Under My Skin

Maybe I'm a little sensitive, maybe a little touchy, or maybe - just maybe - I'm a touch too polite. Living the Golden Rule and all, it just aggravates me when people don't think of others when just a moment's consideration would go so far.
   Here, in no particular order, are various impolite things that have gotten under my skin lately.

In the car:
   The douchebag in the Cadillac Escalade in front of me flicking his cigarette ash out the sunroof.
   Same douchebag veering across three lanes of traffic to make an exit.
   The battered green LeBaron making a right turn from the left lane. Just go a few blocks down, turn around and come back. Nothing you have on your agenda is more important than my life.
   The flattened aluminum cans falling like raindrops from the flatbed trailer pulled by the wheezing and laboring Ford utility pickup. You can't be environmentally conscious about recycling if you're littering for miles on your way to the reclamation station.

In the grocery store:
   Every woman who's ever pushed a grocery cart in a grocery store. The place is packed full of people, you're not alone. Get the hell out of the center of the aisle. Watch the men, see how they stay out of each other's way? Do that.
   Morbidly obese people elbowing people out of the way to get to the diet soda. You're not fooling anyone, and you're only making your condition worse.
   Serving sushi in the middle of a South Texas Summer, right at the front of the store. So many things wrong with this idea it's hard to know where to begin the list.
   The person who forgets his coupons until he's already paid for his groceries with his debit card, so the clerk has to give him cash back. Seems like some sort of scam to me.

At the Post Office:
   The passport office is that one over there. With the big label that says 'Passport Office.' Don't get snippy with the clerks because you waited in the wrong line.
   Mr. Impatient who shows up at the Post Office at noon on a weekday and is put out when he has to wait more than two minutes. Of course if all the passport people weren't in the wrong line...
   The same Mr. Impatient who gets testy when the postal clerks run through their list of added services. It's their job to ask, so don't get all pissy about it, just say 'No, thank you' like your parents taught you when you were three.

In the gym:
   Mr. Smell-Good. The slightest spritz of Axe body spray makes you smell like an Armenian pimp, practically drowning in it clears the room. Just take a bath like a normal person, Junior.
   The Chatty Kathies on the treadmill. It's a gym, not a coffee shop, and you're yelling to be heard over the whir of the machines. I can hear every icky detail of your lady-parts surgery story, and I'm twenty feet away.
   The Creeper standing by the water fountain, trying to be slick while he watches the hot chicks on the eliptical machines. Gonna get yourself arrested there, Peeping Tom.

So Tired...

I fell asleep on the couch after work today. Like an old man. I'm pretty sure I was snoring too, even though I can't hear myself when I do. But it seems like something that should happen. I didn't drool though, so I got that going for me. Which ain't bad.
   That got me to thinking about sleep. Scientists still aren't certain why we sleep they just know that we all do. BUT - not all mammals sleep the same way. Dolphins, for example, sleep with half their brains at a time. Because they don't have comfy beds and they have to watch out for sharks and Aquaman and whatnot.
   What could I do if I slept with half my brain at a time? Glad you asked.

Do the dishes. I can't believe it takes your whole brain to wash a bowl. Maybe if I was an especially sloppy eater...
   Sweep the floor. Same reasoning.
Wait in line at the DMV. Hell, I could probably do that completely zonked out. Lord knows the people working there seem to be asleep on the job.
   Listen to timeshare presentations. I'm not going to buy anyway, I just want the free gift, even if it is a crappy coupon for a massage.
Get a massage, now that I think about it.
   Watch Jerry Springer. I think I might explode if I used my whole brain for this one.
Listen to AM talk radio. True fact: Using half your brain is a prerequisite to agreeing with anything Rush Limbaugh says.
   Read The Secret and not fall out of my chair laughing. Or in outrage.
Write a country song. Which I'm thinking about doing. Seriously, I'll keep you posted.
   Work at the TSA security checkpoint in the airport. Nah, I'm just kidding, those folks are keeping us safe from terrorists, they just need to cop a feel every once in a while. Isn't that a fair trade-off for the fine job they do keeping nail files and cigarette lighters off our airliners? If I have to let a stranger cup my balls to make sure no one gets more than 3.4 ounces of fluid on board, then cup away.
Enjoy the stylings of local singer/songwriters. Sometimes you can find a real diamond in the rough, most of the time it's just atonal warblings. I'd love the chance to let half my brain fall asleep during that kind of painful experience.

