27 April 2006

Five People You Meet at the Post Office; Part Zwei

The post office was an official bust. Since when has anyone ever walked into a government run establishment and received prompt and courteous service? I feel cheated by the Post Master General. I was suppose to walk in, wait in line for 15 to 20 minutes, and observe people. The only noteworthy event happened while I was walking in. I held the door open for a buxom lass wearing a Casa de la Waffle uniform.

To show her appreciation for my gallant gesture, she turned and said, “Thanks Hun.”

There’s one personality type confirmed. Waffle House waitresses say “hun” even when off the clock.

I’ll try a new hunting ground next time. Anyone feel up to a corndog at the Rivergate Food Court?

Five People You Meet at the Post Office

There are very few different people in this world. I’ve always thought that there are those that are truly original sentient beings. The term “character” comes to mind when describing these humans. The rest of humanity is a cookie cutter personality type taken from about 50-60 stock figures. These ready to bake personalities never stray far from their basic interests or desires. If you think long enough, you can come up with people you know that think and act just like someone else you know. The “Sports Guy” or the “Knitting Queen” in the next cubicle acts much like the “Sports Guy” or “Knitting Queen” at church or the gym.
To add another dimension to the cookie cutter theory, there is some personality Garanimals mixing and matching that goes on. One could be the “Nervous Sports Guy” or the “God’s Gift to Women Sports Guy.” The permutations of Garanimal traits and interest types are endless. Once you see the patterns, you can more easily understand the person.
Not that there is anything wrong with these interests or how they might engulf someone’s life. The commonality of experiences within a cookie cutter group can explain similar traits and actions. The folks that dig NASCAR or dictators, if trapped on an elevator, could easily pass the time until rescued. (I tend to count myself as a Geeky Squirrel.) Part of the common experience comes from specialized events. The NASCAR folks get together and wait for someone to crash against a wall at 200 MPH, while the dictator crowd gathers to bask in the glory of their favorite dictator. So be it.
We get ourselves into trouble when we go out into the big bad world and share common non-specialized experiences. Trips to the Mall, the Grocery Store, the Doctor’s Office, and renewing our tags at the DMV would all count as places everyone, regardless of interest or personality type goes. These also tend to be the very places that conflicts arise. Something about the non-specialized common areas creates doubt and fear when different cookie cutters come together. Tempers flare, feathers get ruffled, and people get nutty.
Tomorrow I have to go to the Post Office and mail a package. I’m not selling off my Dog’s Playing Poker collection, just sending a simple care package to a friend in need. That’s got to be as good a place as any to test this theory out. I’ll report on my findings tomorrow.

23 April 2006

When Two Worlds Collide

SPOILER ALERT: You might have to be a huge geek to get this Blog entry.
Like every other Blogger in the Universe, I write for fun. The fantasy comes in when you think that someone would actually pay you to write whatever it is you wish. (Given that in a finite universe, all inspiration will be used up at some point. Since inspiration is a nonrenewable resource, it has value. So it stands to reason that someone should be paying me for this...)
I was in a book store yesterday and saw a book that made me think this might actually be true. Cocking my head towards the bookshelf, I recalculated my first assessment. Like a puppy trying to comprehend the quadratic formula, I reassessed the importance of what I was looking at. The second computations brought me the same conclusions now tinged with anger.
The text in question is Star Trek The Next Generation: X-Men, X-Planet I am a self-professed geek, but even this one smells funny to me. I could not imagine how truly horrible this cross universe novel could be. Looking on the bright side, publishers must be hard up for new material to sink money into this project. The bad news for all you aspiring writers, is that this author snatched a little bit of inspiration out of the ether for this project. Sorry folks, one good idea that could have been, will never now never be.
Hit the book's link above to check out Amazon's description. I assure you, I wish this was a finely crafted hoax.
Putting myself in the author’s creative process, I began to ponder plot points that surly would crop up.
  • Wolverine and Worf getting into an arm wrestling contest that ends in a pillow fight.

  • Storm, Jean Grey, and Councilor Troi watching old holo-casts of The View while eating Dippin’ Dots.

  • Geordi and Cyclops comparing visors.

  • Nightcrawler gives the Good News to Data. Data hears the voice of an angel speak to him and sells his hair to Ferengi to feed the poor.

  • Beast and Dr. Crusher endlessly boor the crew talking about Bio-Chemistry and find some of their own.

