I like to think of myself as someone who isn't easily bothered. I don't understand people who allow anything and everything to piss them off. That can't be a fun way to go through life. "These peppercorns are NOT cracked enough. Please take them back or I'm leaving." (Can you tell I don't really know what peppercorns are?) Nevertheless, I do have a few pet peeves. Incidentally, "Pet Peeve" comes from the word "peevish," which means irritating. I can't tell you where the pet part comes from. If you know, share it with me.
1. Lemon anything - There might be nothing more disappointing finding that the dessert you've awaited while struggling through a sub par meal is lemon-flavored. The worst offender: Lemon cake. Lemon and cake have never paired successfully, as best I can tell. Why choose lemon cake when there are fo-sho slam-dunks like, I don't know, things that people actually do like? How about chocolate cake? Or yellow cake? Why take the chance with something that you know people don't like? You're not going to turn anyone onto lemon cake.
Exceptions: Lemon skittles, lemon cake if the Ace of Cakes is involved.
2. Yappy dogs - This should be self-explanatory. In Orlando, my neighbors had a yappy dog. From the second I stepped outside to, presumably, well after I was out of sight, they yapped non-stop. It's my belief they did this for everyone and everything. I don't understand why people choose to bring these things into their homes, I really don't. "You know I can't stand? Peace and quiet. Let's get a dog that barks at everything." I guess if you think that, you deserve it.
Exceptions: No exceptions. Not even dogs that yap to wake their owners during a housefire.
3. "Hundo" as in hundred - Don't use this. You're not saving any syllables, you're only saving yourself from respect. "How much for the ticket?" "Six hundo."
Exception: As a synonym for 100% certain - "Are we going to Taco Bell?" "Hundo."
4. Not being done when I think I'm done - I might hate this more than anything else. I've filled out lots of online applications lately, and nothing bugs me more than when they ask you a question or two, have you submit a resume, click submit, and then have you fill out countless more pages of questions. I hate it when I'm doing dishes and people leave more dishes. Nothing enrages me more than finding there's more work than I thought.
Exception: Finding that there is more chocolate cake than I thought.
5. Adding "-gate" to every scandal - Since G. Gordon Liddy broke into the Watergate hotel for Tricky Dick in the 70s, every single scandal has ended in "-gate." Bill Belichick cheats with cameras, and it's spygate. Three San Fran police officers steal a bag of mexican food and it's Fajitagate. Janet Jackson's boob comes out on national TV and it's Boobgate or Nipplegate. We can do better. How about a little creativity? How about we add "-Hullabaloo" instead. That's much more fun to say. Like, say the stroller company Bugaboo starts making their stuff with lead, we could call it the great "BugabooHullabaloo." Who's with me?
Exception: When the prefix rhymes with gate. "Skategate," "plategate," are both acceptable.
6. Using "hot" for anything other than physical attractiveness - Corporate America took the word over to sound cool back in the early 90s. See: "Hottest deals." Now, it doesn't mean desirable, it means stolen. Or "we can be cool, too."
Exception: When something is served very spicy or warm. As in, dig this hot sweater.
7. Customers who call without knowing any of the following: Their number, their address, what they want to order, how they're going to pay, or all of the above - This happens more than you can possibly imagine. At Papa John's, this happens everyday. Example:
"Thanks for calling Papa John's... How may I help you?"
"I would like to order a pizza."
"Okay, what would you like."
[pause] [Screams:] "Hey Lurlene, what do you want on a pizza?"
"While we wait, can I get your phone number?"
[pause] [Screams:] "Hey Lurlene, what's your phone number?"
Needless to say, this person doesn't know where they live, and they probably don't have enough cash, and they'll probably have to dig an expired credit card out of their wallet. Please, please, please, know what you want before you call. If you want a special, ask and then call us back or clip coupons like normal people.
Exceptions: When you're at a sit-down restaurant and everything looks good. Take your time.
January 17, 2008
January 15, 2008
VOTE
You need to know your candidates, because a lot of people do not.
Don't vote for names. For the love of all that is righteous and holy, do not vote for a name. Voting for names helps people buy elections. If you want the person with the best ad agency, vote for a name. If you want the best president, don't vote for a name.
Don't vote single-issue. Don't vote on abortion or gay rights.
Don't base your vote on someone else's religion, especially if they're a mormon or have a muslim name.
Vote for the person who is going to allow you to keep your life the way you want it. Vote for who will keep America the most influential country in the world.
Vote for the person who will keep us from speaking Russian or Arabic.
Michigan has been in what's called a one-state-recession. I love my state and I hate to see people leave it. This state doesn't deserve to struggle. The qualifications of our own leadership aside, the same recession is heading for the rest of the country. A year from now, you may have less money. Vote for the person who isn't going to take even more of it away from you.
We have more than nine months before we elect the person to lead our country through a recession, and you have no excuse to vote for a name.
Don't vote for names. For the love of all that is righteous and holy, do not vote for a name. Voting for names helps people buy elections. If you want the person with the best ad agency, vote for a name. If you want the best president, don't vote for a name.
