Gear Head

First off, thanks to everyone who gave me a shout off that last post. I hope you all had a great holiday weekend!

Now, on to our regularly scheduled post…

I’m such a gear junkie. I mean a straight up material ‘ho. I just love getting stuff. So, you know, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year for ‘Ol Kyu.

This year is no exception.

I got an IPod this year. Ohohoh…not just an IPod, but a Video IPod…30 Gig. I’m looking at this thing right now and I’m in awe of it. It’s smaller than my wallet and has more disc space than my PC. Well, almost more space.

I’ve been fighting the whole IPod wave. I actually got an MP3 player for Christmas about 4 years ago and exchanged it. Back then, I just wasn’t into that kind of “stuff”. It was…and to a certain extent still is…video games. But, it was more than that:

There’s this weird thing that happened to me when I became a parent…I stopped tuning out the world. My awareness for my environment suddenly jumped to Ludicrous Speed. I’m not talking about saving dolphins, but just my view of my immediate area.

“Was that the baby?”

“Do you smell smoke?”

“I need to move my keys, the baby might poke his eyes out.”

“Don’t give the baby a neckless, he might use it to escape from his crib, snag it on a pacifier and loose his grip to fall into a carelessly placed glass of water and drown!”

Some people may call that paranoia…I call it the “Law of Averages”.

So for a while now, I didn’t want to have anything that might block me from hearing when something was “amiss”.

I’m over it now.

And now I’ve got this Video IPod. I’m slowly venturing out onto the internet to find all the Hacks and Mods that I can find for it. My first so far has been a freeware tool that allows you to correctly format several different media files into the “MP4” structure that IPods require for videos. Not much of a Hack, but it allows me to watch all four seasons of Red Vs. Blue and downloaded porn flicks. Next will be the car adapter, then skins, and probably a dock.

No, I will not be watching videos while I drive…maybe the porn, but that’s it.

I had the same “toy problem” with camping gear.

I went on a hiking trip a few years back on the Appalachian Trail with my brother and a good friend. (Oh, you’ll get stories about that trip, don’t worry.) We “trained” for nearly two years, hiking and camping every weekend, read books, joined a hiking club full of folks that had hiked the trail and gathering up gear.

Oh, the glorious gear! In the course of 2 years the three of us collectively purchased 7 tents, 5 sleeping bags, 5 backpacks, 5 water filters, 6 pairs of boots, 7 camp stoves (we built 6 to 8 others out of soda cans that didn’t make the trail), 35 waterproof stuff sacks, 9 hiking poles, 12 Nalgene™ water bottles of various sizes, 4 water bladder drinking systems, 6 different knives/camp tools, 2 shovels, and tested 47 different food stuffs…including the foul tasting “energy gel” shot packet of caffeine and other “performance enhancing” supplements, that we all pretended worked but really didn’t. My wife thought I lost my mind and was preparing to start up a militia and move to the woods. Excluding the guns and mindless zealots to lead, I was close to achieving that goal.

But, I digress…that’s how I get sometimes. I focus on a “hobby” and go ape shit collecting as much junk as I can for it.

Another example: I purchased, not one, but two $40 “light guns” for my Xbox this year. Anyone who knows their Xbox games will know that there are only 2 games for the Xbox that use the light gun. So, why did I buy two? John Woo, baby. You gotta use two guns.

I’ve got to find a way to break this cycle, because I’ve got more clutter than a single human family should have. Until that day comes, I’ll just watch my Revenge of the Sith on a 2” x 1.5” screen until my eyes bleed out.

At least I don’t have a Blackberry.

Days that Suck

You ever had a day where you just knew that it would suck before you even got out of bed? Yeah, that was today for me.

Now, nothing monumentally bad happened today. No one close to me died, my house didn’t burn down, I wasn’t in a car accident, I didn’t lose any limbs, and my wife didn’t sleep with the neighbor…today.

It was just the little things today that piled up like mounds of horse shit at the State Fair…no matter how careful you are, you still end up stepping in it.

First, it’s bloody friggin cold…like 5 degrees. I’m ok with just cold. Somewhere between 20 and 30 degrees, I’m fine. Once you get into single digits, it sucks to breath. My skin tightens up, my contacts begin to fog…no really, they do, and my lips chap faster than Sean Penn at a Kodak convention. (That was a weak analogy and I apologize…it’s a shitty day.)

On the way to work, no matter what lane I chose, it became the slow one.

Once I got to work, it was one problem after another. I’m a quasi-IT guy, so I get those, “Why can’t I save this to my email?” and “I saved it, but now I can’t find it.” questions. It’s amazing how difficult it is to grasp the subtle intricacies of using Word® and Outlook®.

