Christmas time wears me out. Despite my best efforts to minimize stress, something always fucks things up and dashes my plans for a trouble-free December.
This year I made an even greater effort than last year to avoid the major shopping centers in my town and their horrific traffic jams. I ordered practically every gift online except for a few little stocking stuffers for the wife, which I am procuring at a small confectionery away from the pushing, shoving throngs. I was doing pretty well at this little game until this past Friday.
On Friday, my office had its annual holiday party, after which we closed early. Precious freedom! I was excited and overjoyed at the prospect of going home and wallowing about in front of my beautiful new 47-inch flat-panel TV my parents bought for me as an early Christmas present. However, my dear wife needed me to procure a few items to bring to a friend's party the next evening, and also rent a Redbox movie for that night. One little errand, I thought to myself. No biggie.
That's where the ass-fucking began. Redbox has a lovely reservation feature, with which you can reserve a DVD through their website and pick it up at the requested machine. Using this feature, I could see that the only machine containing our desired film was at a grocery store in the middle of a Christmas-shopping hellhole that gets so congested with traffic that they have to hire traffic control personnel. I intended to use a promotional coupon for 66% off, only to discover that such codes can't be used for online reservations. What the fuck good is it, then? Goddamn Redbox. Desperate for cheap Friday night entertainment, I reserved it anyway, for the full $1, at the undesirable location. It took me about 15 minutes to get through the ridiculous traffic and reach the grocery store when it should have taken 5 minutes. This is a store I seldom patronize due to its overwhelming size and illogical layout. Why in the fuck did they keep the pita chips on their own rack on the opposite end of the store from the snack isle? I went up and down every isle twice looking for Craisins, and of course every carton of eggs has at least one cracked egg because they hire retarded gorillas to stock the dairy case. After maybe 45 minutes in that god-forsaken pit of human misery, I finally found everything on the jumbled shopping list and got the fuck out of there. Halfway home, I realized I'd forgotten the goddamned movie! So I had to get my ass back there, taking a back route this time, which I should have done in the first place. This time I said fuck it, and parked in the reserved "customer with child" space, probably drawing dirty looks from goody-goodies, but at that point I didn't give a flying fuck. I finally made it home about 4:30. Oh, did I mention that the office party was held at an employee's house almost in the next town? So even though we were released at 2:15, it was 2:45 by the time I got home, and then it was right back out the door again. I lost an hour and 45 minutes of my precious afternoon off thanks to all the other assholes who can't plan ahead and do all their consumerism at the last minute.
Well, at least that was the low point of the weekend. We enjoyed our movie night on our fabulous new TV, and had a good time at our friend's party the next night. We went out Saturday to our favorite watering hole, where I kept my new kilt on that I had worn to the party. That certainly shined a light on the vast sinkhole of ignorance in this town. I kept hearing "omigod that guy's wearing a skirt" and even heard "maybe he's Muslim." Eh, whatever, I looked damn good. Sunday was glorious. We didn't leave the house or even get dressed, and sat around all day watching the entire Band of Brothers miniseries on our new TV.
Then came the call from Granny.
About 5 times now, Granny has called asking when we're coming for Christmas and whether we're coming to lunch. And 5 times the answer has been no, we're not coming on Christmas day, and no, we won't make it to lunch at the fucking Marriott. It's so frustrating because not only is she being her usual spoiled, impulsive, demanding self, but her deteriorating memory is also playing a part in the repeated phone calls. I think she truly can't remember what we've already told her. My wife finally told her last night that we don't like being pressured to come to Christmas lunch when we've already planned to hang around here most of the day. Granny got all pissy after that and hung up to go fume and pout because we weren't doing what the Grande Dame had commanded. I'm getting so goddamned sick of Granny's grandiose meal plans where poor Granddaddy has to get his tired self dressed and out in the cold when he'd probably rather have sandwiches at home. Plus she just doesn't understand that not everybody gets up at 6 in the goddamned morning like she does, and to get there at noon means means we'd have to be done with opening gifts, dressed, have our bags packed, and have the dog at the dogsitter's house by 10:30. We are absolutely not going to rush ourselves through Christmas morning just because Her Majesty wants everyone at the motherfucking Marriott at 12 sharp.