There you have it. I'm sure there are more, but I'm nodding off here, even after my nap. I'm running on empty.

The White Girl At Chipotle

You know, with all the craziness happening in Arizona, the last thing public discourse needs is another 'white folks vs. (fill in your ethnicity here)' talk. But, on the other hand, I do have to call 'em like I see 'em.
   Since I've been a working man I haven't really had time to cook on weekdays. It's been sandwiches, chips, and Lara Bars for the most part. Which is also pretty much what I have for lunch. Day after day after day.
   So after my fencing lesson today I decided I needed something different. Driving down Del Mar I headed for South Lake Avenue and its line of fast food restaurants. Chipotle beckoned me. And there I went. Inside I ordered my chicken burrito and got all my fixin's as the workers passed the tortilla down the line with efficiency and dispatch.
   Then my burrito got to the one white chick, the last in the production line. She tried her best, really she did, but I'm not exaggerating when I say I could roll a burrito better than she could, and I've never worked in a place where that was my job. The other ladies behind the line - Hispanic all - waited patiently for the white chick to finish wadding up my meal and wrapping it awkwardly in foil.
   I'm not trying to say that Hispanic women are better than white chicks at wrapping burritos... well, I guess I am saying that, but I don't mean it in a bad way. More to the point, what I'm saying is that I'd rather have someone good at their job making my oh-so-caloric meal, instead of someone just learning their job.
   Bless her heart, the poor thing couldn't even scoop guacamole into a plastic cup. A job's a job, but some people just aren't cut out for food service. She probably should have stuck with Kohl's or some other white chick hangout.



COMMUTE: there - 40 minutes      back - 40 minutes to my fencing lesson
CONTRACT COUNTDOWN: 68 days

Speecy-Spicy

You know what I was thinking about today? Why doesn't anybody make spicy lip balm?
   I'm not talking about cinnamon-flavored, or menthol or peppermint. I mean cumin or red pepper or bay leaf. Maybe basil. Rosemary or cayenne pepper. Don't you think there'd be a market?
   And what about animal-flavored, like barbeque brisket or jerk chicken? Baloney? Wouldn't pasty, weak vegans just love to rub some meat flavoring on their lips, for old times' sake?

Man... I think I just found my new business opportunity. Nobody steal it from me. I know who you are.

COMMUTE: there - 45 minutes, fire trucks     back - 41 minutes, I went a new way
CONTRACT COUNTDOWN: 74 days

