Friday, April 29, 2005

Idolness is a Constant Sin...

First, it's revealed that Scott Savol roughed up his ex-girlfriend...

Now, Bo Bice is revealed to be a druggie...

If it's revealed that Carrie is a prostitute, I will cry a cry that no man has ever cried...

Until next time...

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Sinking to New Lowes

People often comment on my inate ability to point out the stupidity of mankind. I think I'm given too much credit, because sometimes, the stupidity is right there to smack you in the face.

I went to Lowes yesterday with my buddy Ned to pick up some lumber. My mom rents out my old old old house in Upland, and the back porch currently has the capacity to MAYBE withstand the weight of a soda can. Ned is doing us a big favor by fixing the porch, so off we went to get the wood.

Keep your mind out of the gutter.

I don't have the first earthly clue about anything involving home repair, so Ned got the exact quantity of lumber needed to fix the porch. We went up to the front desk to schedule the delivery, and were greeted with the following conversation:

"You ring them up."
"No, you ring them up."
"I'm going on my break."
"Like hell you are, you've been here three hours. Ring them up."

Gee, don't fight over us, guys.

This went on for another minute-and-a-half between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass. Tweedle Dumbass "got stuck" processing the delivery. Now, keep in mind, Ned could not have possibly made any easier for him, as he even wrote down the SKUs for the guy. So it looks like it's going to be a smooth transaction, right?

C'mon guys, you know me by life doesn't work that way.

Because apparently, a multi-billion dollar company like Lowes doesn't have access to Mapquest, as I had to handwrite the directions to the house. Keep in mind that I have not lived in this house since I was about 10, so remembering exactly how to get there from Delaware took a little bit of thinking on my part. But (I think), I gave him the right directions. He then proceeded to input the directions in the computer. Ned was going to do a little more shopping, so he asked me to let him know when the delivery date was. I told him I was going to set it up for Thursday or Friday...and Tweedle Dumbass saw the whole conversation. Keep ALL of this in mind.

Before I even get the chance to say half a syllable, T.D. (as he is now affectionately called) tells me, "I'm going on my break, so you can go to the next cashier to pay." And just like that, T.D. disappeared.

So I go to the cashier, and ask her a simple question, "When is the delivery date?" She stared at me for about 10 seconds and uttered the most intelligent response she could put together, "Huh?" So I spoke reallll slowwww so she could understannnnnd. Once she comprehended that yes, I was speaking English, she said, "When do you want to pick it up?"

Now last I checked, deliveries usually allow the customer to wait at home for the materials, avoiding the whole "picking up thing." So I clarified for her that I asked for delivery. She clarified for me that it said "pickup" in the system. Clearly, we're at an impasse. She then tried to tell me that I must have scheduled a pickup.

Yes, because I always make sure to give directions to my house when I pick something up...just for collateral.

So Tweedle Dee reenters the picture. (the guy who didn't want to help me to begin with) He tells me I have to call back tomorrow to set up a delivery time. I asked if I could just set up a delivery time now. He replied increduously, "No," as if I asked him if I could sacrifice his first-born son. Just the thought that any of these people could reproduce to begin with makes me fearful for the fate of Mother Earth.

I did as they asked, and I called back today. I explained the situation to three different people before I got directed to the "proper channels", whatever the hell that means. His first response was, "Ah yes, I heard about your situation." Great, I'm famous. He then tells me that he could reschedule the delivery, which would imply that the delivery was actually scheduled to begin with. He proceeds to tell me, "I could schedule it for Friday or Saturday, though Saturday is more convenient for us." When I asked why, he said...and I quote..."Because if we don't leave that area by 2:00 in the afternoon on Friday, we're going to hit bad traffic on I-95."

Friday it is.

Until next time...

Update: Lowes just left a message on my voicemail, "Mr. Tabb (that's how they said it), we need directions to the house."


Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Old Skool

Growing up, I used to hate when my grandparents, aunts/uncles, random strangers would begin conversations with the dreaded words, "Back in my day..." I knew I was in for a diatribe of praise for Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, and any movie that only featured two colors in it. I always swore to myself that I would never ever ever EVER allow myself to become a crotchety old man, longing for the "glory days."