Don't vote single-issue. Don't vote on abortion or gay rights.
Don't base your vote on someone else's religion, especially if they're a mormon or have a muslim name.
Vote for the person who is going to allow you to keep your life the way you want it. Vote for who will keep America the most influential country in the world.
Vote for the person who will keep us from speaking Russian or Arabic.
Michigan has been in what's called a one-state-recession. I love my state and I hate to see people leave it. This state doesn't deserve to struggle. The qualifications of our own leadership aside, the same recession is heading for the rest of the country. A year from now, you may have less money. Vote for the person who isn't going to take even more of it away from you.
We have more than nine months before we elect the person to lead our country through a recession, and you have no excuse to vote for a name.
January 9, 2008
The Hardest Thing in the World...
...is probably iron. Or titanium. Or calculus.
Or maybe not.
From our earliest Sunday School lessons, we're taught that to get to heaven, you have to ask Jesus into your heart. Finding chapter & verse for that is a little tough to do ("...confess with your mouth and believe in your heart that Jesus is Lord," Romans 10:9, comes close. I guess.), but it's something generally accepted, something no Christian is really going to dispute. You won't hear anyone advise a toddler that he's woefully misguided in believing it. We can pretty much all agree that asking Jesus into your heart, in other words asking him to be your boss, is where salvation begins.
The simplicity of it is astonishing: The key to immortality is simply to believe. We're dead and doomed until we do it. And while I'm not a fan of oversimplified Christianity-as-a-ticket-through-the-pearly-gates theology, belief in Christ is essential to Real Life. To be frank, the simplicity is necessary in dealing with kids, but becomes a big problem when dealing with adults. It's a big hangup. It is the hangup of all hangups. It's the sultan of snags, the colossus of clogs, the - okay, no more Babe Ruth analogies in my theological discourse.
"You mean to tell me that to live forever, all I have to do is believe Jesus was who he said he was?" It's all too simple. There's no way that's all there is to it. There are lots and lots of excuses for people to reject Christianity, and this is a big one. I've had to stop at this point countless times when trying to straighten this whole thing out in my head. It just can't be this easy. There has to be something I can do. There has to be some amount of money I have to donate, some number of souls I have to save, some vast and confusing code of conduct for me to follow. Right? There's no way all I have to do is just believe something.
Except.
Except, it isn't simple. It's the hardest thing in the world to do. Ever since Adam took a bite of a watermelon (I like to picture it as a very large watermelon and I think I'm allowed to) it's always been all about us. That's what sin is: It's putting ourselves in front of others. Ingrained from birth is the desire to serve ourselves. It's all about personal achievement and self-serving opportunity. We have to compare ourselves to others, and find some way to elevate us over them. This is where the simple-sounding confession becomes the hardest thing in the world: Inherent in believing that Jesus is who he said he is is the confession that we are not who he said he is. Following Christ begins when we stop following ourselves. That's the point at which God says, "Okay, it's not about you anymore. Now we're cool." It goes against countless generations of believing it is all about us.
It always comes back to pride and humility. This is why we find it so hard to apologize, to fess up for wrongdoing, to admit our own shortcoming. We simply cannot allow the flaws and chinks in our armor to show. The myth is, sadly, perpetuated even in the church. And the church and Christianity and all of this are simply not engines that can run on self.
(Don't get me wrong, Christianity isn't completely void of achievement. God built us to want to achieve things, I think. Otherwise, nothing would ever get done and none of use would ever move out of our parents' basements.)
The world finds Christianity so hard to buy because they think something is simple when it is anything but simple. It's actually really, really hard.
Or maybe not.
From our earliest Sunday School lessons, we're taught that to get to heaven, you have to ask Jesus into your heart. Finding chapter & verse for that is a little tough to do ("...confess with your mouth and believe in your heart that Jesus is Lord," Romans 10:9, comes close. I guess.), but it's something generally accepted, something no Christian is really going to dispute. You won't hear anyone advise a toddler that he's woefully misguided in believing it. We can pretty much all agree that asking Jesus into your heart, in other words asking him to be your boss, is where salvation begins.
The simplicity of it is astonishing: The key to immortality is simply to believe. We're dead and doomed until we do it. And while I'm not a fan of oversimplified Christianity-as-a-ticket-through-the-pearly-gates theology, belief in Christ is essential to Real Life. To be frank, the simplicity is necessary in dealing with kids, but becomes a big problem when dealing with adults. It's a big hangup. It is the hangup of all hangups. It's the sultan of snags, the colossus of clogs, the - okay, no more Babe Ruth analogies in my theological discourse.
"You mean to tell me that to live forever, all I have to do is believe Jesus was who he said he was?" It's all too simple. There's no way that's all there is to it. There are lots and lots of excuses for people to reject Christianity, and this is a big one. I've had to stop at this point countless times when trying to straighten this whole thing out in my head. It just can't be this easy. There has to be something I can do. There has to be some amount of money I have to donate, some number of souls I have to save, some vast and confusing code of conduct for me to follow. Right? There's no way all I have to do is just believe something.