On Stage At The Farmer's Market

Every so often I'll go to Pasadena's Saturday farmer's market, at the high school parking lot. I'm not a locavore or health nut - though I am pretty down on big corporations and agri-business in general - I go because the produce is waaaaay fresher than you can get in the grocery stores. Usually picked the day before, less than 24 hours before we consumers run our sticky fingers all over it, the produce I buy at the farmer's market lasts longer than what I buy in the store. It's also good to be out in the sun, walking amongst my fellow early-birds and listening to the music the blind guy by the flower stand strums on his guitar. It had been a while since I went, probably six months, and so today I decided the time had come to return.
   This time around I noticed something different. The vendors, usually friendly people to begin with, seemed very eager to talk. And I don't mean they were polite and had a few nice words, they wanted to outline every reason their customers should buy their produce, or honey, or beef, or bread or what have you.
   I noticed it first at the baker's stand. He was explaining his wares, always a good practice, but as the people went down the line he kept it up, talking about his ovens, his technique, his ingredients. That was one proud baker, I thought.
   Then I heard the honey guy do the same, talking about his bees and the local crops he helps bring to our dinner table. And the potato guy, who was able to talk someone's ear off in English and in Spanish and was only too happy to do so. And the flower lady. And the apple family. And the guacamole guy. And the seafood people.
   Did they all go to some farmer's market pitch class? This wasn't the reality six months ago. Back then, in the good old days, the vendors made polite conversation but unless you asked they didn't volunteer much beyond when they picked the produce, baked the bread, or pulled the fish out of the ocean. Today it seemed they had taken some sort of 'talk-too-much' pill with an 'overshare' chaser. Did you know the soil's ph affects the pungency of celery? I didn't either. But I do now. I couldn't have avoided knowing it if I wanted to.
   I might be reading too much into this, but I suspect this is a product of our data-hungry culture. With the internet and horrible 24-hour news channels and Wikipedia now our major news sources, the public has come to expect fast facts in an instant. You can find anything, from what a sucrose molecule looks like to what your favorite anorexic, talentless celebrity is doing this Saturday with just a few mouse clicks. There's a lot of noise out there, a lot of data flying around but not a lot of information. And now that trend seems to have hit the farmer's market.

Socrates Walks Into A Bar...

Hey, buddy, what can I get you?
   Ah, that is the question, is it not?
Uh... right. Beer?
   Is this beer refreshing?
Yes.
   Is this beer delicious?
Uh-huh.
   Is it your opinion, then, that I would find this beer thirst-quenching?
Well... sure. Look, pal, I don't got all day.
   And how do you know that I, in particular, enjoy beer?
You just look like a beer kind of fellow.
   Yet I look like no other person in here, and I see many of them drinking beer.
Maybe you're right, how about a tequila sunrise?
   Is this tequila sunrise refreshing?
All right, that's it. When you want to stop being a wise ass, let me know.
   No wait, don't go. I'm sorry, it's just... I use questions with my students, and it's hard for me to turn off at the end of the day.
No harm done, pal.
   Socrates.
Harvey.
   You're a virtuous man, Harvey.
People have called me worse. So you're a teacher?
   Do I look like a teacher?
Jeez, you just said...
   Sorry! Sorry! Okay, I'm turning it off. Seriously. This time for real.
All right. What'll it be?
   That's a tough one. You know what I'd really like?
The only thing I know is that I don't know.
   Ah... you got me there.
People think that because I'm a bartender I don't read.
   Man, I'm parched.
There is no one thirstier than you.
   Another good one.
I got a lot of time during the day.
   I'll take that beer. You got any pistachios back there?

That's Globalization, Baby

Sorry, I channeled Dick Vitale there for a second...
   For Christmas, my younger niece got me a polar bear toy that poops jelly beans. It's all good, because I got her a plush zombie that you can pull apart and put back together. The jelly beans are tasty, too, butterscotch and cola.
   But I noticed something as I was reading the package. The package comes from a distributor in Canada. Or at least from Quebec, which is part of Canada for the time being, I suppose. No biggie, I have no quarrel with Canada, except for them making Celine Dion our problem but I've let that go. I did notice something interesting, though.
   The polar bear itself - the plastic bit - comes from China. The jelly beans come from Ireland, of all places (who knew they had the jelly bean infrastructure?). And my niece bought the polar bear package, bear, beans and all, in San Antonio, Texas.
   So you have a silly little toy made in one corner of the world combined in Canada with candy made in another corner of the world, being sold in Texas. I posted recently about a Pepsi can made in England, but this is an even better example of how little national boundaries mean to modern business exigencies. All this effort, all this coordination, all this back and forth through four countries, all this blood, sweat, plastic, and sugar put into getting a candy-pooping polar bear into my hands at Christmas.
   Kind of makes you think, don't it? People want to 'buy American,' but if you do that the only thing you're assured of is the product is assembled in America, the bits might very well have come from other parts of the world.
   I wonder where my Gene Simmons ceramic bobble-head really came from?

Cutting Off The Tail

Disclaimer: I have a bit of a cold today, and a fever, so if I'm less coherent I usually am please excuse me. And for those of you who say 'how can I tell the difference?' I say 'shut up, that's how.'