Well, the other day, I had a conversation with someone at OL about video games. It was one of those moments where I didn't realize what I saying until I finished saying it. I actually muttered the words, "These kids today don't know what a good game is."

In that instant, at the ripe old age of 24.9, I became "one of them."

So to celebrate my newfound "old fogey" status, I whip out a feature geriatrically known as...

Back in the Day...
  • You could only go one way in video the right. If you forgot that "extra life" two screens back, you were shit out of luck.
  • There were no memory cards or hard drives. You had to beat games in one sitting. ONE SITTING. Oh, and might I add you only had 3 lives and 3 continues to beat said games?
  • Games were freaking hard. For anyone who complains the difficulty of today's games, I dare you to play any one Mega Man game for the NES and still have your controller in one piece. I also challenge you to play any one Mega Man game and NOT scream, "Mother Fucker" less than 10 times in one sititng.
  • We didn't have scratched CDs; we just had to use all of our oxygen to blow every last dust particle out of a cartridge. And don't get me started on the "Press the Nintendo game up and down ten times to get it to work" trick.
  • We plopped down $75 PER GAME. Ok, our parents plopped down $75 per game. Ok, my parents never would plop down $75 per game, because it cost $75 PER GAME.
  • Publishers weren't afraid to have a game endorsed by Mike Tyson. He bites one ear, and everyone is up in arms. Patsies.
  • Controllers did not have 761 buttons.
  • Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start...need I say more?
I'm sure I'll think of more, but until next time, I'm going to go walk 50 miles to school barefoot in 10 feet of snow...

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Classic Moments in Organized History

As some of you may know, I officially put in my two weeks at Organized Living again. I think I have set some kind of world record: three different jobs that I quit, returned back to, and quit again. Granted, I'm counting my times working for the church rectory at the ripe ol' age of 12, but it still counts!

Wow, it just hit me that I've been working for 13 years now. 13 years, 11 jobs...I'm an employment whore.

Anyway, to mark this less-than-momentous occasion, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane as I give Organized Living one more proverbial middle finger...

  • My manager Bryan...who frequently pointed out my lack of name tag by squeezing my nipple. You think I'm joking...
  • The sheer number of customers who thought they were original by pointing out the irony of a store named Organized Living having no discernable traces of organizational skills...
  • The "Organized Pun" contest, where Melanie and Chrissie vowed to mock me 167 times over the course of one summer by making said "Organized Puns." God bless 'em...they actually pulled it off. ;)
  • My buddy Ned figuring there was no better way to break a block of ice than with an aluminum soda can. Apparently, the look on my face was priceless as the soda sprayed directly into my eye.
  • My buddy Mike and I sitting down and figuring out how many people had left in the (at that time) 6 months we had been there. I believe the body count was 18. Do the math.
  • My district manager Julia. Imagine a 5-foot-nothing woman with the hair of Frau Farbissna, the voice equivalent of a banshee on crack, and the demeanor of Satan. That was Julia.
  • Gordon...the only man in the history of modern employment to steal furniture, crash the company delivery truck into a bank, threaten other employees...and get a promotion.
  • On my first day back at my second go-around at OL, a customer took it upon himself to projectile shat ON THE WALLS of the bathroom.
Last, but certainly not least...Sue Ann Lynch. Ahhh, Sue. The bane of my existance, yet the source of about 60% of my comedic material over the past two years. Out of all of the stories that I could tell about Sue, I think this one sums her up the best:

Generally, the night shift is scheduled until 10:00 PM; generally, I closed up and got the hell out of there by 9:20-ish. This greatly upset Sue, who felt that she was being ripped off from the hours we "promised her." I could see her point; I just could have given two shits. Talk to Sue for ten minutes, and I promise that you would be that callous too.

So whenever Sue was on the day shift, she would frequently hide in the bathroom for twenty minutes AFTER her scheduled clock-out time so that she could make up the money she felt she lost on the night shift. I knew fully well what she was doing; I just like picking my moments. Such a moment arrived on a snowy night in December. Ned and I got the word from the rest of the stores in the shopping center that they were all closing about four hours early. We broke the horrible news to our employees, all of whom were broken up and destroyed*. The last person I told was Sue, which resulted in the following conversation:

Me: Ok Sue, clock out.
Sue: Right after I go to the bathroom.
Me: Nope, clock out...then you can go to the bathroom.
Sue: Right after I go to the bathroom. (I didn't say the conversation made sense)
Me: Sue, you clock out now or I clock you out anyway. Your choice.
(Sue stares blankly and gives me the puppy lip, which has only worked on me once in my life. This wasn't that once.)
Me: We do not pay you to go to the bathroom. Now go.