Except.
Except, it isn't simple. It's the hardest thing in the world to do. Ever since Adam took a bite of a watermelon (I like to picture it as a very large watermelon and I think I'm allowed to) it's always been all about us. That's what sin is: It's putting ourselves in front of others. Ingrained from birth is the desire to serve ourselves. It's all about personal achievement and self-serving opportunity. We have to compare ourselves to others, and find some way to elevate us over them. This is where the simple-sounding confession becomes the hardest thing in the world: Inherent in believing that Jesus is who he said he is is the confession that we are not who he said he is. Following Christ begins when we stop following ourselves. That's the point at which God says, "Okay, it's not about you anymore. Now we're cool." It goes against countless generations of believing it is all about us.
It always comes back to pride and humility. This is why we find it so hard to apologize, to fess up for wrongdoing, to admit our own shortcoming. We simply cannot allow the flaws and chinks in our armor to show. The myth is, sadly, perpetuated even in the church. And the church and Christianity and all of this are simply not engines that can run on self.
(Don't get me wrong, Christianity isn't completely void of achievement. God built us to want to achieve things, I think. Otherwise, nothing would ever get done and none of use would ever move out of our parents' basements.)
The world finds Christianity so hard to buy because they think something is simple when it is anything but simple. It's actually really, really hard.
January 1, 2008
Happy New Year.
December 31, 2007
4:00 pm - I am at work. There are 10 more drivers at work, because it is New Year's Eve. New Year's Eve is like Christmas for Pizza Guy. People are generous, everyone orders, Pizza Guy makes lots of money, it's good. I worked until close last year, and rang in the new year in some family's foyer while mom wrote a check and her kids dug into the pizza, ignoring the ball drop on TV. The money was okay, but I would rather have a life. I am determined not to repeat it this year. I told the boss a few weeks ago that I didn't want to work the closing shift this year. He scheduled me through 10:00.
4:30 pm - No one is calling. I know why no one is calling: It's 4:30 pm. People don't order dinner at 4:30 pm. Especially on New Year's Eve. People will order later. Eleven drivers stand around doing nothing.
5:30 pm - I take my first delivery. There are lots of drivers and not a lot of people in need of drivers. I am not going to make any money.
7:00 pm - The managers start to send other drivers home. I try to decide where I will go after work.
9:45 pm - All of the drivers are gone except me and the two closers. There has been a small rush, but nothing special. I hope the real rush will not come. I have taken four deliveries.
10:00 pm - The real rush comes. There are three drivers and two managers. I will not leave at ten. I tell myself I will be able to leave at 10:30. The snow is falling and the roads are getting covered.
10:30 pm - Still busy. I tell myself I will be able to leave at 11.
11:00 pm - Even busier. I might not make it. Now, the battery light icon on the dash turns on.
11:30 pm - Still busy. Three drivers. 11 deliveries on the screen. Battery light still on. Going to spend another new year with Papa John, and I am not happy. In fact, I am angry. I stew. But I don't know who to blame for this. The managers, the customers, myself, no one really fits the blame. I want to blame the customers.
11:45 pm - I leave the store with a triple. One of which is a free order, usually a remake for a mistake. I choose to go to him last, he won't tip. I try to find a radio station that will tell me when the ball drops, to make it official. None of them seem to be up for it, but that's okay. It's just a stupid ball.
11:59 pm - I am on 28th Street. Paul calls me.
January 1, 2008
12:00 am - I hear the people in the background on the phone count it down, and I am alone in my car, even though I planned it so I wouldn't be. Paul asks me if I'm coming. I tell him I'm delivering a pizza. I use another word, too.
12:02 am - I knock on another person's door. I'm not wearing my unhappy-ness very well, she tips me $2. I leave and decide I don't like the next guy, the guy with the screwed up pizza. I decide he's a slacker who asked us to leave the onions off his pizza, but we put them on there anyway. I decide he's going to be a stingy post-college drunk with a messy apartment, and that he's going to lay into me for being late. I work out my defense. I'm going to tell him I'm not having a good night, that I don't want to be here and he shouldn't complain.
12:10 am - I get to his house, an hour or more after he ordered. He's smiling, thanks me for the pizza, gives me a buck even though he doesn't have to. He tells me to have a good 2008. I am speechless. A buck seems like a lot.
12:20 am - I get back to the store, I've taken 19 deliveries. They're closed now, no more orders. They cash me out and I have made 82 dollars. $82! That's a lot. I go to Bethany and Jon's, I tell Paul I'll go to his place too.
12:39 am - I get to Jon and Bethany's. I eat some cookies, have a can of diet squirt. I catch up with a few friends. I beat Jon at Evenflow on Guitar Hero III. He played the hard setting, though.
1:10 am - I leave Jon and Bethany's, I tell Paul I'm coming. He says they're still there. The battery light icon is still on.