I've noticed a trend among the big retailers - Target, Wal-Mart, most grocery stores, department stores - of focusing on the bland middle. Shelf space is reserved for those products that sell the most, or that they can get the best profit margin on, or from manufacturers with whom they have a special deal. They're catering to the middle of the bell curve and ignoring the outliers, cutting off the tail.
   For instance, my nasal spray decongestant is well past its expiration date (two years!) so I went to the store to get some fresher spray. I couldn't find the brand I had in my drawer. Not there, they didn't carry it, even though it's still a national brand. They carried exactly 1 national brand name product - four different styles - and 1 store brand. I guess the kind I wanted didn't sell enough or generate enough of a profit on a per-SKU basis to make the analyst's cut.
   Same deal with deodorant. The kind I used for years back in Texas they don't carry here in SoCal, not any more. Retailers did stock it when I first moved out here, and then it became harder and harder to find, until now I can't find it at all, it's just not available. I stock up when I go home, like I do with fajitas and good bar-b-que.
   It's the same with most products, where before shoppers might find a good selection of different brands, now they find acres of shelf space given over to just one or two brands. The retail analysts have done a remarkably poor job of understanding their own business, and they assume that concentrating on the bland middle - where they get the most sales with the least amount of effort - is the best thing for their business. Retailers are focusing on just a few at the expense of others, the idea being that people will just buy what's there, rather than move on.
   Problem is, with people watching their pennies nowadays that assumption is just not true. People are more discerning than they were even six months ago, and tighter with the buck. If people don't find what they want in a store they're not going to settle for the crap lying around, they're going to go somewhere else.
   Like me and shoe laces. At the same store this morning, where I did not buy nasal decongestant, I was looking for laces for my boots. I found the little stand with laces, and after ten minutes of searching found laces that would work, but not exactly the laces that I wanted. So rather than settle for what they had, I decided to wait 24 hours and go to the little shoe store a few blocks from my house, where I will probably find exactly what I want. And if I don't find them there, I have at least three more little shops I can go to. I'll not only get exactly what I want, but I'll be giving my money to a local business.
   I think this is going to happen more and more, as people become dissatisfied with the big retailers they're going to go back to the smaller vendors, back to businesses more interested in listening to what people want instead of telling them what they're going to get.

Cash Only

Since I've been 'between assignments' I've switched back to starving student mode, watching my pennies closely, getting free food from parties or happy hours when I can, paying a little less on my credit card and using it only when absolutely necessary. You know, the kind of thing you do when you're living on the edge and money's too tight to mention. Kind of makes me feel leaner, actually, hungrier, a little more mercenary and a little less complacent. I've had it too good for too long and I've gotten fat and lazy because of it.
   But I've noticed a trend locally that disturbs me. It's a sign of the times that ought to alarm the people in charge, too. It's a trend that says not only are people tightening the belt and searching out other options, businesses are too.
   I've seen tons of 'cash only' sales and promotions.
   And usually the sales are for hefty discounts - 30% to 80% off retail price. This seems like a good deal for the consumer - those of you who can buy new stuff, that is - but it's actually a desperate tactic businesses use to stay afloat. They're purging inventory and increasing cash flow.
   Why is that alarming? you might ask. Everybody likes cash. True enough, but when business purge inventory to increase their cash flow, that means they're not making enough with regular revenue to cover stuff like payroll, rent, or the purchase of new inventory. These deeply discounted sales mean businesses are probably taking a loss on the items - selling at or below their cost of goods - but they need the cash badly enough in the short term that they're willing to risk the long-term hit to their books. But the long term doesn't look too bright either.
   It's like the family down the block that throws a rent party or has a garage sale to cover their mortgage. You can see the handwriting on the wall, they're going to be moving out sooner or later, but in the meantime they're fighting as hard as they can.
   I think it's gonna get much worse before it gets any kind of better. And I desperately hope I'm wrong.