My dear father-in-law hasn't made it any less stressful. A couple of weeks ago, he was talking about taking us and my wife's brother on a trip somewhere nice, so we were calling and e-mailing back & forth trying to coordinate schedules. Eventually the grand plan fell apart, so he said just come over on Christmas day for hors d'oeuvres, when we already said we probably wouldn't be coming to town that day. But, that may be the only chance we get to see him before he has to jet off again to some other desolate outpost for his job, so my dream of a relaxing Christmas at home appears to be crumbling.
I am resolved to do things differently next year. I shall call for a rigid, unbending plan to stay put and not leave town all day Christmas day, if at all. Hopefully I'll have the funds to take us somewhere like a resort for a few days, avoid our families, and truly enjoy our time off.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The way we were
When I look back at my own childhood, I feel so bad for today's children. Below are a few things I enjoyed and took for granted as a child that today's children are denied.
Cartoons and other shows with no educational value
In the good ol' 1980s, children's entertainment remained largely unmolested by meddling lawmakers. Animated programs were nearly devoid of redeeming values or educational content, and their primary purpose was to sell toys, action figures, and advertisers' unhealthy products to impressionable youngsters. I didn't learn a goddamn thing while watching Thundercats, Bugs Bunny, You Can't Do That On Television, Garfield & Friends, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and as I got older, Animaniacs, Pinky & The Brain, and Batman: The Animated Series. I was simply entertained. Now practically every child-oriented TV show has to offer some sort of educational value. God forbid a child shut off his brain for a while and just relax with some wordplay, slapstick, and mild cartoon violence!
Educational shows that didn't suck shit through a straw
The preceding paragraph should not be construed to impugn all educational programming. Sesame Street was awesome, and at the time wasn't used as a substitute parent like it is now. Ditto for Mr. Rogers and that awesome Neighborhood of Make Believe. They engaged our imaginations without pandering. The trend of insipid, mindless pablum began with Barney the Douchebag Dinosaur. I can't bear to watch more than a minute of this thanks to the actors' exaggerated facial expressions and gestures. Then along came Blues Clues, with inane singalongs and terrible pacing. Dora the No Hablo Inglés Explorer didn't make things any better and subversively sought to fulfill the liberal agenda to make children more tolerant of non-English speakers under the guise of nurturing language skills.
Refined, processed snacks
Nothing was more abundant than sweet, sweet sugar. Sugary breakfast cereals, Kool-Aid, and Chips Ahoy were daily dietary staples for most of us. I eventually got around to eating a well-rounded diet as a result of merely being offered healthy foods but not being forced to eat them. Until then, I knew the joy of stuffing my face with sugar, and I'm perfectly fine today. Parents nowadays fear that if their precious offspring nibble so much as a single M&M, they'll never eat vegetables again and get diabetes or colon cancer at age 12.
Trick-or-treat
A recent discussion with my old school chum brought this to mind. In our day, we went out at dusk in cobbled-together costumes that included no more than $10 worth of accessories purchased solely for the costume. We got together with other children and someone's parents walked around with us as we went door-to-door, street by street, getting loads of tooth-rotting goodness from our neighbors. This is a dying custom these days. Parents are so paranoid about kidnappers and kids getting run over that they ditch the door-to-door custom altogether and take the little fatasses to some lame-ass event at a mall, community center, or church parking lot, in store-bought costumes that cost anywhere from $20-50. We earned our candy with our own footwork, hoofing it from house to house, taking in the fresh air on a crisp autumn night, interacting with neighbors, including the mildly creepy elderly people, and learned to cope with disappointment when handed crappy treats like raisins, apples, or pencils.