Then I realize that I left my phone at home, which is good and bad. Good, because I hate that little demon box...but, bad because I actually have to answer my land line at work. So, the client calls and emails start to come in.

First call, I drop my hands-free set, before I can hang it on my ear. The headset auto-answers when you pick it up from the base, so my caller hears the head set hit the floor and bounce under my desk and me grunting as I attempt to squat and reach it. Then as I try to put the headset on and crawl back out from underneath my desk at the same time, I crack my head on the bottom of the desk.

Something like this:

*ring*…click…*thwack*

*pat*pat*

“Groan”…*shuffle*

*WHAM!* “Oh, muthafucknsonofabitchpeiceofshitstickintheass”

“Ahem…This is [Kyuball], good morning.”

First client issue: client didn’t inform the box maker that the rush job they were working on feverishly through the weekend was cancelled. Box maker calls me to finalize some artwork specs and I get to be the asshole to break the news to him.

Second client issue:

For the last two weeks I’ve been working on “fixing” an error, that was in truth my fault, which caused the re-labeling of 60,000 units of an item with a non-scannable UPC barcode. Well, I fixed it, and I began sending out a packet to 1200 drug stores with instructions and new labels to 700+ stores on Friday.

The address list was provided by my client, who received from the customer. I specifically asked…twice, no less…if this was the most up to date list AND represents all the stores that require new labels. “Yes” was the answer, both times.

Guess who started calling us today: FedEx.

Guess what they wanted: accurate addresses and phone numbers.

So, I ask a THIRD time…the answer: “Oh, the client says that any address on the list without a phone number is a future location…please don’t send packets to these locations.” No shit...thanks for the update there Nancy Fucking Drew, did you come up with that all on your own? Never mind the whole, "This absolutely must go out as soon as possible" crap that I had to endure for the past two weeks...then, nonchalantly..."Oh...never mind those...la-di-da..." I hope she catches Ass-clap from a rusty mophead.

I won’t continue the count down, as I’m sure several of you have already skipped to the end, but suffice to say there were a few more. “Few” meaning more than four, less than fifty.

Oh…and sales was at it, once again. There’s a new guy who thinks that once he’s landed a new client, he’s done. Yeah…don’t bother telling the people who have to KEEP the client what they need to PROVIDE the client. Jack-hole.

Then…mom calls. I love my mother, she’s done more for me than I could ever repay…but, I’ve become her panic call. When she can’t get something done, she calls me. So, I go…no matter what it is…I go. It’s just that sometimes, it’s a wasted trip. Like tonight.

I won’t go into the details, this post is already too damn long…hell, I don’t even want to re-read it.

And the Colts lost yesterday. San Diego did NOT beat them…they beat themselves. Oh, well. The wheels on the bandwagon still roll.

I’ll try to post something more substantial for the 6 of you who actually read this drivel.

Two things that made me giggle

I was driving to work the other morning and spotted an absurdity that had to be a joke. It was a Dark Blue Chrysler PT Cruiser with a Misfits logo on the rear windshield. Not just a small bumper sticker, I'm talking a sticker the size of trash can lid.

Why is this strange?

Well, the Misfits were an underground punk band from the 80’s that still hasn’t died yet. It’s one of those bands who were considered talentless retards when they came out, but now their thought of as “pioneers”. A PT Cruiser is a car that tried to market to the younger crowd, but was embraced by middle-aged soccer parents.

So, putting a Misfits logo on a PT Cruiser is like putting your grandma in Hip Hop Gear and taking her to a club. It just doesn’t look right. Kind of like Michael Douglas in Basic Instinct when he’s dancing in the club with Sharon Stone. Just something wrong about that…he looked uncomfortable trying to dance.

Anyway…straying…

The other thing I saw driving, and oh I wish I had a camera…

I rolled up to a stop light and this giant Yuko-burban-lade pulled up next to me thump’n loud like everyone else in a four state radius wants to hear that shit…and I notice this clown has got graffiti graphics all over the vehicle. Across the windows, all along the sides, and as he pulled away I saw that they were on the back as well.

It was one giant rolling advertisement for an All-White Rap group. How do I know that it’s an All-White group? The graphics on the rear were of these joker’s picture. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen shit like this. 9 guys giving their best, “I’m hard, I’m street” look…plastered on the back of an SUV.

I live in Indianapolis, people. We are so NOT street. These pose-wads are so lame, I can’t even come up with enough witty phrases to describe how pathetic these twerps are. There are corn fields RIGHT NEXT TO the international airport…you can’t be street with shit like that.

