The Rantings of Angry Oskar!

Rant #18 - Early Morning Disappointment

2006-08-25T08:21:00.000-04:00

So, this morning, I order a coffee with two sugar, and then I get to the office and realize the dumb clerk gave me a coffee with two cream, am I legally able to return to the store and kill her? Seems like I would be doing the world a favour. I mean, her whole job is to get coffee orders right. It's not like I was at Starbuckies ordering a triple-half-calf-espresso with nutmeg with ten people in line. I was the only person in line, and all I wanted was two sugar!

But, I restrained myself from drilling the coffee at the building next to my office's parking lot, and instead gave it away to my buddy JA-Rule at work. So, he comes out ahead, anyway. I have to drink the old-ground-up-shoe-flavoured coffee that comes out of the machine here at work.

Blech.

Vigilance!

Rant #17 – Mandatory Rockin’!

2006-06-16T08:06:00.000-04:00

Due to forces that are out of control (mainly that I have yet to take absolute control over my new work environment) I have been subjected to an oldies rock/metal radio station every day. This is the first time in about a decade that I’ve been in such a position. Back when I ran the shipping/receiving department (a department that consisted solely of myself) there was a shitty speaker somewhere up near the ceiling of the large warehouse that distorted all the crappy rock songs it played. In the mornings I would arrive ahead of the office staff (who’s speaker worked) and turned off the radio. I would get at least two hours of blissful silence before someone noticed and turned it back on. (Back then Meatloaf’s “comeback” single was “hot” on the “charts”. I was always appalled that the Meat had pussed-out and wrote the line “God of sex and DRUMS and rock and roll!” But he “sang” it quickly enough that is sounded like “sex and drugs”. Whatta pathetic state of affairs! Anyway, every day I would get to hear this marvelous masterpiece three times a day. Ugh.)

Well, now I’m back in that same situation. If Crazy Train is on, then it must be 10:30. And I like Crazy Train, or at least had fond memories of listening to Sabbath and Ozzy and Kiss and other metal stuff back in high school, when those songs were already more than a decade old. I’ve moved on from that stuff, but I had fond memories. Now, I’m sick of it again thanks to the radio.

And then there’s the ads. I fucking hate radio ads. They are all crap, but if I ever come to rule the spiritual underworld of Hell, then I will create a special place for the people who make up radio ads. The one that’s making my ears bleed now is the three-minute-long advert for the rock festival coming to town. I only hear it about seventy times a day. Basically there’s a hokey pre-amble about the Sleeping Giant calling for the drums to return (voiced by the one local guy who dies ALL radio ads, but with a deeper voice, sigh…) and the “big” bands are listed along with a clip of their (one and only) hit song! Seriously now, the concert fest is going to be about 45 minutes long, as I assume each of these bands and artists—who have been working part time as gas station attendants since their hit song left the airways ten, fifteen, twenty years ago—are going to take the stage, jam out a tired, old, crappy live version of the song I’ve heard eight times a week on the radio, and then take a bow. There’s got to be fifteen artists on the bill, and only three of them have more than one hit, so what else are they going to play? Covers? Their new crap songs? And are the beer-fuelled crowd gonna stand for some fifty-year-old trying to kick ass on stage by singing a tune that was a rebellious cry against the man back in the Seventies? If the Rolling Stones can barely pull off not looking like washed out has-beens, then what hope does Sweet, The Northern Pikes, Quiet Riot, Helix, Lou Gramm (w/o Foreigner), Vince Neil (w/o Mötley Crüe) have? And haven’t the Stones just become their own tribute band by now? Who’s going to their stadium tours to hear the hits off Steel Wheels?

And then the Disc Jockeys (like they actually handle any discs, but just read off what track the DJMaster 6000 will be playing next) are trying to be hip and make jokes, but their only skill is a good radio voice. They are NOT comedians. Trust me. Today, the dude was making ‘jokes’ about what Jimi Hendrix was singing in ‘Purple Haze’.

“Is it ‘Kiss the sky’ or ‘Kiss this guy’? Ahahahhaha!”

Yeah, cutting edge comedy there, buddy. Excuse me while I stab myself in the ears.

At least, I laughed when they played the Letterman Top Ten List. And I liked that they played The Who. The Who is always good.

Rock on!

Vigilance!

Rave #3 - Leave it to Bush!

2006-06-08T22:40:00.001-04:00

This is simply brilliant and funny and something you must view (unless you live in a Red State).

Leave It To Bush!

Vigilance!

Rant #16 - DeathCycle 3000!

2006-05-30T09:11:00.000-04:00

Okay, I get it that bicycles are, officially, vehicles, and as such, they have a right to be operated on the same streets and roads as my car. BUT, that is only a technicality, and that does not protect you from becoming a smear on the asphalt. Okay, okay, I know how to ride a bike in the city, and my wife used to bike all over Toronto streets and their insane traffic, but we both agree that it is unwise to bike along a very busy street, during morning rush hour. Again, the technicality is not keeping you alive, but the increase in the cost of the driver’s insurance after they run you over!