Toy guns
My brother and I used to play "Miami Vice" with our Uzi waterguns and pistols. They were solid black and didn't have those retarded orange plugs on them, and it was fine because people weren't so paranoid that they would think an 8-year-old would be toting a real submachine gun. Nowadays most parents think if their children so much as look at a gun, real or fake, they'll grow up to be serial killers. I guess today's busy parents can't be bothered to teach their children respect for human life, or basic gun safety for that matter.
Movies where the bad guy actually got killed
The last animated Disney film I can recall where the villain actually dies, at least implicitly, is The Lion King, in which Scar gets eaten alive. Think back—in The Little Mermaid, Ursula gets stabbed with a ship's bow. Oliver & Company—Sykes gets run over by a goddamn train. Great Mouse Detective—Ratigan falls down a fuckin' clock tower. Ever since Pocohontas, the bad guy receives some sort of punishment but doesn't actually die (the fate of Shadow Man in The Princess and the Frog is ambiguous—supposedly his soul is tormented forever in the afterlife).
Bicycles
I recently saw a commercial in which a pair of little girls pedal their pink Huffy bikes over to a friend's house for a sleepover. Such an image is just a portrayal of a fond memory. Do you know any child whose parents would allow her to get on a bike and ride off down the street? No way. Parents today think their children will be whisked away into a windowless van as soon as they leave the yard. The kids my wife nannies for don't even own bikes, or know how to ride. I rode my little red bike all up and down the street all by myself, and didn't wear stupid helmets or pads, either.
The front seat
Riding up front was a rare treat! The footwell was practically cavernous compared to the back seat, and the view through that big windshield damn near went on forever. You only got to ride up front when only one adult was in the car, and even then you had to take turns with siblings or friends. Oh, but not anymore. Legislation spurred on by whiny parents has outlawed the cherished privilege entirely and made it so you basically can't ride in the front seat until you're old enough to drive the fucking car yourself.
A world without social networking
When I was a pup, we talked with our friends face-to-face or on the home telephone. We didn't spend an hour or more every day writing e-mails, seeing who was doing what on Bookface, or maintaining mindless blogs that no one would ever read (*ahem*). The lack of social networking sites also meant we were free from the horrors of schoolyard taunts and gossip as soon as we were safe at home. Not anymore. Whatever schoolchildren these days say or do that's the least bit unacceptable to the arbiters of acceptability follows them home in the form of vitriolic messages on their social network pages and spiteful gossip spread through mass text messages.
Cartoons and other shows with no educational value
In the good ol' 1980s, children's entertainment remained largely unmolested by meddling lawmakers. Animated programs were nearly devoid of redeeming values or educational content, and their primary purpose was to sell toys, action figures, and advertisers' unhealthy products to impressionable youngsters. I didn't learn a goddamn thing while watching Thundercats, Bugs Bunny, You Can't Do That On Television, Garfield & Friends, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and as I got older, Animaniacs, Pinky & The Brain, and Batman: The Animated Series. I was simply entertained. Now practically every child-oriented TV show has to offer some sort of educational value. God forbid a child shut off his brain for a while and just relax with some wordplay, slapstick, and mild cartoon violence!
Educational shows that didn't suck shit through a straw
The preceding paragraph should not be construed to impugn all educational programming. Sesame Street was awesome, and at the time wasn't used as a substitute parent like it is now. Ditto for Mr. Rogers and that awesome Neighborhood of Make Believe. They engaged our imaginations without pandering. The trend of insipid, mindless pablum began with Barney the Douchebag Dinosaur. I can't bear to watch more than a minute of this thanks to the actors' exaggerated facial expressions and gestures. Then along came Blues Clues, with inane singalongs and terrible pacing. Dora the No Hablo Inglés Explorer didn't make things any better and subversively sought to fulfill the liberal agenda to make children more tolerant of non-English speakers under the guise of nurturing language skills.