Sure, last year our NBA team tried to fight Detroit fans …all of them. Having the “Greatest Spectacle in Motor Racing” doesn’t count as street either…also, how is that the greatest? All they do is drive in an oval…that doesn’t seem great to me…the only great feat is that they don’t fall asleep. (Left…ok, left again…one more left…oh, I think I’ll go left again…look kids, Big Ben Parliament.)

It’s just sad, really. I will get a picture of this SUV…and I will post it.

The Friendship Virus

Contrary to popular belief, I have friends. Really good friends. Unfortunately, one or two of these friends acts like the internet and email are brand new toys that must be abused until the stuffing and batteries fall out. One of my friends sends me these “affirmation” emails.

You know the ones. They usually start out with some inspiring story of friendship or relationship with God and near the end the email implores you to “Send this to all your friends, including the one who sent it to you”. The latest one had a points system:

0 Replies: You may need to work on your "people skills".
2 Replies: You are nice but probably need to be more outgoing.
4 Replies: You have picked your friends well.
6 Replies: You are downright popular.
8 Replies or More: You are totally awesome (and that's probably why you're on MY list).


This is the single most annoying SPAM/VIRUS in the world and so many people fall for it that it’s damn near insulting that we call ourselves the dominant species on Earth. Don’t kid yourself though, this is the single most widespread virus in the world…worse than the Flu.

Why?

Because IT departments can’t filter it out. It is almost impossible to stop someone from accepting these emails and resending them to their entire address book. And countless people do this crap everyday.

“Oh, I’ll send this to 20 of my ‘friends’ because it’s cute and I want to know how many are my true friends.”

A true friend doesn’t need to stroke your ego everyday. A true friend will come over to your house to do it, while he eats all your chips.

I never resend this crap. Only once has any of my friends called me out on it.

Friend: “Did you get that email I sent you?”

Me: “The one with the Precious Moments angel?”

Friend: “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Me: “Yeah.”

Friend: “Why didn’t you send it back?”

Me: “Because you sent it, I would think that you’d already seen it.”

Friend: “I know, but…”

Me: “I’m already your friend. If you want a fan club, open an amusement park.”

That ended those emails. It took me another three months to convince them that they will NEVER see “something cool happen on the screen”, “receive free shoes from Reebok”, “receive a gift-certificate from Old Navy”, or “receive free movie passes” if they forward an email to 10 or more people.

I’ve got friends, they just don’t send me very many emails anymore.

Richard Pryor and My Father

Growing up, I never got a chance to really know my father. My folks were divorced when I was 6 and Dad become the “every other weekend” Pop. I don’t believe it was because he didn’t love my brother and I, he was just a bit irresponsible at the time and Mom was the steady breadwinner. He died when I was a freshman in High School.

One of my best memories of my father is comedy. He was the funniest man in my world. He introduced me to comedy the way a boy should be, not with the fluffy bunnies or purple dinosaurs. He did it through Mel Brooks, SCTV, Saturday Night Live (When it was really funny.), and a countless list of comedians throughout the late 70’s and early 80’s.

Where am I going with this? Well, as we’ve all heard, Richard Pryor died earlier this morning from a heart attack.

His passing affects me on a core level. He was one of those comedians that I had watched with my Dad. Richard, in a sense, was a connection to my Dad that I still had. Now, one more piece of that picture is gone for me.

The media is doing it’s recap of Richard’s career, his contributions to modern comedians, his pioneering style, all of the things that made him special to the rest of the world. For me, though, he meant so much more.

Here’s a connection that you’ll probably never hear of again: Richard Pryor and John Candy. John Candy was another of those connections to my father that’s gone.

I guess I’m reaching that age where deaths start to affect me more and remind me of my mortality. Comedians like Richard and John, Icons to modern comedy, but more than that to me, passing really hit me on deep level.

I openly wept for both. Weird, huh.

Anyway, I’m just kind of rambling here. Not my normal posting…so if you were expecting my average rant, I apologize for being so deep. It’s probably the two vicodins I took before starting this.

Thank you Richard, God speed.

Life's Plot Twist, Episode 1

I have amazing self control, sometimes. I run into life’s little plot points, and at times, make the right decision. Take tonight for instance…

I had to go to a local drug store chain, Osco Drugs, to check on a product for one of my company’s clients.

--Back Story--

Back in August we “over-labeled” the UPC codes for two items, changing the code from an old number to a new one. We generated, tested, and applied the new labels and sent the product to the chain’s distribution centers.