  • Capt. Picard removes a space tick from Professor X’s knee. Before Picard can finish the delicate removal, the space tick introduces toxic venom into the Professor’s blood stream. Only reversing the tachion emissions of the ship’s rubindium crystals will save him.

  • The Star Jammers show up and hold a Federation version of a USO concert for the Enterprise’s crew.

  • In the final fever pitched battle scene, the Enterprise runs out of photon torpedoes. Their only option is to launch Colossus out of the tube to punch a hole in the enemy’s ship.

  • Wesley Crusher, wanting to show his gratitude, knits space shawls for all of the X-men.

There truly is no justice in either the Star Trek or X-men the universes.

15 April 2006

Carefree Highway

A number of friends and acquaintances wonder about my schedule. Being a retail baron, I work when the rest of humanity is out frolicking. It is not uncommon for me to be off work in the middle of your workweek. So what does one do when a normal day off falls on a Tuesday? I thought I would chronicle my last day off to give everyone an idea of what the life of leisure on a Tuesday is really like.

0632 – Awoken by Heterosexual Life Partner tripping over my shoes strategically placed at the foot of the bed. Pray that she doesn’t realize I’m awake and forgets before she comes home from work.
0637 – Hear the front door close and realize my ruse worked.
0637.0000001 – Light a cigarette and make coffee
0639 – Tried to remember what I had for dinner why it turned into a burnt sienna color.
0644 – Turn on the news and wonder why I bother. The tales are depressing and the news casters are hyped up on goofballs. The world is truly going to hell in a hand basket.
0655 - Check email. Consider if I really need Viagra or to refinance my mortgage. Deciding neither option is right for me, I check out the Daily Grail for any news of the strange and unusual. Find out about a Knights Templar grave found in Northern Israel. The report is scant, and I wonder what they’re leaving out.
0706 - First Nap; dreamt of being on a flight to Scotland with no passport. Wondering how I can talk my way out of this one when I hit customs. I woke up as a German Shepherd was sniffing my crack for crank.
0916 – Woke up to the first telemarketer call of the day. I answer the phone listening to a desperate woman wanting to refinance my house. I ask the telemarketer if she would like to hear the Good News about how I have combined the religions of Buddhism and Islam and how if saved my life in the Swiss Alps. She declines.
0924 – Turn the TV back on, the Montel Williams show happens to be on. I train wreck for a few minutes contemplating why Sylvia Brown uses her powers to find lost wedding rings and dogs instead of the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail.
0945 – Scan bodily functions and realizes that my levels of caffeine and nicotine are not yet optimal. Take measures to correct the imbalance.
0951 – Start writing something that I think the world will stand up and take notice of. Realizing that Jessica Simpson’s marriage, the latest celebrity Scientology birth, and what shoes the Olsen Twins wore to a pig’s briss are much more compelling than anything I have to write, I elected to discontinue work on the project.
1032 – Hear the lawn guys outside. This is the prefect time to take a shower. Bathing is the ultimate plausible deniability should the lawn guys need anything. My goal on days off is to limit my contact with the outside world. I see and deal with enough people when I work. Why should I want anyone to invade my Fortress of Solitude on my day off?
1047 – Resolve to correspond with Stephen Hawkins about the Time Warp in the Shower dilemma. How could I have spent 15 minutes in the shower? This must be a breech in the laws of Physics.
1048 – Nix the Hawkins letter; the topic was covered in a bootleg appendix of A Brief History of Time.
1049 – Second Nap; no dream; only a puddle of drool on my pillow.
1307 - Wake up to the mailman pounding on the door. Thinking it is another registered letter about a paternity suit, I hide. Turns out it was only a parcel containing a rare Go-Bot I purchased on Ebay that would not fit in the mailbox.
1315 – Focused my Chi
1316 – Donned my Darth Vader mask and played Star Wars Battlefront II on Xbox. Destroyed numerous Rebel fighter craft and frigates, and for once felt the force guide my fingers on the control pad.
1633 – Second telemarketer call of the day. A man with a slight West Indies accent wanted to sell me gold coins commemorating the life and work of Buddy Hackett. When ask, the telemarketer could not tell me who Buddy Hackett was. I denied the request for a purchase.
1647 – Was invited to party with all the girls from Coyote Ugly. Declined because none of the girls knew who Ben Stein is.
1726 – Attempted to clean up any messes I made before my Heterosexual Life Partner returned from work. Almost got everything the way she likes it, except for a kitchen cabinet that was left open. Was dutifully spanked for my transgression.