Refined, processed snacks
Nothing was more abundant than sweet, sweet sugar. Sugary breakfast cereals, Kool-Aid, and Chips Ahoy were daily dietary staples for most of us. I eventually got around to eating a well-rounded diet as a result of merely being offered healthy foods but not being forced to eat them. Until then, I knew the joy of stuffing my face with sugar, and I'm perfectly fine today. Parents nowadays fear that if their precious offspring nibble so much as a single M&M, they'll never eat vegetables again and get diabetes or colon cancer at age 12.
Trick-or-treat
A recent discussion with my old school chum brought this to mind. In our day, we went out at dusk in cobbled-together costumes that included no more than $10 worth of accessories purchased solely for the costume. We got together with other children and someone's parents walked around with us as we went door-to-door, street by street, getting loads of tooth-rotting goodness from our neighbors. This is a dying custom these days. Parents are so paranoid about kidnappers and kids getting run over that they ditch the door-to-door custom altogether and take the little fatasses to some lame-ass event at a mall, community center, or church parking lot, in store-bought costumes that cost anywhere from $20-50. We earned our candy with our own footwork, hoofing it from house to house, taking in the fresh air on a crisp autumn night, interacting with neighbors, including the mildly creepy elderly people, and learned to cope with disappointment when handed crappy treats like raisins, apples, or pencils.
Toy guns
My brother and I used to play "Miami Vice" with our Uzi waterguns and pistols. They were solid black and didn't have those retarded orange plugs on them, and it was fine because people weren't so paranoid that they would think an 8-year-old would be toting a real submachine gun. Nowadays most parents think if their children so much as look at a gun, real or fake, they'll grow up to be serial killers. I guess today's busy parents can't be bothered to teach their children respect for human life, or basic gun safety for that matter.
Movies where the bad guy actually got killed
The last animated Disney film I can recall where the villain actually dies, at least implicitly, is The Lion King, in which Scar gets eaten alive. Think back—in The Little Mermaid, Ursula gets stabbed with a ship's bow. Oliver & Company—Sykes gets run over by a goddamn train. Great Mouse Detective—Ratigan falls down a fuckin' clock tower. Ever since Pocohontas, the bad guy receives some sort of punishment but doesn't actually die (the fate of Shadow Man in The Princess and the Frog is ambiguous—supposedly his soul is tormented forever in the afterlife).
Bicycles
I recently saw a commercial in which a pair of little girls pedal their pink Huffy bikes over to a friend's house for a sleepover. Such an image is just a portrayal of a fond memory. Do you know any child whose parents would allow her to get on a bike and ride off down the street? No way. Parents today think their children will be whisked away into a windowless van as soon as they leave the yard. The kids my wife nannies for don't even own bikes, or know how to ride. I rode my little red bike all up and down the street all by myself, and didn't wear stupid helmets or pads, either.
The front seat
Riding up front was a rare treat! The footwell was practically cavernous compared to the back seat, and the view through that big windshield damn near went on forever. You only got to ride up front when only one adult was in the car, and even then you had to take turns with siblings or friends. Oh, but not anymore. Legislation spurred on by whiny parents has outlawed the cherished privilege entirely and made it so you basically can't ride in the front seat until you're old enough to drive the fucking car yourself.
A world without social networking
When I was a pup, we talked with our friends face-to-face or on the home telephone. We didn't spend an hour or more every day writing e-mails, seeing who was doing what on Bookface, or maintaining mindless blogs that no one would ever read (*ahem*). The lack of social networking sites also meant we were free from the horrors of schoolyard taunts and gossip as soon as we were safe at home. Not anymore. Whatever schoolchildren these days say or do that's the least bit unacceptable to the arbiters of acceptability follows them home in the form of vitriolic messages on their social network pages and spiteful gossip spread through mass text messages.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Dreary Monday
It's Monday again. Time to drag my ass into the office after a weekend of relaxation, and 5 minutes early to boot, so I can be seated for the weekly staff meeting which almost always starts a minute early. It's kind of pretty outside right now - the sky is partly cloudy, casting an even glow on the trees which are at the peak of their autumn color. Unfortunately it will turn to rain this evening, just in time for the drive home in the black gloom of Standard Time. I really need to get my fat ass to the gym, but darkness, cold, and rain make me want to slip into my PJs and sink into the old yellow gingham easy chair under my warm, soft Avoca wool blanket.