--Back to the real story--

Tonight the Midwest got donkey punched by Old Man Winter and he unloaded about 6” of powder in 3 hours. (I know this seems light to those who experience “Lake Effect Snow”…but go with me on this.) Effectively shutting down all surface transportation…and since this city doesn’t believe that it needs mass transit (Fucking morons) we’re in a white-out.

So…once again I’m rambling…

I had to go. Why? Because no one else could do what I did. Go out and look at a box, check to see if it has a label, check to see if the label scans at the register, and check to see if the new label scans at the register. That's just too difficult, isn't it? A monkey couldn't do that...but, a trained monkey can.

Here’s my moment…it’s 5pm, there’s already about 4” of accumulation and the radio traffic reporter said, “I’d give you the update, but that would take an hour…everything everywhere is backed up, don’t go outside.”

The Salesrep for this account calls me…

Her: “So…are you going to go to Osco?”

Me: “Uh…yeah.”

Her: “This is important, we need to know about this as soon as possible, I need to call [the client] tonight.”

Me: “Right. Have you looked outside lately?”

Her: “Yes. But…I’d go, but my...” [insert dramatic pause] “...car is at the shop, I’m stuck at Firestone.”

This is my moment right here. This is where, in the space of less than 2 seconds, my mind goes through the list possible scenarios and responses to this “request”.

A) I tell her to fuck herself and her client.
B) I tell her that she can stop by in the morning on her way in…SINCE IT ON HER WAY IN TO WORK AND NOT MINE!!!
C) I lie and say that I’ve already been there and the label works.
D) I go and fuck my night into the snow.

A through C would eventually come back on me, so I go with D.

So…I go. It takes me an hour to get there…it’s 3 miles away. The labels are fucked, I know I’ve got a shit load more work to do tomorrow on this for 1216 stores nationwide and 60,000 labels.

I call the Sales Rep to give her the update. Guess what? She’s AT HOME!!! WTF?!? You’re at home? It took me 3 hours to get home from the drug store. Bitch. Total fucking slacking bitch…and she get’s the commission on this shit-hole of an account.

Salespeople suck feces from the cocks of gay badgers.

The only redeeming factor is that I drive a four-wheel truck and traversing the snow laden roads was actually fun, except for all the jack-holes that lose they’re minds when the weather turns.

Anyway…life throws you these little plot twists to test you. I was a 187 (Murder-Death-Kill) away from life in prison…instead I chose to play in the snow.

Air Marshals

Sorry folks, been crazy busy the last few days and I haven’t had a chance to do an update. So…here you go:

Speaking of crazy…by now you all have heard bout the bi-polar guy in Miami that was killed by the Air Marshals because he claimed he had a bomb.

I give his wife less than one month to sue American Airlines, Miami Airport, the city of Miami, the state of Florida, the Office of Homeland Security, and the officers that shot Rigoberto. You know it’s going to happen. I’m surprised the ACLU hasn’t already released a statement.

My wife and I had a discussion about this tonight. She weakly tried to argue about how she could see how the Air Marshals should have shown restraint in handling this situation. If he was truly a terrorist, they could have just wounded him and interrogated him in case he had accomplices.

She knew her argument was weak, so the conversation didn’t last long.

If I were riding in that plane, and someone starts running down the aisle like a freak yelling that he has a bomb, I want him dead. I don’t want him wounded, wounded means he’s pissed and will want retribution. Nope, kill him and ask questions later.

This may sound a bit harsh. I really do sympathize with Mrs. Buechner…no, they don’t have the same last name…she lost her husband of 20 years and that is a real tragedy. It must have been horrifying for her to watch this unfold. Knowing that her husband is just sick and not a terrorist, screaming to the other passengers to that effect, and the Air Marshals still kill him. I can’t imagine the feeling of helplessness that she must have gone through.

Still, if I were on that plane…kill him.

You just can’t take chances anymore. I used to love riding in the window seat on planes. Not now. Now I sit on the aisle. I’m a martial artist…no really, I am…and I know I’ve got a better chance of defending myself ,and the other people on the plane, if I’m in the aisle rather than trapped by the window.

The Air Marshal is there to prevent incidents. If this guy’s wife sues and wins, then every officer is going to get his nuts clipped. Training will be forced to be changed, and the potential for someone like this, who truly HAS a bomb, to successfully detonate a bomb will greatly increase. I don’t want an Air Marshal to second guess or hesitate…do the job and protect the people.

If she doesn’t sue, then this will send a giant message to terrorists: These Air Marshals don’t fuck around.

Homie Don’t Play That.