This morning, as I was driving to work, along one of the busiest streets in town, I was perplexed that the traffic seemed to be backed up, when it usually flies along. Then I finally got to the point where it was my turn to slow down and carefully swerve around the suicide jockey on his bicycle. Now, I wasn’t really upset that he was exercising his near-fatal right to join frustrated and angry and stressed and sleepy people rushing to work in vehicles thousands of times more heavy and powerful than his. No, I was pissed because he insisted on remaining on the street, even though there was a twenty-foot-wide paved shoulder right next to him! I understand that someone one might want to stand up for the principle of something, but c’mon, dude! You’re not the Chinese student standing in front of a tank in Tiananmen Square; you’re an idiot with a death wish. Pick you battles, and live to bike another day!

Vigilance!

Rant # 15 - Grade Five Grammar Refresher

2006-05-28T22:51:00.000-04:00

Okay, I understand that I might come off like an old school marm because I'm upset about grammar, but this has been annoying me for ages. First in emails that are loosy-goosey about spelling and grammar at the best of times, but lately I've seen this in ads and newspapers and other places that should be held to a higher standard than chatting online about your favorite porn site. It is a sign that more and more people are morons because they don't read anymore. They don't know what words mean. So, here it is, read and learn--and let's not see any more mixing of the following separate and distinctly different words!

YOUR is used thusly: "Is this your house?" or "Your soup will be out in five minutes."

YOU'RE is the short form for "you are" is used when you want to say something like "You're kickin' ass, man!" and "Hey, you're from around here, right?"

Got it? Good. I'm glad we has this talk.

Vigilance!

Rant #14 - Under the Ax!

2006-05-03T11:17:00.000-04:00

You know what sucks? When you and all your friends you work with are fired.

That's what happened here at my office a couple weeks ago. We'd been hearing rumours for awhile, and then it happened, and now some people are already gone, and soon I will be too. After almost ten years of faithful service to 'The Man', 'The Man' gave me the big 'Fuck You'. But the Vice-President was sent to lay us all off (who I had never met before), kept telling me it wasn't personal, but a business decision. Well, no shit. I didn't think my office was being closed they didn't like how we all dressed. He also said it was hard to do--well good. I'm glad it was hard. Idiot.

I have prospects and might even get a better paying job, or one that allows me to work from home, and people keep saying that it's an oppurtunity to make a change, and I agree with that attitude, but it still sucks. Period. If only because it means I've been a little too distracted to vent any good rants.

Vigilance!

P.S. In responce to the positive response to Rant #13, I post this link.

Rave #2 – NOSFA Film Fest

2006-04-06T09:14:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I was able to see a couple of films that our town’s corporate googleplex theatre probably passed up for crap like “Hostel” and “The Shaggy Dog”. The North of Superior Film Association (NOSFA) has been bringing the best of intelligent film from around the world to our town for over a decade, and this past weekend they had their annual Film Fest. They rent a second-run theatre that has seven screens and the crowds come out and stand in line and fill every seat for every show. You can see the veteran film-festers preapared with umbrellas when standing outside in line in the rain, then sitting in the theatres choice seats, fifteen minutes before the film starts (you have to get in early) reading novels with mini-lights, and then after the shows over, they scoot out the back of the theatre and run around to the front entrance to stand in line for the next show, schedules in hand. Being new parents, my wife and I couldn’t see as many films as we have in the past (I saw nine films in two days, one year), but we did manage to see two excellent ones.

Good Night, And Good Luck reminds us all that the Americans were once as batshit crazy paranoid as they are now. Watch this film about Edward R. Murrow taking on the Gestapo tactics of Senator Joseph McCarthy and every time you hear “communism” think “terrorism”. Except now it’s the president, not a junior senator that says things like “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.” Plus, Clooney’s direction is simple and direct, and the easy-going jazz score is smooth and prefect.

Transamerica is a story about a transsexual woman and hoping to find happiness, which is important, because she’s not very happy. She’s even less happy to discover that she has a 17-year old son she never knew about, whom she has to deal with before her impending gender reassignment surgery. Felicity Huffman is excellent in her performance, and soon you completely forget that she’s the beautiful blonde from Desperate Housewives (and the long-dead comedy/drama Sports Night).

You can read reviews of Good Night, And Good Luck and Transamerica at Pajiba, but be warned that they are filled with spoilers that will give away much of the films. Better to read the reviews after you go out and see the films (or rent them, as they should both be out on DVD soon).

Vigilance!

Rant #13 - Whoa the Mow!

2006-04-05T15:10:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I get home from work and my new neighbour across the road is out mowing his lawn. No, actually he's out with his mower on the sidewalk! It was just like an F-14 afterburner blasting dirt and rocks and leaves out across the road towards my car. WTF, buddy? Do you think touching up my paint job is one of my favorite things? Maybe you can run into your kitchen and find an ice pick or a brillo pad and really get the job done!