1:19 am - On Chicago Drive, my lights flicker and dim, the radio fades out. The car starts to lurch. The car has lost its electricity. I coast as far down Chicago Drive as I can, because I know I will have to walk. I call Paul and tell him I won't make it. He tells me it's my alternator, which I replaced (yes, I replaced it) in the Spring. He offers me a ride, but I decide I'm close enough that walking is just as fast as it would be for him to get there. I lurch over to the side of the road and sit in the quiet as the snow falls around me.
1:21 am - I get out, watch a few cars go by, and feel sorry for myself. I am a lone guy on the side of the road. I wouldn't help me if I was them, honestly. So I forgive them. A few of them slow, none of them stop. I watch three more go by, I stare them down. Then I walk. Down the hill, through the snow, across the railroad tracks, up the embankment, down it, and into the quiet streets of suburbia. I run a block, but decide that's not going to last. On the mile walk home, someone heckles me. I decide he doesn't know what tonight has been like for me. I decide to forgive him, too. I walk the mile home through four inches of unplowed, freshly fallen snow. I am wheezing from my asthma, my left knee is hurting inexplicably, and my socks are wet. The snow falls into my ears, and it tingles. I call my sister to see if she is at home, awake. She's somewhere else, wants to help, but is too far away. I tell her not to bother. I will have to wake up dad.
1:43 am - I get home, I wake up dad. He tells me he'll help. He doesn't really give himself a choice. I brush off his car and wait.
2:02 am - Dad finally emerges. I wonder what has taken so long, but I realize he's down one shoulder after his surgery. He changed all his clothes, put on boots and a jacket. In a middle-of-the-night fog, no less. I forgive him, too.
2:10 am - We jump my car. More people drive by, really fast, I worry about them. It's cold and my socks are wet and i want to be in bed. I tell dad I'll follow him in my car. He says No, he'll follow me. He's wise.
2:12 am - My car dies around the corner on my street. We jump it again.
2:15 am - My car dies, sitting halfway in the driveway and halfway in the street. Dad pulls in, we jump it again for the final twenty feet.
2:20 am - Mom is waiting inside, watching. She tells me that this is what family does for each other. I am thankful for my family. They don't have the whole story yet.
2:30 am - I am in my room, and I want pity so I blog about this. My socks are wet, and I scratch open a scab on my hand. It bleeds all over the place. I realize that I never ate dinner today.
4:00 pm - I am at work. There are 10 more drivers at work, because it is New Year's Eve. New Year's Eve is like Christmas for Pizza Guy. People are generous, everyone orders, Pizza Guy makes lots of money, it's good. I worked until close last year, and rang in the new year in some family's foyer while mom wrote a check and her kids dug into the pizza, ignoring the ball drop on TV. The money was okay, but I would rather have a life. I am determined not to repeat it this year. I told the boss a few weeks ago that I didn't want to work the closing shift this year. He scheduled me through 10:00.
4:30 pm - No one is calling. I know why no one is calling: It's 4:30 pm. People don't order dinner at 4:30 pm. Especially on New Year's Eve. People will order later. Eleven drivers stand around doing nothing.
5:30 pm - I take my first delivery. There are lots of drivers and not a lot of people in need of drivers. I am not going to make any money.
7:00 pm - The managers start to send other drivers home. I try to decide where I will go after work.
9:45 pm - All of the drivers are gone except me and the two closers. There has been a small rush, but nothing special. I hope the real rush will not come. I have taken four deliveries.
10:00 pm - The real rush comes. There are three drivers and two managers. I will not leave at ten. I tell myself I will be able to leave at 10:30. The snow is falling and the roads are getting covered.
10:30 pm - Still busy. I tell myself I will be able to leave at 11.
11:00 pm - Even busier. I might not make it. Now, the battery light icon on the dash turns on.
11:30 pm - Still busy. Three drivers. 11 deliveries on the screen. Battery light still on. Going to spend another new year with Papa John, and I am not happy. In fact, I am angry. I stew. But I don't know who to blame for this. The managers, the customers, myself, no one really fits the blame. I want to blame the customers.
11:45 pm - I leave the store with a triple. One of which is a free order, usually a remake for a mistake. I choose to go to him last, he won't tip. I try to find a radio station that will tell me when the ball drops, to make it official. None of them seem to be up for it, but that's okay. It's just a stupid ball.
11:59 pm - I am on 28th Street. Paul calls me.
January 1, 2008
12:00 am - I hear the people in the background on the phone count it down, and I am alone in my car, even though I planned it so I wouldn't be. Paul asks me if I'm coming. I tell him I'm delivering a pizza. I use another word, too.
12:02 am - I knock on another person's door. I'm not wearing my unhappy-ness very well, she tips me $2. I leave and decide I don't like the next guy, the guy with the screwed up pizza. I decide he's a slacker who asked us to leave the onions off his pizza, but we put them on there anyway. I decide he's going to be a stingy post-college drunk with a messy apartment, and that he's going to lay into me for being late. I work out my defense. I'm going to tell him I'm not having a good night, that I don't want to be here and he shouldn't complain.
