Greetings readers! Also, greetings to any Google Image searchers whose quest for pictures of a naked David Hasselhoff posing with dogs or Chuck Norris-endorsed exercise equipment accidentally led you here. I have to admit this hasn't been the greatest day in the world. I woke up thinking it was already Friday instead of Thursday, and then I took a bit of a pummeling at work. And so I was strongly considering wallowing in my self pity and letting another evening slip by without a post. "Perhaps I'll just sit here and read up on the Egyptian riots or college football recruiting or some other depressing topic" I thought to myself. And just then, my computer jumped to the rescue. My iTunes, playing in the background, dug up this gem to put a skip in my step and get me back in the game.
Yes indeed, it's Swing Out Sister! Just try listening to that and still being in a bad mood. You can't do it, can you? Now for an even more difficult challenge, try to believe me when I tell you I'm not lame even though that song is in my iTunes library.
At any rate, with my spirits lifted I'm ready to tackle an issue that I've been meaning to address for awhile. This one is for all the men out there working in corporate America. First, let me say that I believe a vivid imagination is a beautiful thing at any age, so I don’t begrudge my fellow comrades who like to escape momentarily from the reality of the daily grind of office life. But having said that, I need to break some news to you. Based on what I’ve seen, some of you may be every bit as rattled by this revelation as you were in your youth when the truth about Santa Claus was revealed. Still, I feel that it is necessary and will ultimately benefit both you and mankind as a whole. So here goes...
The door to the men's room is not some magic, Narnia-like portal to a different world. It’s really just a door, and you are really still surrounded by coworkers. While this may seem obvious to many of us, there are clearly many men out there that have been heretofore unaware of this. How else are we to explain why an otherwise normal guy would proceed to methodically wash his bald head in the office bathroom sink while I am standing next to him? And that is one of the milder offenses. The level of comfort some feel in a public restroom is truly mind blowing. I understand you aren't feeling great and need to go to the restroom, hence your presence in the stall with your pants on the ground. Still, is it really necessary to unleash a series of grunts that lead me to believe I've wandered into a live birth in the primate section of the Atlanta Zoo? I think not. And there is quite simply no cell phone conversation, under any circumstances, that is important enough to conduct while sitting on the toilet in the office restroom. Seriously. Odds are they don't want to talk to you in the first place. Also, why are some men who are doing what they need to in the stall hellbent on making it out of there and running into you, who has merely stopped in for a quick pee? Sir, just hold your ground in the stall for a minute until the other person has left the restroom. Otherwise, an uncomfortable (and entirely preventable) exchange at the sinks is guaranteed.
Ladies, I am just going to assume none of this lack of decorum goes on in your restroom. Thinking otherwise would be more than enough to derail my Swing Out Sister-inspired emotional rally. And with that, I bid you good evening. My Lionel Richie Chill playlist beckons.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The End of the Season and (Hopefully) a Nickname
I'd like to start this post with a hearty "thank you" to Sporting News. With one tardily delivered magazine, the fine folks behind this once-informative publication answered two questions that had been on my mind in recent days. I absentmindedly reached into the mailbox on Tuesday and pulled this gem out...
And just like that, I knew the answer to both of the following:
1) Should I renew my soon-to-expire subscription? No.
2) How did the Falcons manage to get their doors blown off by 27 points in a home playoff game? Because we have the most overrated quarterback in the league, who just happens to have the worst nickname in recent memory.
What exactly was Sporting News shooting for with this cover? Tough? Cool? Matt Ryan looks like he paid $10 bucks to get into one of those fan fest events that precede big college and pro games and then struck a pose while his mom snapped a picture of him. Good Lord dude, do you not have an agent or publicist of some sort that can review these photos before Sporting News picks one? The magazine doesn't actually show up until a week after it could possibly be relevant, so I know those guys aren't in a hurry to get it published. I understand that you have the arm strength of a QB in junior high school, but it doesn't benefit you to look like one.
