New Orleans. Interestingly, Amtrak goes there. From where I sit, they go there for about $65 round trip. That’s about a tank and 1/2 of gas in my van. I calculate it would take about 2.5 tanks to get to New Orleans and back. I decided to take the train.
It takes longer to get there on the train than to drive, but I figure the stress of not sharing the road with 1,527 idiots between hither and thither is worth it. I get to sit back, relax, have a drink and just arrive. Potty stops are not an issue. Another plus.
I’m taking the Crescent to New Orleans. Sounds like fun. The best part is, I get to see some family that I haven’t seen for quite some time. My cousin is getting his own Coast Guard command and a promotion to Captain. The ceremony takes place on the solstice, in south Louisiana, at high noon. The dress is suit and tie. Oh joy! I expect to be 10 pounds lighter from just water loss.
But family is family. I’m excited for the big promotion and the chance to see some family that I haven’t seen for a few years. Good food in New Orleans is just the icing on the cake.