12:10 am - I get to his house, an hour or more after he ordered. He's smiling, thanks me for the pizza, gives me a buck even though he doesn't have to. He tells me to have a good 2008. I am speechless. A buck seems like a lot.
12:20 am - I get back to the store, I've taken 19 deliveries. They're closed now, no more orders. They cash me out and I have made 82 dollars. $82! That's a lot. I go to Bethany and Jon's, I tell Paul I'll go to his place too.
12:39 am - I get to Jon and Bethany's. I eat some cookies, have a can of diet squirt. I catch up with a few friends. I beat Jon at Evenflow on Guitar Hero III. He played the hard setting, though.
1:10 am - I leave Jon and Bethany's, I tell Paul I'm coming. He says they're still there. The battery light icon is still on.
1:19 am - On Chicago Drive, my lights flicker and dim, the radio fades out. The car starts to lurch. The car has lost its electricity. I coast as far down Chicago Drive as I can, because I know I will have to walk. I call Paul and tell him I won't make it. He tells me it's my alternator, which I replaced (yes, I replaced it) in the Spring. He offers me a ride, but I decide I'm close enough that walking is just as fast as it would be for him to get there. I lurch over to the side of the road and sit in the quiet as the snow falls around me.
1:21 am - I get out, watch a few cars go by, and feel sorry for myself. I am a lone guy on the side of the road. I wouldn't help me if I was them, honestly. So I forgive them. A few of them slow, none of them stop. I watch three more go by, I stare them down. Then I walk. Down the hill, through the snow, across the railroad tracks, up the embankment, down it, and into the quiet streets of suburbia. I run a block, but decide that's not going to last. On the mile walk home, someone heckles me. I decide he doesn't know what tonight has been like for me. I decide to forgive him, too. I walk the mile home through four inches of unplowed, freshly fallen snow. I am wheezing from my asthma, my left knee is hurting inexplicably, and my socks are wet. The snow falls into my ears, and it tingles. I call my sister to see if she is at home, awake. She's somewhere else, wants to help, but is too far away. I tell her not to bother. I will have to wake up dad.
1:43 am - I get home, I wake up dad. He tells me he'll help. He doesn't really give himself a choice. I brush off his car and wait.
2:02 am - Dad finally emerges. I wonder what has taken so long, but I realize he's down one shoulder after his surgery. He changed all his clothes, put on boots and a jacket. In a middle-of-the-night fog, no less. I forgive him, too.
2:10 am - We jump my car. More people drive by, really fast, I worry about them. It's cold and my socks are wet and i want to be in bed. I tell dad I'll follow him in my car. He says No, he'll follow me. He's wise.
2:12 am - My car dies around the corner on my street. We jump it again.
2:15 am - My car dies, sitting halfway in the driveway and halfway in the street. Dad pulls in, we jump it again for the final twenty feet.
2:20 am - Mom is waiting inside, watching. She tells me that this is what family does for each other. I am thankful for my family. They don't have the whole story yet.
2:30 am - I am in my room, and I want pity so I blog about this. My socks are wet, and I scratch open a scab on my hand. It bleeds all over the place. I realize that I never ate dinner today.
December 28, 2007
Costco
(For your convenience, I've decided to fill this with Wikipedia links.)
Don't get me wrong, I like Costco. There are lots of things to like about it. Them. Itthem.
I like that I can go there and basically be fed an entire meal of free samples.
I like 30-packs of dress shirts and obscenely large tubs of mayonnaise. I like that I can buy them, and get new tires in the same store.
I like their assortment of cheeses.
I like that, for the most part, the people who work there know how to help you.
I like their lower drug prices, since I don't have insurance.
The whole buy-in-bulk philosophy is funny to me. Generally, you don't need to shop at Costco unless you have a huge family or run a cafe or something. You can buy very large sacks of rice there. I had a roommate last year who had a membership. He would go there and get vast amounts of food, and he was a single guy. He was always willing to share, but he bought things that no one else in the house really wanted. I remember he bought a very large tub of pierogies. Pierogies are always a bit of a disappointment to me, they look delicious but turn out to be subpar. Anyway, we didn't help him with them and I think they all went bad. He would also come home with packages of 36 apples, large quantities of eggs, and very large milk jugs, none of which did we assist him in consuming. So a lot of his groceries went bad. If you're in charge of feeding yourself, don't buy large quantities of things that go bad.
I do not like being an outsider. Some time ago, I got my mother a membership there, and put the second card in my dad's name. For the most part, I was free to come and go with their membership card, and no one asked questions. All the while, I knew I was getting away with something. Then one day it all fell apart. They carded me, and I failed to prove I was Sharon Gamble. Still, they were gracious enough to let me make my purchases and let me go. A guy in a suit confiscated my dad's card and told me he could get it back next time he came in. Presumably, they drew a frowny face on it and pinned it to a naughty customer bulletin board somewhere.