And while we're at it, can we please say farewell to the Matty Ice nickname? Listening to announcers throw it around 20 times a game made me want to ram my head through the television, and I actually like the Falcons. I shudder to think what reaction it triggers in those who don't. And most importantly, it's not accurate! Yes, Matt Ryan has led some game winning drives, but he has had horrible showings more often than not in big games.
To be certain, there were other factors that contributed to the blowout that left a decidedly bad taste after an otherwise successful season. For starters, it would be nice if the Falcons took this offseason as an opportunity to sign a cornerback tall enough to ride the roller coaster without a close inspection to make sure they are taller than the cowboy's hat.
Sorry Brent Grimes, but you can still ride the Tea Cups with an adult guardian.
Now, I know what you're thinking. How can I drag the good name of Sporting News through the mud for its late arrival when I have waited five long days to relay my battered emotions via the blog? There are two reasons for the delay. First, I was traveling in Arkansas for my grandmother's 95th birthday until Monday. Then I was unavoidably detained by the opening two episodes of Season 10 of American Idol. And with that, I will now punch myself.
And just like that, I knew the answer to both of the following:
1) Should I renew my soon-to-expire subscription? No.
2) How did the Falcons manage to get their doors blown off by 27 points in a home playoff game? Because we have the most overrated quarterback in the league, who just happens to have the worst nickname in recent memory.
What exactly was Sporting News shooting for with this cover? Tough? Cool? Matt Ryan looks like he paid $10 bucks to get into one of those fan fest events that precede big college and pro games and then struck a pose while his mom snapped a picture of him. Good Lord dude, do you not have an agent or publicist of some sort that can review these photos before Sporting News picks one? The magazine doesn't actually show up until a week after it could possibly be relevant, so I know those guys aren't in a hurry to get it published. I understand that you have the arm strength of a QB in junior high school, but it doesn't benefit you to look like one.
And while we're at it, can we please say farewell to the Matty Ice nickname? Listening to announcers throw it around 20 times a game made me want to ram my head through the television, and I actually like the Falcons. I shudder to think what reaction it triggers in those who don't. And most importantly, it's not accurate! Yes, Matt Ryan has led some game winning drives, but he has had horrible showings more often than not in big games.
To be certain, there were other factors that contributed to the blowout that left a decidedly bad taste after an otherwise successful season. For starters, it would be nice if the Falcons took this offseason as an opportunity to sign a cornerback tall enough to ride the roller coaster without a close inspection to make sure they are taller than the cowboy's hat.
Sorry Brent Grimes, but you can still ride the Tea Cups with an adult guardian.Now, I know what you're thinking. How can I drag the good name of Sporting News through the mud for its late arrival when I have waited five long days to relay my battered emotions via the blog? There are two reasons for the delay. First, I was traveling in Arkansas for my grandmother's 95th birthday until Monday. Then I was unavoidably detained by the opening two episodes of Season 10 of American Idol. And with that, I will now punch myself.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Prepping for a Snow Day
I’m checking in from a snow and ice covered Atlanta, enjoying an actual snow day home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still getting some work in thanks to my blackberry and laptop. Still, it is a most pleasant departure from the regular start to the work week. Last night involved hours of nervous anticipation as to whether or not the snowstorm would materialize in a forceful enough manner to actually keep the office closed. “Do I or do I not crack open a beer and pretend that it’s another Saturday night with no work tomorrow?” This is the question I and thousands of other Atlantans pondered last night as we stared skyward and willed the snow out of the clouds.