Anyway, the dude is out there mowing the dead grass. It’s not even high enough too reach the blades. Hell, it had a big snow bank on it for five months, and that only melted away a few days ago. In fact, half the lawn still has the remainder of the snow bank on it! Buddy, it’s early April in Northwestern Ontario, and it snowed last week! Trust me, all the grass is dead. Ain’t no green buds sprouting yet—let alone so much that they require a cut.

What scares me is that he’s so damn eager! He’s going to be in for a rude awakening, having me as a neighbour this summer. I can imagine him out in his yard every day, trimming this and preening that. Meanwhile, the swath of green weeds and hay I refer to as my ‘lawn’ will thrive, free and as naturally uncut as the pubic hair of a 1970’s Playboy centerfold. Then the dandelions will bloom. And the hay will go to seed. Their offspring will be popping up all across his lawn.

I think it may be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Vigilance!

Rant #12 – It’s About Time

2006-04-05T12:12:00.000-04:00

Well, it’s that time of year, the season where we either have to get up an hour earlier, or sleep in an hour later. Yep, Spring Ahead, Fall Back, welcome to the equinox! This time of year one of two things happens; either that clock you’ve been looking at for the last six months will be finally be correct again, or it’s just gone out an hour and no one will correct it. You point this out and there’s always some dimwit that will respond with a chuckle and say, “Well, we just have to wait six months and it will be correct again! Ha ha ha ha…”

Those people should be beaten severely. Seriously. Repeatedly beaten.

Why? A broken clock is right twice a day, but a clock that’s an hour off is always wrong! I’m a lazy guy, but this is not laziness. There’s some sense of pride and accomplishment with these dunderheads that they can’t, or won’t, set their clocks right. What is their excuse? Some say they don’t know how to set the clock? Well, how did it get set in the first place, huh? Magic fairies? The time police? Or was the clock set at the factory and they are fortunate enough that Malaysia’s time zone happens to be 12 hours away? Maybe they like the illusion of travelling and doing the math every time they see a clock to figure out what time it is at home? I mean, if they are able to learn how to drive a car, dress and feed themselves, hold down a job, then they can set a clock! They plead that modern technology is ‘too complicated’. IT’S A CLOCK! There’s a couple buttons to push, or a dial to turn. Boom! That’s all there is to it. Other dolts claim that they “never got around to changing all their clocks.” How many clocks do they own, exactly? You can’t invest ten minutes to not be perpetually late, (or early), for six months? I’ve got 7-8 clocks in my house and car, and somehow I got them all changed! I must be some kind of clock adjusting dynamo! Maybe I should get some Flava Flav clocks and start rappin’?

And then there’s the clock on my phone at work. This fucking thing is never correct! It sits there on my desk, taunting me with its convenient location, but incorrect time. It’s not that it is an hour off because of the equinox. No. It’s just runs fast, and is getting faster! And no, this isn’t some ancient phone that has an old spring-wound clock in it; this is a brand new phone system interconnected throughout my office! So everyone has the incorrect time at their disposal! The useless thing is now 48 minutes fast, and last week it was 47 minutes fast. How is this possible? Didn’t the geeks at Casio and Texas Instruments prefect the digital timepiece forty years ago? Shouldn’t that software be everywhere now? How can Avaya make a phone with a clock that consistently is wrong? I used to pester the poor receptionist to adjust the time, all the time, but soon I was threatened with death for being annoying, and eventually learned not to look at that clock, not just for six months at a time, but always. Nice to see technology’s edge is still sharp!

So please, for all that is holy, set your clocks right!

Vigilance!

Rant # 11 – Forced Prevention!

2006-04-04T07:27:00.000-04:00

I will start by stating that I weigh more that what I should. I will also state that I am weak when it comes to resisting the temptations of desserts and sweets. And after seeing comedian Kevin Meaney, my mother started calling our family "big pants people”. But, I am trying to eat more veggies, and exercise, and become healthier than I am. And, somehow, I got a thin, fit naturopath to fall in love with me and marry me and give birth to my son, so I’m counting on her to help out by hiding the cookies!

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I need to make a decree. This is one of many decrees that are in my head, floating around and waiting for when I come to rule the world so that it can finally be enforced. (Emperor Oskar has a nice ring to it…).

It came to me as I listening to the radio this morning. They had a segment about people waiting to have stomach reduction surgery. This is where people with little self-control and generous waistlines have their stomachs surgically altered to stop them from over-eating. It’s like hiring someone to slap your fingers when you reach for a donut. After the operation, your gut fills up fast and screams with pain when you eat too much. True, you could simply decide not to overeat, but as the well-off westerners we are, we're a little fucked in the head when it comes to eating. As a society, we eat don’t eat to survive, but for celebration, boredom, self-loathing, habit, and ignorance. And so we need the radical concept of surgical alteration to curb obesity.