I still have to go to the pharmacy there, and ever since they took away my dad's card it feels like I'm trying to get into a club I'm not good enough for. They position their guards (fifty year-old woman guards) at the door, and make you show your card. One time I went to visit their cell phone counter, and they sent a babysitter with me to make sure I didn't ogle their merchandise without permission. She thought it was ridiculous, too. I don't like the idea of having bouncers at retail places. Then again, if I was an actual card-entitled member, I'd probably like that very much. Gotta keep out the sample-grabbing riffraff. Nothing makes me feel more important than entitlement.
Don't get me wrong, I like Costco. There are lots of things to like about it. Them. Itthem.
I like that I can go there and basically be fed an entire meal of free samples.
I like 30-packs of dress shirts and obscenely large tubs of mayonnaise. I like that I can buy them, and get new tires in the same store.
I like their assortment of cheeses.
I like that, for the most part, the people who work there know how to help you.
I like their lower drug prices, since I don't have insurance.
The whole buy-in-bulk philosophy is funny to me. Generally, you don't need to shop at Costco unless you have a huge family or run a cafe or something. You can buy very large sacks of rice there. I had a roommate last year who had a membership. He would go there and get vast amounts of food, and he was a single guy. He was always willing to share, but he bought things that no one else in the house really wanted. I remember he bought a very large tub of pierogies. Pierogies are always a bit of a disappointment to me, they look delicious but turn out to be subpar. Anyway, we didn't help him with them and I think they all went bad. He would also come home with packages of 36 apples, large quantities of eggs, and very large milk jugs, none of which did we assist him in consuming. So a lot of his groceries went bad. If you're in charge of feeding yourself, don't buy large quantities of things that go bad.
I do not like being an outsider. Some time ago, I got my mother a membership there, and put the second card in my dad's name. For the most part, I was free to come and go with their membership card, and no one asked questions. All the while, I knew I was getting away with something. Then one day it all fell apart. They carded me, and I failed to prove I was Sharon Gamble. Still, they were gracious enough to let me make my purchases and let me go. A guy in a suit confiscated my dad's card and told me he could get it back next time he came in. Presumably, they drew a frowny face on it and pinned it to a naughty customer bulletin board somewhere.
I still have to go to the pharmacy there, and ever since they took away my dad's card it feels like I'm trying to get into a club I'm not good enough for. They position their guards (fifty year-old woman guards) at the door, and make you show your card. One time I went to visit their cell phone counter, and they sent a babysitter with me to make sure I didn't ogle their merchandise without permission. She thought it was ridiculous, too. I don't like the idea of having bouncers at retail places. Then again, if I was an actual card-entitled member, I'd probably like that very much. Gotta keep out the sample-grabbing riffraff. Nothing makes me feel more important than entitlement.
December 20, 2007
Jim Learns About the Business World
I got fired on Wednesday.
I was going to write a long rant about this, possibly saying some negative things about my employer, but the simple truth is that I was let go six days before Christmas, just over a week away from wrapping another issue of our publication. I got a note yesterday that said my position was no longer needed. The publication I worked for is going to operate with four salespeople, an owner, and no editor. How they're going to accomplish that isn't up to me. The economy in Michigan is bad, particularly affecting people who advertise with them. The cynic would say, I lost my job because other people weren't able to do theirs, that is, sell ads. Maybe. But I'm really not bitter about this. I knew I wouldn't stay there forever.
This opens other doors for me. I'll get another job, a better one, and I'll be okay. Now, when people ask what I do for a living, I can go back to saying I'm just a pizza man. And for now, that's okay with me.
Besides, I get to sleep in now.
I was going to write a long rant about this, possibly saying some negative things about my employer, but the simple truth is that I was let go six days before Christmas, just over a week away from wrapping another issue of our publication. I got a note yesterday that said my position was no longer needed. The publication I worked for is going to operate with four salespeople, an owner, and no editor. How they're going to accomplish that isn't up to me. The economy in Michigan is bad, particularly affecting people who advertise with them. The cynic would say, I lost my job because other people weren't able to do theirs, that is, sell ads. Maybe. But I'm really not bitter about this. I knew I wouldn't stay there forever.
This opens other doors for me. I'll get another job, a better one, and I'll be okay. Now, when people ask what I do for a living, I can go back to saying I'm just a pizza man. And for now, that's okay with me.
Besides, I get to sleep in now.
December 19, 2007
This is why we need to be smarter about international aid:
Link: Uganda Leader to Get Second Jet and Zimbabwe is Still Messed Up.
You can collect as much for UNICEF as you want.
You can send as many checks to the Red Cross as you want.
You can buy as many (Red) Campaign shirts and jeans as you want.
You can join as many Save Darfur facebook groups as you want.
You can write as many email-bombs to senators as you want.
You can take as many save-the-orphans "Mission trips" as you want.
But until there is accountability in Africa's leadership and change in their infrastructure, their problems aren't going away.
You can collect as much for UNICEF as you want.
You can send as many checks to the Red Cross as you want.