Not Cool Any More

This morning I was thinking about what to have for breakfast and I realized that all the options I considered were healthy. Good for me and heart-smart. Special K cereal, apples, a whole wheat English muffin, for God's sake. Time was I would have been looking for cold pizza, or Doritos, or cookies and ice cream. And I would have found them, too.
   What happened to me? When did I finally start listening to my mother?
   Somewhere along the line I became concerned with eating properly, with lasting long enough to see another sunrise. No more living fast and damned be the consequences. If I wasn't so lazy that I like to walk to work, I'd probably live out in the suburbs somewhere, on a cul-de-sac with everybody else, concerned about property values and whether my neighbors mowed their lawn the way I liked.
   I'm not cool any more. And for those of you who know me who might say I was never cool, I say 'shut up,' let me have my moment.
   There's another thing. Back in the day, when I was cool, I used to be able to pack all my stuff and move in 24 hours. Nothing I had that was important to me, or nice, or expensive was more than I could stuff in the back of my truck. That's not the case now. I have nice furniture, appliances, office supplies and equipment. I have an iced tea maker, for cryin' out loud, and I like it. I'm not going to leave it behind.
   I spent ten years as a corporate weasel, and I think some of it rubbed off on me. Either that or I got old. Nah, I'm blaming the corporations. The bastards co-opted me, made me one of them. One of me.
   I have the feeling that the me from eleven years ago would probably want to kick my ass now. And he'd be right.

In Action

I've been thinking about the best way to go about becoming gainfully employed. Yup, it's time to start hitting it pretty hard, time to leave this life of leisure and get back on the job track. It's not that I want to, it's that I need to. But all of us currently 'between assignments' know that the entire recruiting process these days is designed so that you can't actually talk to a person, they don't want to be bothered. Kind of cowardly, if you ask me, and just about the worst way you could find someone to do a job, but that's the way it is. So I've been trying to think of ways to avoid the resume black hole and get myself noticed, and I finally got it.
   I need my own action figure.
   I grew up with the Mego superhero figures, I had Batman, Superman, and Aquaman (really), and, of course, the real GI Joe, the big one, not the horrible little one. I still have, somewhere, the first set of Star Wars action figures, all well-worn and thoroughly played with, as toys should be. And right now, atop my bookshelf, sit two modern action figures, The Dude and Walter. I know from action figures, is what I'm saying, and today the collector's action figure market is huge.
   I figure my action figure would be the size of the real GI Joe, a foot tall, and I'd have my own 'Living Room Playset,' complete with couch, big TV, and remote control. He could have something to paint on a beard - since I shave infrequently now - and you'd strip him down to his underwear to watch broadcast TV, since he canceled cable. He'd have a wide variety of work clothes gathering dust in his closet, and he'd try to eat healthy but fall off the wagon more times than not. It could be the first in a line of 'real world' action figures, designed to prepare little kids for the harsh realities of life.
   I think I'm on to something here...

Cable Rage

Click-click-click
   Welcome to Charter, all our service representatives are busy, the wait time is... two minutes.
   Did you know Charter can save you money by bundling...
Click-click-click
   Thank you for calling Charter, this is Corey, how can I help you today?
Hi, I got this thing in the mail, it says you can bundle my cable, internet, and phone for $120 a month.
   Yes, sir, that's a great package, you get everything for one low price.
Okay, thing is, I'm totally not interested in having my phone through the cable line. I'm sticking with my regular phone. How much to bundle just the cable and internet?
   Oh, the deal includes the phone, sir.
What kind of deal can I get with just the cable and internet?
   Give me just a second here... it looks like you already have cable and internet with us, sir.
That's right, I'm looking to get the price reduced. $120 a month is less than what I pay now for cable and internet, so if $120 includes the phone thing, then I should be able to get just cable and internet for less than $120, right?
   The promotional offer includes the phone, sir.
I understand that, the $120 a month includes the phone, but I don't want the phone... All right. What other deals do you have on just cable and internet?
   Let me check, sir. Give me a second here... oh, we have a good deal for $132 a month, cable and internet.
That's only like $15 off what I pay now. And it's still more than $120.
   Yes, sir.
You don't have a better deal than that?
   $132 a month includes everything you have now, sir, without the phone service.
Okay, I suppose. Better than nothing. I'll take $132 a month.
   Hold on a moment, sir... there, I've applied the promotion. You'll be billed at $132 a month now, plus applicable taxes.
I know this isn't anything you have control over, but does it make any sense to you that three things costs less than two things? Shouldn't I be paying less for just cable and internet than I would if I also had my phone with you guys?
   New deals come through all the time, sir, you may want to check back.
You know I'm just going to cancel cable entirely, don't you?
   Charter appreciates your business, sir.
But not enough to give me a fair price, huh?
    Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?
Nope, that's it. Thanks for putting up with me, Corey.
   You have a nice day, sir.