But, as I said, the radio segment was talking about people waiting for this procedure. It makes sense, as drastically overweight people weighing 350 lbs. rarely want to gain weight. They want to weigh less, not because of any anorexic fascination with celebrities, but because they don’t want to die. And so they are waiting and waiting for an operation. Why? There are only ten doctors in the country performing them, so the wait time is three to seven years! In that time a very-heavy person could have get angina and have a heart attack, or get high cholesterol, or high blood pressure, or diabetes, or need knee/ankle/hip surgery, suffer from back fatigue and endure gallstones / gallbladder pain and many, many other health complications (not to mention being uncomfortable when fitting into airplane seats, but then no one is ever comfortable in airplane seats…but that’s another rant entirely).

Now, I’m not upset with the overweight people, or the tummy surgeons, but the medical system. Like all industries, it runs on money, in other words, profits. Profits for large companies that are geared to treating people who have angina, heart attacks, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, diabetes, knee/ankle/hip failure, back pain, etc, etc… It’s a backwards ‘health’ system that is set up to ‘heal’ people when they are already so deathly ill that drastic measures have to be taken. An ounce of prevention, people! An ounce of prevention! Make the connection!

And so, my decree!

There are always complaints that the health care system is inefficient (here in Canada). The government cries that they don't have any money for everything, and so there are long waits for all treatments, and taxes go up and up! Well, we have to look at the big picture. We have to reverse the process. Invest the cash to train dozens of these stomach-reduction surgeons! Or better yet, get them up-to-speed on the UK procedure where the doc only makes a tiny incision and uses fancy-dancy, micro-robot arms to wrap an elastic sock around the stomach, and then send people home that day! Then you don’t even need beds! Get this training done and build new gut-elastic clinics in every neighbourhood.

And then my new mandatory stomach reduction decree will be enacted! Scales will be located in all McDonalds entrance mats! When you become grossly obese, (say 50 lbs. overweight) a team of crack commandos shoot you with a powerful tranquilizer dart, net your large carcass and toss you into their patrol van and rush you off to the nearest clinic. There, your stomach is surgically restricted, and later on you will wake up on your doorstep with a headache, and a coupon book for healthy food items that can be redeemed at the local grocery store. Later, a sponsor will come by and drive you to the local meeting of happy stomach-reduced survivors that will help you along your path to a happier, healthier you!

You will feel better, the heath care system will come out ahead (I’m sure the cost of the commando goons and the A+P / Safeways / Loblaws coupons are cheaper than flying people around for surgery and handing out expensive drugs and long stays in crowded hospitals). And as my Forced Prevention program continues the need for the commandos and clinics will decrease, as will the costs and overloading of heath care system, allowing it to deal with accidents and injuries not self-inflicted by over-indulgence.

And to be fair and not infringe on your ‘freedom’ to become super-fat (or to be a smoker with a hankering for lung cancer and chemotherapy), then you can sign a form and forfeit all your rights to all public heath care. I just hope that you’re rich enough to be trucked to the Mayo Clinic in the States.

Vigilance!

Rant #10 – Addicted to Crack!

2006-03-09T10:51:00.000-05:00

The other day I passed a milestone signifying that I’m getting older and no longer the hippest dude around (and I suppose using ‘hippest dude’ might also be a big sign). One milestone was when I started listening to jazz, and liking it. Another milestone was when I decided that an evening home reading a book was preferable to going out until 3am and getting all fucked up—but I hit this one really early (as I never understood the appeal of going out to a bar, going deaf all night because the only seat is in front of the speakers, and paying out a few hundred bucks for drinks, cab rides, the club’s cover charge, my fine for public urination, the dry cleaning bill for removing vomit from a police officer’s uniform, bandages for cuts sustained when leaping from a moving cop car, tailor fixing for my pants when they got torn jumping over a fence, replacement of cell phone after landing in pool on other side of fence, ointment for poison ivy rashes sustained when hiding in the bushes for three hours until the heat died down, and replacement one shoe that disappeared during my flight from justice, and of course some more Advil and beer to take the edge off the hangover after walking home in the early hours of the next morning). The getting-older milestone I hit was when I caught myself complaining about teenagers. I think I even used the term ‘whipper-snappers’. Yes, I’ve taken that step to being the older, out-of-date generation. It’s not that I no longer understand new technology, or even that I don’t like new music (though some of it really sucks). It’s mainly that I don’t get the new fashion choices.

Okay, I understand that when you’re in high school you have a responsibility, nay, a right-of-passage where you are required to immerse yourself in all the stupid trends. I know I did! Back in the Eighties I had my mullet and black STYX ‘Mr. Roboto’ and The Police ‘Synchronicity’ t-shirts, some acid-wash jeans, and a day-glow-fluorescent nylon windbreaker. It is a wardrobe that I am glad to have let go of, but some high-school fashion choices remain with people long after their years of lower education has ended. Like the Fifties tough-guy rocker who, now retired, still has the slicked back pompadour and up-turned jacket collar. The Sixties boomer hippie turned corporate lawyer who still hasn’t cut his hair and is letting his freak-flag fly. The Seventies gigolo who has lost the pantsuit and medallion, but still has the top two buttons undone so his ‘love carpet’ can be admired by all.