You can buy as many (Red) Campaign shirts and jeans as you want.
You can join as many Save Darfur facebook groups as you want.
You can write as many email-bombs to senators as you want.
You can take as many save-the-orphans "Mission trips" as you want.
But until there is accountability in Africa's leadership and change in their infrastructure, their problems aren't going away.
December 16, 2007
Arguing
It is more fun to wonder about things than to be right. That's one of the reasons I call this "Naive Jim:" It absolves me from any responsibility to be right. (In a similar way, taking on a journalistic tone of writing as opposed to a poetic or prosaic tone absolves me from the responsibility of being deep. It's much easier to not try to be deep.) I pretty much have free reign to espouse any opinion or idea, no matter how ridiculous, because I readily admit to my own naivety. You know exactly what you're getting: One dude, just kinda wondering stuff. No one can come down on me because, hey, I'm just a naive guy. If you admit from the start that you're an ignoramus, things aren't so bad. You'll notice in real life, if you're proven wrong about something, saying, "I guess you're right," is the best way to diffuse the argument, and it can really frustrate someone looking for an argument if you give it up right away. At least it would do that for me.
For example, the other day during lunch a co-worker was doing a crossword puzzle. She needed to know how to spell Tae, as in Tae Kwon Do. I asserted that it was T-A-E, and I was right. Everyone else at the table flatly insisted it was T-A-I. I reminded them that I was the editor, and quickly broke out a dictionary - okay, not a dictionary, it was Wikipedia on a computer - and saw that it was, in fact, Tae. Wikipedia is, of course, a 100% reliable source. Very proud of my rightness, I shared my finding with everyone there. They were not impressed, and their accolades toward me were minimal at best. I don't know what I expected. I am seldom provably right in arguments. Odds are, if you argue with me about pretty much anything, you're going to win. I have lost a lot of arguments, and I can tell you that the most satisfaction comes not from the few that I have won, but the few that I have conceded easily. Because when we argue, being right is inevitably a pretty big letdown. At least it is to me. You reach an equilibrium, and the disagreement is usually forgotten almost immediately. How many times have you brought up an old, insignificant argument to emphasize your personal value? Probably not very often. "Dude, remember that one time you told me that Taco Bell would still be open and I told you I was pretty sure it wasn't and then we drove there and it was closed and I was right?" Only once have I used past argument-triumph to emphasize my coolness, and that was in this paragraph. And my coolness is well-established away from this victory.
For Amy, I'm sorry that it took me 11 days to come up with this. I've been meaning not to neglect the old blog. But I can only come up with stuff as truly inspired. You don't want perfunctory, uninspired blogging now, do you? I have a lot of ideas, religious ones, that I'm kicking around, and you'll probably see them soon. Turns out I'm a supralapsarianist.
For example, the other day during lunch a co-worker was doing a crossword puzzle. She needed to know how to spell Tae, as in Tae Kwon Do. I asserted that it was T-A-E, and I was right. Everyone else at the table flatly insisted it was T-A-I. I reminded them that I was the editor, and quickly broke out a dictionary - okay, not a dictionary, it was Wikipedia on a computer - and saw that it was, in fact, Tae. Wikipedia is, of course, a 100% reliable source. Very proud of my rightness, I shared my finding with everyone there. They were not impressed, and their accolades toward me were minimal at best. I don't know what I expected. I am seldom provably right in arguments. Odds are, if you argue with me about pretty much anything, you're going to win. I have lost a lot of arguments, and I can tell you that the most satisfaction comes not from the few that I have won, but the few that I have conceded easily. Because when we argue, being right is inevitably a pretty big letdown. At least it is to me. You reach an equilibrium, and the disagreement is usually forgotten almost immediately. How many times have you brought up an old, insignificant argument to emphasize your personal value? Probably not very often. "Dude, remember that one time you told me that Taco Bell would still be open and I told you I was pretty sure it wasn't and then we drove there and it was closed and I was right?" Only once have I used past argument-triumph to emphasize my coolness, and that was in this paragraph. And my coolness is well-established away from this victory.
For Amy, I'm sorry that it took me 11 days to come up with this. I've been meaning not to neglect the old blog. But I can only come up with stuff as truly inspired. You don't want perfunctory, uninspired blogging now, do you? I have a lot of ideas, religious ones, that I'm kicking around, and you'll probably see them soon. Turns out I'm a supralapsarianist.
December 5, 2007
The Golden Compass Boycott
The notice showed up in my facebook inbox a few days ago. A friend had invited me to join the group “Do NOT Support The Golden Compass.” I noticed that several of my friends had already joined. Now, I am very particular about the groups I join on facebook. I have to be absolutely sold on a particular ideology before I align myself with it (See: Pudding is Awesome, It’s Funny When Old Ladies Swear, Backpacks on Wheels are NOT COOL, etc.) Now, I had no intention of seeing the movie, more out of disinterest than religious zeal. I had seen the previews and the posters, and it appeared to me to be another big-budget ($180 million) rehash of a children’s novel (one I’ve never read), a convenient way for a movie studio to cash in at Christmas time.