Furniture Store Conundrum

There are many things that bother me about this economic downturn - oddly enough me being unemployed isn't one of them - but there's one thing in particular that's got my head spinning. Why is it that when a furniture store goes out of business, somebody puts another furniture store in exactly the same spot?
   Two blocks up from my house there was a furniture store, right on Colorado, which went out of business about two years ago. The place was empty for a few months, then - BAM! - another furniture store. Three blocks down from that one, near the Carvel ice cream place, a sofa store went out of business, and, sure enough, another one goes in its place.
   There were two - TWO - furniture stores near the gym where I work out, one across the street from the other. You can see them in the first Transformers movie, when Shia Laboef is chasing his yellow car. Anyhoo... earlier this year both stores went out of business within one month of each other, complete with the 'Everything must go!' signs and 'Auction today' signs. And then... you guessed it, one month later there's a furniture store in the exact same place.
   Is this part of an MBA education? If one particular type of business fails, then go ahead and put exactly the same business in exactly the same location? Is this the 'lightning never strikes twice' theory of business? Am I the only one bothered by this? And why does Ikea thrive while real furniture stores tank miserably? What do those Swedes know that we don't?

Don't get me started on the Oriental rug places... jeez, how many rugs can one society purchase?

The PuercoDrome

I have a friend who owns some land in Mexico, a rancho down in the Yucatan, where there is jungle; monkeys live in the jungle (monkeys, not apes: monkeys have tails, and no designs to take over for humanity after a nuclear holocaust). Among other business propositions, my friend raises pigs. So one day I got to thinking, which is always fun for me but sometimes not for others.
   My reasoning goes like this:
1. Until you sell them for slaughter, pigs aren't much fun. Sure, they eat a lot and they crap a lot and they sleep a lot, but those things aren't fun unless I'm the one doing them.
2. I remember seeing pig races at the Texas State Fair. That was fun. Those little piglets sure loved Oreos. But then again, who doesn't?
3. Why not have the pigs on my friend's rancho - pigs who are otherwise doing a whole lot of nothing until it's time to become pork chops - work for their room and board?
4. Since there are a lot of monkeys in the Mexican jungle we need to get them in on the action too. Any animal with thumbs is an animal that can work.
   So an idea formed in my brain: why not have pig races, like I saw at the Texas State Fair, but this time, since we had easy access to monkeys, we could have pig races with monkey jockeys.
   Think about it, an oval track, like a miniature Circus Maximus, where the pigs are racing for Oreos, and the monkeys are racing for honor. We could even dress the monkeys up in little cowboy costumes, or little jockey outfits, or even in Ben Hur period dress and re-enact the movie.
   When I tried to convince my friend that this was not only a fun idea it would be a money-making proposition, he didn't want any part of it. Wouldn't even entertain the idea, let alone make up blueprints, plan the stadium, or approach the bank about a small business loan. Trying to get sponsors to buy skyboxes was right out, too.
    Another of my beautiful ideas dies on the vine.
   But I haven't heard from my friend in a while, there's every possibility he's running pig races from a PuercoDrome in the middle of the Yucatan at this very minute.