In the past few years, Waylon, a teenager I know embraced the styles of today. He had the hair frosting, the dopey-looking sideways ball cap, the chained-trucker wallet, and—the crux of my rant—the large, baggy clown jeans. Okay, sure, at least they aren’t bell-bottoms, but at least people in bell-bottoms wore belts! Belts! Those strips of leather specifically designed to hold up pants! I know there’s something hip about having the tops of your boxers showing, and so I understand about not having a belt then. But Waylon wasn’t wearing boxers! He was—as best as I could tell—wearing nothing! And so, over and over, I had to see his butt crack! He didn’t even have to bend over! I told him to get a damn belt, or at least wear longer t-shirts! I don’t need to see that! No one does! True, with women, exposed cleavage can get them the fond attentions of the opposite sex. But if you’re a pudgy teenage boy, cleavage—specifically ass crack cleavage—is only going to get you the attention of strange sexed-up plumber freaks! And doesn’t it get cold in the winter? Isn’t it a hassle to be always pulling up your pants? I thought that maybe this was just Waylon, but no! It’s not! I’ve come across more teen males with this strange aversion to belts who prefer looking like they dropped a load in their drawers. I’ve had to endure more bare male asses than I prefer to see in one lifetime. So, guys, for the love of all that is holy and good: Say yes to belts! Say no to crack!

Vigilance!

Rant #9 – Shotgun-Blast Advertising!

2006-03-06T18:38:00.000-05:00

There used to be an art to commercials, believe it or not. Ad men tried to come up with a jingle that was snappy and fun, or a catch phrase that could become part of pop culture. They had to be good, they only had ten minutes out of each hour long program to get their message out. This is no longer the case. Now it’s the smother approach. Ad time has doubled to a full third of each hour being commercial advertising, forcing out the openings to shows, and pushing off the end credits into a corner of the screen while another show is promo-ed (of course, the end credits always rolled past faster than anyone could ever read them, so this is not a big loss, except for all those people’s mothers who can’t see their kid’s name on television).

But the promos don’t stop there! What began in the eighties as a channel’s logo in the corner of the screen—which was actually useful while channel surfing—has mutated into a cavalcade of annoyance. The static logos started dancing around after the commercial breaks telling you what you were watching, and that was grudgingly acceptable. And then the logos got bigger, more elaborate, telling you about upcoming shows later that evening, or next week, or who the main ‘sponsor’ of the program was. They caught your eye with flashing bright colours (in case you were blind) and even added in sound! Yes, sound to drown out the dialogue of the program you’re trying to watch behind this blob of Technicolor vomit! But that wasn’t enough. Now these corner-of-the-screen promos appear in the middle of the program! Just when you are well into the show—at least a few minutes from the commercial ‘break’—up pops some flashing crap that interrupts your viewing to tell you there’s more TV on later! Yeah, I got it! Thanks! Can I watch what’s on now? I hyper five-year-old running into the room and jumping on your crotch and crushing your testicles would only be slightly less distracting.

And even if you can see around the promos, the programs themselves have become a showcases of product placements. This was subtle, but is now overbearing. I accepted that Chandler and Monica never, ever, in almost a decade, wore the same clothes twice. I accepted that all teenage high school students have top-of-the-line laptops. And I overlooked the fact that no car is ever more than 12 months old, or (God forbid) dirty! But they crossed the line the other day. I was watching Smallville and one of Superboy’s gal pals took time out of the ‘story’ to gush about the great new car she bought, which was so affordable! Of course the car was prominently featured throughout the episode, zipping here and there and performing wonderfully. At every commercial ‘break’ there the ‘real’ commercial for the new car came on and pointed out that it was in the episode, just in case you missed it.

But the real crime was when the ‘writers’ even had the sheer balls to have this young, healthy 20-year-old woman distract a security guard by inviting him into the car and…POINTING OUT THE DASHBOARD FEATURES? What? Seriously? A sexy young thing with cleavage and an exquisite ass needs a car to get the guards attention? Is the guard a gay automobile enthusiast? Sadly, that would have been too creative a twist. But let’s assume that the gal spotted out that the guard was a gay automobile enthusiast. Even then, the car would have to be something unique, like a stainless-steel Delorean (even without a flux capacitor), or a chrome-covered ’57 Chevy! Damn, even one of those weird boxy Element rigs would be worth a look. But no, the ‘impressive’ car was a common-as-dirt mid-sized sedan. The girl was worth climbing into a car for, but not if all she’s going to do is point out the change slots! What a cock-tease for the poor guard! What happened to the old days where the sexy dame would slap the lip-lock on the unsuspecting schmoe while her partner snuck past? Sure, that’s a cliché, but at least it’s not an advertisement!

Vigilance!