So I decided not to join. But I did look into why people were upset about it.
Turns out, The Golden Compass is the first book of religious skeptic Philip Pullman’s trilogy His Dark Materials. (If the compass is, in fact, golden, Mr. Pullman, is it not shiny? How, then, can it also be dark? What do you think of that? Unless it’s tarnished gold. Or “dark” as in evil. Hmm. Touche, Mr. Pullman.) From what I’ve read, the book portrays religion and clergy as evil or in the very least, nasty, and his idea of the afterlife doesn’t line up with Christianity’s vision of heaven. In the final book, so I hear, the god-figure is unveiled as a fraud, and gets killed by children. But, like I said, I haven’t read any of these so I don’t know a whole lot about it.
So, there you see, why some people are getting all hot-and-bothered by yet another controversial kids book/movie with unchristian religious themes. Their problem is with the soft sell: Kids will watch the movies, which may or may not be watered down and “safe” versions of the books. Then, they’ll want to read the books and will hate the church and the whole generation will go to crap and all the kids will become atheists. After all, children are fragile little things, always teetering right on the edge of pursuing devil-worship. And, as we all know, ever since Harry Potter came out, there’s been an epidemic of pre-teen sorcery. I guess we’ll have to start over with the next batch of Sunday-schoolers.
Really, that’s what it amounts to: Allowing kids to see this movie will doom an entire generation to the fires of Hades. Better to not let them see it at all than to subject them to it and have to talk to them about it. Sometimes we Christians aren’t big fans of dialog. Are we afraid? Is that what it is? Since when did a movie threaten our eternal securities? Since when did we not like conversation, and questions, and doubt, anyway? I thought God was bigger than that stuff. I thought God was bigger than my doubts (and the boogeyman, Godzilla, or the Monsters on TV), that He was bigger than some story by an atheist. This is just one more thing to tell kids not to touch, and by doing so to make them curious about it.
In the last few days, the anti-Golden Compass movement has gotten ample press. (See: CNN.com) What, exactly, is the message we want to send with a boycott? That we, as Christians, have the buying power to squash movies we disagree with? Or is it that we have an endless supply of things to get uptight about? Or is it that we're afraid?
December 4, 2007
Special: Hip-Hop Videos of the 90s, Volume 1
Starting today, continuing periodically, and ending whenever I run out of gas, I'll be sharing something I've held private for a very long time: My love for 1990s hip-hop videos.
Most people don't know this, but Flavor Flav was a sex symbol and fashion icon long before The Surreal Life and Flavor of Love. His previous career as a rapper is, of course, dwarfed by his modern achievements on VH1's reality repertoire, but he has nevertheless been extremely influential as the musical genius flanking Chuck D in Public Enemy. Flav and D, along with Terminator and Richard "Professor Griff" Griffin, assembled a supergroup which, James Lipton would agree, by comparison reduces the collective works of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart to childish rubber-band plunkings.
Today I present you with something not aptly described by "masterpiece," as it is so much more, Public Enemy's "Give it Up."
The things I love about this video:
-The earth shattering special effects, and the seemless California-Raisin-ish claymation.
-Pretty much everything Flavor Flav does, especially wearing a rain-coat in the sunshine.
-The brief parodies of gangsta videos and suburban rap
-The ability of the ever-watchful benevolent Public Enemy to rescue a child from an evil dude in a mask, and the positive message of the kid rejecting a 40 of Malt Liquor. Then, the evil dudes turn into books.
-Claymation Bill Clinton, dollar signs in his eyes, physically impeached by Public Enemy via yanking from the lid of the US Capitol Building.
-Rappers playing chess in the park
-The complete absence of rap vide-hos.
Most people don't know this, but Flavor Flav was a sex symbol and fashion icon long before The Surreal Life and Flavor of Love. His previous career as a rapper is, of course, dwarfed by his modern achievements on VH1's reality repertoire, but he has nevertheless been extremely influential as the musical genius flanking Chuck D in Public Enemy. Flav and D, along with Terminator and Richard "Professor Griff" Griffin, assembled a supergroup which, James Lipton would agree, by comparison reduces the collective works of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart to childish rubber-band plunkings.
Today I present you with something not aptly described by "masterpiece," as it is so much more, Public Enemy's "Give it Up."
The things I love about this video:
-The earth shattering special effects, and the seemless California-Raisin-ish claymation.
-Pretty much everything Flavor Flav does, especially wearing a rain-coat in the sunshine.
-The brief parodies of gangsta videos and suburban rap
-The ability of the ever-watchful benevolent Public Enemy to rescue a child from an evil dude in a mask, and the positive message of the kid rejecting a 40 of Malt Liquor. Then, the evil dudes turn into books.
-Claymation Bill Clinton, dollar signs in his eyes, physically impeached by Public Enemy via yanking from the lid of the US Capitol Building.
-Rappers playing chess in the park
-The complete absence of rap vide-hos.
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