No winter storm in the South is complete without a mass run on the grocery store, and this one was most definitely no exception. The wife and I headed to both Kroger and Costco yesterday. I swear we were not in panic mode, loading up the pantry and refrigerator with enough bread and milk to see us through the Apocalypse. No, we just honestly needed groceries. And unfortunately, I also needed gas. The allure of gas priced five cents below market and the apparent fear of inaccessible gas stations combined to form a backup some forty cars deep at Costco. I, of course, rolled into Costco with the needle on empty, thinking myself a near genius for skipping the many vacant gas stations on the way. So faced with no real options, I waited it out, watching my fellow penny pinchers top off their already full tanks with a few gallons while I prayed to the heavens above for my car not to run out of gas in the line.
Happily, I navigated the Costco gas station area without incident and made my way inside for the main event. I don’t know what it is about that place, but the energy of the place triggers some kind of buying mechanism in my brain that doesn’t otherwise exist. Six giant canisters of cranberry sauce? Throw it in the buggy. 12 pounds of dodgy-looking fish? Let’s do it. Anyway, I happened upon a couple of interesting discoveries along the way. While grabbing a 250 count jar of One-A-Day Men’s vitamins, I noticed that they have picked up an official sponsorship from Major League Baseball. Brilliant! “Hey, what sport really exudes peak physical condition?” the higher-ups in marketing must have pondered across the conference table at One-A-Day headquarters. And baseball is what they settled on. Plus, baseball has spent the last three years plastered across the news catching heat for what their players put in their body, so somehow they must have worked that out in their head as a positive as well.
The chiseled physique of Dmitri Young and his teammates may seem a daunting goal, but One-A-Day vitamins can help.
Then, just before queueing up in the checkout line, I decided to swing by the restroom. And in a nondescript corner of the store, I made an interesting discovery. Is it common knowledge that Costco sells industrial-size boxes of Trojans? I certainly wasn't aware of it. I like it, though. Perhaps the buyer of that product is truly the ideal man, an impressive blend of frugality and confidence that no woman could resist.
No winter storm in the South is complete without a mass run on the grocery store, and this one was most definitely no exception. The wife and I headed to both Kroger and Costco yesterday. I swear we were not in panic mode, loading up the pantry and refrigerator with enough bread and milk to see us through the Apocalypse. No, we just honestly needed groceries. And unfortunately, I also needed gas. The allure of gas priced five cents below market and the apparent fear of inaccessible gas stations combined to form a backup some forty cars deep at Costco. I, of course, rolled into Costco with the needle on empty, thinking myself a near genius for skipping the many vacant gas stations on the way. So faced with no real options, I waited it out, watching my fellow penny pinchers top off their already full tanks with a few gallons while I prayed to the heavens above for my car not to run out of gas in the line.
Happily, I navigated the Costco gas station area without incident and made my way inside for the main event. I don’t know what it is about that place, but the energy of the place triggers some kind of buying mechanism in my brain that doesn’t otherwise exist. Six giant canisters of cranberry sauce? Throw it in the buggy. 12 pounds of dodgy-looking fish? Let’s do it. Anyway, I happened upon a couple of interesting discoveries along the way. While grabbing a 250 count jar of One-A-Day Men’s vitamins, I noticed that they have picked up an official sponsorship from Major League Baseball. Brilliant! “Hey, what sport really exudes peak physical condition?” the higher-ups in marketing must have pondered across the conference table at One-A-Day headquarters. And baseball is what they settled on. Plus, baseball has spent the last three years plastered across the news catching heat for what their players put in their body, so somehow they must have worked that out in their head as a positive as well.
The chiseled physique of Dmitri Young and his teammates may seem a daunting goal, but One-A-Day vitamins can help.Then, just before queueing up in the checkout line, I decided to swing by the restroom. And in a nondescript corner of the store, I made an interesting discovery. Is it common knowledge that Costco sells industrial-size boxes of Trojans? I certainly wasn't aware of it. I like it, though. Perhaps the buyer of that product is truly the ideal man, an impressive blend of frugality and confidence that no woman could resist.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Start of a New Year
Happy New Year!!! It's January 6th, and I'm attempting to crawl out from under the post-holidays malaise that has engulfed me. The combination of seeming perpetual darkness outside and the 25 pounds I've picked up over the past three weeks (I kid...sort of) have slowed my efforts at productivity here at the start of 2011. I would set myself to tackling my list of New Year's resolutions, but I haven't had the energy to think of them and certainly not to actually capture them in written or digital fashion.