Sue reluctantly clocked out, giving me the evil eye the whole way. I continued to close down the store for about five minutes or so before Ned told me the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life. She complained to him and said...and I quote..."Dan will not let me get paid while I pee."

First off, I didn't think 55-year-old women could say the word "pee" with a straight face in the midst of angrily complaining to a higher-up. Second...I don't really have a second. I just wouldn't pay the old whackjob to pee. It's really that simple.

But the second go-around at OL was not nearly as fun. No titty twisters or backed-up old women. BUT, it did help me buy my new car, so it certainly served it's purpose. So for the last time, I say...

"Have an organized day."

*shudders* I feel so dirty.

Until next time...

* "all" meaning Sue

Monday, April 25, 2005

Monday + Boredom at Work = New Blog Time...

Alas, My Hopes For Pope Bob I Are Dashed...

Well, we got a new Pope. The liberal in me says, "Ugh", the recovering Catholic in me says, "Eh", yet the sucker for landmark events in me says, "Sweet." It truly was something to witness the first new Papal election in my lifetime. Unfortunately, it had to be witnessed via television news which, as anyone who saw my Senior Research presentation will attest to, is my personal antichrist of Mass Media. Only on American news can you get nuggets of journalistic integrity like, "I understand we have to be patient, but being an American journalist, I want to know now." Yes, that was said (though not verbatim) on NBC's "coverage" of the big event. Then you have Chris Matthews "speculating" on whether or not the smoke was white or black.

And you wonder why I did nothing with my Communications degree...

But the election process itself was pretty interesting; part of me thinks we should adopt something similar for our Presidential elections here in the states. If a Republican is elected President, it is signified by red smoke emitting out of a chimney; if it's a Democrat, then blue smoke arises. If it's a third party candidate, I'm just going to go out and buy locust repellant, because I'm pretty sure that's a surefire sign of the apocalypse.

The Unexplainable Explained...

I can only think of one reason Scott Savol remains a contestant on American Idol...Fox grossly underestimated the wifebeater demographic of its viewing audience. They could make a killing off white tanktops with Paula Abdul's drugged-up kisser on it...

Not Lenny...NOT LENNY

It was reported last night that Lenny Dykstra took steroids during his 1993 World Series season. This story was confirmed by anyone who had functioning eyes and half a brain.

Then came the bombshell that Dykstra actually encouraged his former business partner to bet thousands of dollars on the Phillies for certain games that season. I wonder what the over/under was on Game 6 of the World Series that year...

On a related note...screw you, Joe Carter. Screw you.

Until next time...

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Great Perdue's Ghost...Dan Has Updated!

So it's been awhile.


How do I best summarize the past five or six months since I've updated? We'll try it this way...

I went to Vegas over Christmas. I've been home ever since.

This summary has been brought to you by the game of Craps. When you want to put the fate of your earnings in other people's hands, play Craps! By Mattel.

Hello Dali (with the accent over the "i" that I never know how to do)

Never one to celebrate Christian holidays in a conventional fashion, I went to the Salvador Dali exhibit on Easter Sunday. Wow...was this guy obsessed with, well, everything. Don't get me wrong...his work was absolutely brilliant. But if you're not one to let your kids stay up on Saturday night and watch Cinemax, then I probably wouldn't recommend taking any youngins to this one. If you do, be prepared for a lot of, "Mommy, what is that man doing behind that woman?" Don't say I didn't warn you.

But suffice to say, the man was a genius. He was a fucked-up genius, but a genius nonetheless. The exhibit is going on until mid-May, so if you have a chance to see it, I highly recommend going.

Buying the (Chicken) Farm

All I'll say about Frank Perdue's death is this...I know I'm not the only one who thought he died like five years ago.

This Week's American Idol Prediction

Wifebeater gets the boot.

Until next time...