I wish I were doing that right now. These autumn days, when the sunlight grows scarce and the chills blow in, all I want to do is hunker down at home and not go anywhere, especially not to the office. At least today I have a reprieve from the bug-in-a-bell jar feeling. My supervisor is on vacation right now, and boy do I love it when she's not here. Today, I know she won't be flitting back and forth, glancing at my screen every time she walks by my cube. I can take longer breaks without worrying about whether she's looking for me. Best of all, I can slip out 15 minutes early and no one notices. There's really no point to my being here the last 30 minutes of the workday anyway. Hell, most days when I leave early, the receptionist has already locked up and gone home. My supervisor goofs off, too - many times I've seen her shopping online or dicking around on Facebook. God, I just want to go home and spend the day watching TV or working on digitizing old family photos. Shit! I should have brought them to the office. With my supervisor out, nobody would see what I was doing.
I wish I were doing that right now. These autumn days, when the sunlight grows scarce and the chills blow in, all I want to do is hunker down at home and not go anywhere, especially not to the office. At least today I have a reprieve from the bug-in-a-bell jar feeling. My supervisor is on vacation right now, and boy do I love it when she's not here. Today, I know she won't be flitting back and forth, glancing at my screen every time she walks by my cube. I can take longer breaks without worrying about whether she's looking for me. Best of all, I can slip out 15 minutes early and no one notices. There's really no point to my being here the last 30 minutes of the workday anyway. Hell, most days when I leave early, the receptionist has already locked up and gone home. My supervisor goofs off, too - many times I've seen her shopping online or dicking around on Facebook. God, I just want to go home and spend the day watching TV or working on digitizing old family photos. Shit! I should have brought them to the office. With my supervisor out, nobody would see what I was doing.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Poor man's limousine
We had two fire alarms just this week at my office. I'm not sure whether either or both were genuine alarms or mere drills. In previous years, drills seem to have occurred only in bitter cold weather, which set me adrift in a cloud of wishful thinking. I began to long for a sort of poor man's limousine, a personal vehicle with a comfortable rear seating area and no body modifications.
Such a vehicle would be a quiet little refuge where I could take in a few precious moments of solitude during such forced evacuations, or just during a stolen moment in the course of the work day, where I would sit warm and comfortable, shielded from the elements and the inane banter of office drones. Drawing inspiration from luxurious "mobile office" affairs, my poor man's limo would appear from the outside to be an ordinary SUV such as a Ford Expedition, but the inside would boast a veritable mobile living room. I would remove the back seat and leave the factory third row bench, covering unsightly mounting holes with a carpet. I would construct a divider behind the driver's seat for that limo feel, but I probably wouldn't go so far as to include a motorized partition, opting for a curtain instead, as a throwback to the limousines of old. Ultra-dark tinted windows would be essential for privacy, and on an SUV, would be within the state's tint laws. Behind the divider would be a little cabinet, possibly with a mini fridge and assorted glassware. Of course I would install an LCD monitor (20 inches or so) and hook up a TV tuner for over-the-air broadcasts. I'd definitely equip it with mobile wi-fi and an iPad for casual web surfing, and also have a connector for the iPad so I could play videos on the big screen.
If I had additional funds, I would equip the car with twin sets of police scanners and CB radios—one set accessible when driving, the other accessible from the rear seating area. A remote starter would allow me to warm up the car on cold days, ensuring that it's toasty warm by the time I get inside. I would install a wireless printer/scanner/copier, plus an assortment of paper stocks and cutting tools, just in case I get the urge or need to create something while I'm out and about. One bonus feature, which all the executive mobile office limousines I've seen seem to lack, would be a single-cup coffee/hot beverage maker (think Keurig).