Rave #1 - Ben Folds

2006-03-06T04:25:00.000-05:00

As I am up very early with my infant son, I am reminded of a song that I have always liked, but now means more to me since becoming a father. No rant here, this is a rave, for all Ben Folds music, and this song, 'Still Fighting It'.

Vigilance!

Still Fighting It

By Ben Folds

Good morning, son.
I am a bird
Wearing a brown polyester shirt
You want a coke?
Maybe some fries?
The roast beef combo's only $9.95
It's okay, you don't have to pay
I've got all the change

Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it
And you're so much like me
I'm sorry

Good morning, son
In twenty years from now
Maybe we'll both sit down and have a few beers
And I can tell you 'bout today
And how I picked you up and everything changed
It was pain
Sunny days and rain
I knew you'd feel the same things

Everybody knows
It sucks to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here.
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it
You'll try and try and one day you'll fly
Away from me

Good morning, son
I am a bird

It was pain
Sunny days and rain
I knew you'd feel the same things

Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here.
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it
Oh, we're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

And you're so much like me
I'm sorry

Rant #8 – Beard Envy

2006-03-03T09:01:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday, one of the things I was upset about was the high cost of razors (Rant #5). In defiance, I bought cheap disposable razors at a fraction of the cost. Now, after a week of shaving my face feels like raw hamburger. My dad has forever used cheap razors, but he must have cheeks of steel! I had forgotten that they grind up acid-dipped rusty nails to make these cheap razors. On Monday, I was reminded. By the time I’d finished shaving; my face looked like I’d been out quail hunting with Dick Cheney. It was not pretty. I slapped on the aftershave (Skin Bracer, the cheapest stuff you can buy—but it works!) and the burning alcohol sting brought me to my knees. Dabbing my face with toilet paper to collect the blood, I climbed up from the bathroom floor and went on with my day.

It just might be time to grow a beard! But a real beard! There are only three reasons for growing a beard. They are: 1) to lazily avoid shaving, 2) to keep your face warm, and 3) to be able to frighten young children at will. A real beard is a face evenly covered with trimmed hair! It’s that simple! A beard is not one of those chin-pube stubble goatees! Nor is it acceptable to have the squirrel-tail, super mutton-chop, hairy sideburns either (go back to the Seventies, hippy freak!). Nor is it acceptable to have the pencil-thin-chin-strap. That not only looks idiotic, but must be a shaving headache—which is the number one reason for having a beard in the first place! Then there’s the Grizzly Adams beard. That is impressive, but a little too much beard for this day and age, unless you’re a barrel-maker at the local historical park and have to look like you’re from the 1800s—or are a hobo. The Grizzly just has too great a potential for collecting crumbs and bacon bits, plus your shampoo budget would skyrocket! And there must be a lot of combing and grooming involved, and that goes against the time-saving laziness that one grows a beard for in the first place!

Alas, none of these options are for me. The beards I’ve ‘grown’ in the past have taken months to come in, and there are still bare patches! Plus they itch like crazy! Guess I’ll have to continue with the daily bloodbath.

Vigilance!

Rant #7 – Video Impotence

2006-03-02T22:30:00.000-05:00

I never thought I would miss movies on VHS tape. DVDs are better in so many ways, with extras and commentary tracks and THX sound and a perfect picture. DVD’s always have a perfect picture. Gone are the days of ‘adjusting’ the tracking on a VCR! As a kid I remember my brother Duke and I coming home from the video store with Moonraker! We popped the tape in the VCR and discovered that the picture at the top edge of the screen was distorted and careening to the left! Well, no worries, we could adjust the tracking dial and that would fix everything! Sadly, I now suspect that that damn dial wasn’t connected to anything! The VCR manufacturer just stuck it in there to give us false hope. After ten minutes of messing with that dial, we accepted the sad fact that we were screwed. We had to watch Roger Moore fight Jaws with the top of their heads was blurred away. It was a sad day.

But that’s not really what I’m upset about. It’s not the tracking I miss from the VCR, but the raw power to fast forward past whatever I wanted. True, DVDs allow me to instantly jump past anything, EXCEPT for the FBI don’t-copy-this Warning! Before the movie starts I have to watch that damn warning again! I used to be able to fast forward with VHS, and earlier DVDs allowed me to skip past it—but no longer! Now DVDs won’t let me skip it! I have to watch it!

Why is it now mandatory? Is there anyone—besides the Amish and those people from The Village—who hasn’t already seen and ignored it a hundred times? Come on FBI! You’ve only put it on every video ever made! Your message is out there! Please give me back control over my DVD player and get back to you’re real job—illeagally tapping phones for Dubya!

When I put on a DVD and see that FBI warning appear I still hit the >> button on the controller, always hoping that this time it will work, but it never does! It’s now as futile as spinning that old VCR tracking dial. I am left impotent and spent, and forced to wait five seconds before watching 007 and Dr. Goodhead wreck Drax’s fiendish plot!

Curse you J. Edgar Hoover!