But no more of that! It's time to get in gear. So inspired am I that I have left the GoDaddy.Com Bowl behind to post my first blog entry of the year. Yes, I have handed over the remote to my wife and made my way to the computer. I am aware that the forward march of time and technology has produced devices that would allow me to keep my seat in front of the television while composing this, but I believe I've made it clear in prior posts that I am not what you would refer to as an early technology adapter. And in any case I can now hear the sounds of the latest episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, so proximity to the TV doesn't strike me as overly appealing at the moment.
I want to start of 2011 with a positive post. Specifically, I want to applaud Google's update to the functionality of Google Image search. Initially, the change annoyed me, but I have come to embrace it. Not because it actually works better, but because it is far more entertaining. Instead of typing what you're actually looking for in the search box, it is as though you type in "show me pictures of random sh!t" every time. Searching for a picture from Major League 2 (don't ask, this post was originally going to be about a different topic)? How about a picture of Jesus gently caressing a baby dinosaur instead?
My search for a picture from Major League 2 yielded this shot from a scene that apparently didn't make it through final edits.
They seem to have made it a game. With every search, in addition to (possibly) pictures tied in to what you typed, you are guaranteed a few scantily clad ladies and numerous completely unrelated images. Don't believe me? Check out this seemingly innocuous search for "Irwin M Fletcher", the main character in Fletch.
It's been awhile since I've watched Fletch, but I don't remember either of those two ladies (one of which I partially censored for my PG13 blog) being in the movie. Also, I'm not at all sure what Frank Poncherello or a well-groomed dog posing with his awards is doing there, and that's all just on the first page. The key is to find what you need without scrolling too far down, though. Not all the oddball pictures are of award winning dogs or sultry models. No, there are some very unsettling looking folks out there, and their pictures await you as well...whether you are looking for them or not.
But no more of that! It's time to get in gear. So inspired am I that I have left the GoDaddy.Com Bowl behind to post my first blog entry of the year. Yes, I have handed over the remote to my wife and made my way to the computer. I am aware that the forward march of time and technology has produced devices that would allow me to keep my seat in front of the television while composing this, but I believe I've made it clear in prior posts that I am not what you would refer to as an early technology adapter. And in any case I can now hear the sounds of the latest episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, so proximity to the TV doesn't strike me as overly appealing at the moment.
I want to start of 2011 with a positive post. Specifically, I want to applaud Google's update to the functionality of Google Image search. Initially, the change annoyed me, but I have come to embrace it. Not because it actually works better, but because it is far more entertaining. Instead of typing what you're actually looking for in the search box, it is as though you type in "show me pictures of random sh!t" every time. Searching for a picture from Major League 2 (don't ask, this post was originally going to be about a different topic)? How about a picture of Jesus gently caressing a baby dinosaur instead?
My search for a picture from Major League 2 yielded this shot from a scene that apparently didn't make it through final edits.They seem to have made it a game. With every search, in addition to (possibly) pictures tied in to what you typed, you are guaranteed a few scantily clad ladies and numerous completely unrelated images. Don't believe me? Check out this seemingly innocuous search for "Irwin M Fletcher", the main character in Fletch.
It's been awhile since I've watched Fletch, but I don't remember either of those two ladies (one of which I partially censored for my PG13 blog) being in the movie. Also, I'm not at all sure what Frank Poncherello or a well-groomed dog posing with his awards is doing there, and that's all just on the first page. The key is to find what you need without scrolling too far down, though. Not all the oddball pictures are of award winning dogs or sultry models. No, there are some very unsettling looking folks out there, and their pictures await you as well...whether you are looking for them or not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)