Well folks, that’s an off day in the life of a retail mogul. And they say that God blesses the weak with uneventful lives…

14 April 2006

You put what on your vanity plate?

I do question the wisdom of people from time to time. The inner workings of someone’s mind and motives are their own, but as bloggers aren’t we obliged to probe the surface of such decisions? Since this is on public display and this person chose to pay extra for this, I see no reason not to comment on it in my blog. Should this person read my blog, I welcome defense of your decision.

Minding my own business yesterday I was in Sweet Jane pulling out of my neighborhood. In front of me was a white Acura with the vanity plate of “SS”. That’s all the plate said, just the two letters “SS”. I realize this could have stood for the initials of the car’s owner, “Sexy Siren” or “Super Stud”. Be that as it may, the world has no way of knowing that. Here’s where the questioning of wisdom comes in, since the first thing that came to my mind was:

1. Why would you choose plate name that conjures up images of Hitler’s Schutzstaffel? If you’re a member of the American Nazi Party, I guess this would be your bag.

2. If you’re going to have a vanity plate with “SS” on it, is there any more symbolic color of your car than white? (If only it had been a BMW or a Volkswagen the whole symbolic thing would have been a slam dunk. I just can’t get that lucky most days.)

3. The driver of the car was an elderly woman that looked like she could not only remember Pearl Harbor, but the Maine as well. If by nothing else but life experience, the driver should have been able to connected the dots.

Given all these factors, this person wins the BK, “What were you thinking” award for April. Get in the thinking person's pool or be battered by our wake...

06 April 2006

I Remember California

I thought about this email I sent out to some of my friends and family while I was in California a couple of years back. For some reason I kept it in my e-mail archive and thought I’d post it for posterity’s sake. Enjoy.

Well after a week spent in Oxnard with strikers throwing chicken leg quarters at me, I've found a few differences from the good ole South and California.

1. Purple Neon does not automatically denote a porn shop for any given establishment. As a matter of fact, I saw a butcher’s shop with purple neon.

2. Never walk down the street with any type of bandanna on. You might be viewed as a homosexual or a gang banger. I won’t tell you how I found out about this one. I will say that I felt dirty after the experience.

3. The green salsa out here makes you crap.

4. The red salsa out here makes you crap even more.

5. Women are not enchanted by a Southern accent. One gets looks of Beverly Hillbilly distain any time uses the come on line: "Hey baby, how would you like to have a sexual experience so intense it could conceivably change your political views...."

6. Dana Delaney's phone number is not listed.

7. Do not pause at a traffic light changing to green. Forget the Nashville, “wait half a second at a newly changed green light to make sure no on runs the opposite red light” rule. At the light change gun it. Anything else is seen as a sign of weakness and these savages will surely kill you.

8. Bubba Ho-tep kicks ass... (Author’s note: At the time, the Bruce Campbell epic Bubba Ho-tep was only being shown in select cities across the country. I make it a rule never to go to movies while out of town, but this one I could not resist. I was the first geek on my block to see it.)

9. Striking union workers don't like it when the public taunts them with, I've got a job and you don't.

10. Every male from the ages of 12 to 24 are exactly like Bill and Ted. Except the few Hispanics who want to be Lou Diamond Phillips and know every line to all the crappy movies he's been in.

11. Your shoes will get stuck in the La Brae tar pits.

12. Never try to visit Mann's Chinese theater on the opening night of remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

13. That enchanting scent of the ocean that the Old Spice commercials portray is a sham. The only thing you can smell on the beach is rotting fish and surfer’s butt cracks.

14. I am happy to report that all the women out here are not all Goddesses that sing a siren’s song. I’ve seen quite a few that would be at home in a Fayettville trailer park.

15. Honest to God, I saw someone lay a rose on the sidewalk in front of the Viper Room. I really hope this was someone that was trying to get a gig at the club, rather than paying homage to River Phoenix.

I'm going to be out for another 2 weeks... I've got a room and a rental car all to myself.... Anyone who wants to can get on Priceline and come on out. Dad said he found a round trip ticket on line some where for less than $300. It’s all swimming pools and movie stars out here.

BK