(But now I avoid the warning by downloading Moonraker (along with all the other Bond films) off the internet using Bit Torrent! Oh no! I’m in violation! How ironic that it came to this! You Feds get the paperwork started on my extradition, and I’ll drive down to the border and turn myself in. If I don’t show up right away, just keep waiting.)

Vigilance!

Rant #6 - Coffee Troubles!

2006-02-28T10:09:00.000-05:00

So, I go to get some coffee on the way to work. I do this from time to time, usually when my infant son gets me up at 5:30am like he did this morning. That’s okay; I’m not complaining about him. If I wizzed in my diaper, I’d be upset no matter what the hour was (probably because I was wearing a diaper for some reason). By the time he’s changed, had a milk top-up from his mom, changed again, and coaxed back to slumberland, its 6:30am. There’s no point in trying to sleep forty-five minutes, so I went to work. Knowing I’ll be tired, I get some coffee.

First off, the coffee at work is terrible. The grounds smell nice, but they are really made from old shoes. That is not an option.

There are two coffee places on my direct drive to work. At the first place I have to get out and go in, and its damn cold out in February and I need to keep my car running. I prefer this place, as the coffee is cheaper, and it’s filled with authentic coffee shop people; retired mill workers, the blue collar guys, and chain-smokers outside shivering. The other ‘coffeehouse’ is a tad more pretentious, with moody lighting, gourmet desserts, and expensive prices—but it has a drive thru! So, drive to the coffeehouse, mainly due to laziness.

(A quick side-rant here… The coffeehouse has terrible cup lids! It has a little mouth spout for, I assume, people who like to suck boiling hot liquid directly onto their tongue, ensuring the concentrated blast of heat removes three layers of skin so they can’t taste anything for a week—other than blood. The spout also does a nice job of shooting the coffee out all over you and your car if you squeeze (ie, hold) the cup, kinda like a ketchup squirt bottle. Yeah, nice design there.)

I drive in, order my coffee at the speaker and pull up the window. The coffee maven takes my twenty and gives me my change—now here’s the rub—three fives, and then the loonies and coins on top of the bills! Oh! Oh, that’s great! Thanks for that, Dim-bulb! Look, its coins first, then bills second! It’s that easy! Has she never paid for anything with cash and got change? Or is this some kind of revenge for my not having the exact change?

So now I have to close my hand around the whole mess, making a tight fist and hoping my loonies don’t so slipping out into the icy asphalt below while I take my hand back in to my car. She returns to the little window with my coffee as I’m taking a moment to put my bills and change away, and she looks miffed because she has to wait! Well, I’m sorry! I don’t carry around my cash in an ice-cream bucket that I can just toss it all into, willy-nilly. I have to sort out the mess you gave me, Dim-bulb! And besides, I’m no the one that decided to take a job standing in front of an open window eight hours a day—in winter! Don’t give me an attitude because you made a bad career choice! If you continue to give people back their change like an idiot, then you deserve to loose a finger or nose to frostbite!

…but that was last week. This morning, I returned to the coffeehouse, and perhaps she learned something, because when I gave her $2.25 for my $2.14 coffee, she simply gave me my coffee and shut the window, never to return with my eleven cents. I waited and waited, and nothing.

That’s service for you. No wonder there’s never anyone in line at that drive thru!

Vigilance!

Rant #5 - Consumer Protection

2006-02-26T13:34:00.000-05:00

So I'm in the supermarket on the weekend. I need new razors. I get the aisle by the in-store pharmacy where the razors are and...there's a big panel locked in place over the razors, protecting them from being purchased!

Now, this is the middle of Sunday morning, not 3am. I've been there shopping at 3am, and I understand that the two not-ready-for-prime-time employees (the hobo-bearded shelf-stocker and the purple-haired-meth-addict working the till) can't keep an eye on the razors and the rest of the store. I get it that the pharmacy section and the razors are locked up because someone could probably fill their parka with Turbo Excels and Trojan rubbers and Dr.Scholls Gel Inserts and high tail it without anyone noticing. But this is 10am Sunday morning. The store is full of people and employees.

So, I leave my cart of groceries and walk down the aisle over to the pharmacy and wait while someone got their hemorrhoid suppositories and ask for the key so that I may humbly purchase some razors. They don’t have a key to unlock the razors, and they direct me to the customer service desk. Makes sense, I’m a customer in need of service.

So, I walk over there, wait again while the ladies are chatting, and then again, humbly ask them to unlock the razors. “Oh, what? They’re locked?” and she scrambles around a bit. “Yeah, they tend to walk.” Yes, that will protect them from being stolen. Also from being purchased. Maybe they should shut down the entire store to avoid any theft! That would solve all their problems!

But the customer service woman can’t help me as she doesn’t have the key either (I guess the key-master had the day off). She sends me to the checkout tills. Here, six or seven aisles away from my cart and shopping list, in the midst of the most congested and busiest part of the store, I have to get jostled by shoppers unpacking hams and cookies from their carts while I ponder what package of razor-head-thingies to buy.

Now, I grow a pretty light beard, and so I don’t have to shave twice a day like my nemesis Joffre Blackfalds (he was growing a beard in grade seven, bastard!) and so enough time passes between razor purchases that I either forget how insanely expensive they are, or they get more insanely expensive. Biting the bullet, I get a pack of eight razor heads for $22.00 and trek back to my abandoned cart.

Back at the razor aisle, I’m glad to find my cart unmolested. As I ponder how many chocolate almonds I could buy with $22.00, I reconsider my purchase. Reaching under the customer-protecting shield, I grab a bag of disposable razors with the tips of my fingers and drag it out. Ten for seven bucks. I leave the gold-plated razor heads, and take the cheapies. As I continued my shopping, I wondered if time to grow a beard.

Vigilance!

Rant #4 - Mr. Sub Gloves

2006-02-23T13:33:00.000-05:00

So, today at lunch, I was reminded of why I never go to Mr. Sub? The one down the street from my office hires either the slow and infirm coffin-dodgers, or dull-witted, teenager morons who are more concerned/surprised in their new patches pubic hair than making my sub, damn it! As always, it’s my lunch hour, I’m in a rush to get my food and go. Apparently this is a concept the local Mr. Sub is unfamiliar with.

Today, with the meter running, I got the newest teen-genius employee of Mr. Sub. People were lining up behind me and after asking what I wanted, he then took about two minutes to get on the little disposable gloves that he has to change between each and every order. I was ready to tell the kid “Fuck the gloves, just start making my damn sub! I’ll sign a waiver if I have to!”

What, exactly, is the fear here? We might consume some of the germs that float around in the air we breathe every moment of each day? That our sub might get some mustard contamination from the last sub the guy made? Look, just teach these idiots to wash their hands often. That, and don’t itch balls/ass/crotch in sight of the customers! But no, it’s better to waste plastic and—more importantly—my time!

To top it off, the other dim-bulb employee kept pushing the kid away from making my sub so she could get at some cupboard under the counter where he was standing. Three times she did this! Each time goober looked stunned, and then returned to my partially-constructed sub. And when I asked for “onions” on the sub, he asked “Honey?”

Yes, honey. Lots of honey on my tuna sub please. I know you don’t have honey on hand, so you better run down to the supermarket. Hurry up! Go! Run, idiot! Run!

The sub was tasty, though!

Vigilance!

Rant #3 - Free gum? Hell no!

2006-02-23T08:38:00.000-05:00

Okay, what is it about gum? I have to hide every pack I buy! Why? Because being seen with gum means that you have to give it away to anyone and everyone present! Are other people buying gum in large discounted lots, thousands of sticks or pieces at a time? I buy a pack and there's 10-12 pieces total. I go for lunch with co-workers, pop a piece of gum in my mouth afterwards, and suddenly I'm giving away half the pack? WTF! Get your own gum! But then, there are the times that I'm sitting at my desk, the pack over by the computer monitor, and people walk past and DEMAND gum! Simply because I have gum in plain sight means that I can't keep it?

Look, I'm all for generosity. I have a chocolate bar, or a bag of chips, then I’ll share. Why? Because those are transitory snacks. Once you open them up, they’re gone in a little while, an hour tops. No one is saving bags of chips for a week! They go stale! But gum comes individually wrapped because you’re not going to eat the whole pack in one sitting! So, you see someone with gum, leave‘em alone!

Vigilance!

Rant #2 - Coffee cup acting tip!

2006-02-22T08:23:00.000-05:00

What's the deal with people on TV drinking coffee? Anyone portraying a character rushing to work for an important morning meeting has to have a take-out cup of coffee in their hand. That's okay, that works, the viewer subliminally picks up on the little detail. An excellent illusion.

My problem is that the illusion is lost because the damn take-out cups are obviously empty! Anyone can see that the cups are too light, they are tipped in all directions and waved about (especially if the character 'talks' with their hands) as if the coffee drinker has no fear of scalding themselves or others. When someone carries a hot cup of coffee in a thin paper cup with a plastic lid that's only held in place by friction, they don't wave it around like a flag on the Fourth of July! (Plus, the characters almost never drink from the cup, but that's a whole other rant!) Now, I understand that the take-out cups are likely not vital to the story being told. They are a prop, but props (trees, clothes, cars, buildings, guns) exist to lend reality to something the viewers all know is 100% fake. So try and make the damn take-out cups of coffee real too!

I know that the prop-dude shouldn't put actual scalding coffee in the cups (probably for insurance purposes), but they could just put some water in them. Doesn't have to be full to the brim. Just some liquid so that the actors can concentrate on their lines and expressions ('real' acting), and just carry the damn cup!

Vigilance!

Rant #1 - testing, testing

2004-07-08T17:19:00.000-04:00

Rant rant rant!

Check one! Check one!

How's the mix?

I guess I have nothing to say!

GRRRR!