Oh, imagine a cold, blustery January morn, when the fire alarm shrieks and all the gastropods slither out of the building to freeze in the parking lot. Meanwhile, I would crank up the heater by remote control, climb in, and fire up the Keurig. Instead of a movie I would play a video of a crackling fireplace on the 20" screen, and ease back with a cup of hot coffee, haughtily observing the huddled masses from my warm little cocoon behind the dark tinted windows. Perhaps if I were feeling exceptionally generous I would invite a lucky co-worker to join me.
Such a vehicle would be a quiet little refuge where I could take in a few precious moments of solitude during such forced evacuations, or just during a stolen moment in the course of the work day, where I would sit warm and comfortable, shielded from the elements and the inane banter of office drones. Drawing inspiration from luxurious "mobile office" affairs, my poor man's limo would appear from the outside to be an ordinary SUV such as a Ford Expedition, but the inside would boast a veritable mobile living room. I would remove the back seat and leave the factory third row bench, covering unsightly mounting holes with a carpet. I would construct a divider behind the driver's seat for that limo feel, but I probably wouldn't go so far as to include a motorized partition, opting for a curtain instead, as a throwback to the limousines of old. Ultra-dark tinted windows would be essential for privacy, and on an SUV, would be within the state's tint laws. Behind the divider would be a little cabinet, possibly with a mini fridge and assorted glassware. Of course I would install an LCD monitor (20 inches or so) and hook up a TV tuner for over-the-air broadcasts. I'd definitely equip it with mobile wi-fi and an iPad for casual web surfing, and also have a connector for the iPad so I could play videos on the big screen.
If I had additional funds, I would equip the car with twin sets of police scanners and CB radios—one set accessible when driving, the other accessible from the rear seating area. A remote starter would allow me to warm up the car on cold days, ensuring that it's toasty warm by the time I get inside. I would install a wireless printer/scanner/copier, plus an assortment of paper stocks and cutting tools, just in case I get the urge or need to create something while I'm out and about. One bonus feature, which all the executive mobile office limousines I've seen seem to lack, would be a single-cup coffee/hot beverage maker (think Keurig).
Oh, imagine a cold, blustery January morn, when the fire alarm shrieks and all the gastropods slither out of the building to freeze in the parking lot. Meanwhile, I would crank up the heater by remote control, climb in, and fire up the Keurig. Instead of a movie I would play a video of a crackling fireplace on the 20" screen, and ease back with a cup of hot coffee, haughtily observing the huddled masses from my warm little cocoon behind the dark tinted windows. Perhaps if I were feeling exceptionally generous I would invite a lucky co-worker to join me.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Free chairs came at quite a cost
This past weekend we made another trip to our beloved seaside retreat, not just for play, but also to retrieve a pair of easy chairs for our repainted living room. The grandparents had bought a pair of new recliners for the beach condo, so this weekend we went down there to pick up the old ones. The grandparents were down there as well, so we figured it would be a chance for some fun quality time.
Merciful God, what an ordeal! Granny, as you probably know, has a very impulsive nature, and also likes to make everything as complicated as possible. She brought enough food for an army, including a whole ham, 3 loaves of bread, a pumpkin pie, and various cheeses and snacks. That doesn't sound bad at first, but Saturday and Sunday morning she insisted on everyone having a big, complicated breakfast together involving eggs cooked to order. So we lost probably 2 hours each morning in all the preparation, consumption, and cleaning up. When we're down there by ourselves, we relax with some coffee for a while before eating simple cereal and fruit. We don't throw ourselves into cooking up a feast first thing when we get up.
The new chairs were supposed to be delivered in the morning, but after a few hours we called and they said it would be closer to 2PM. So we started to go across the street to get hot dogs for lunch, but just as we were leaving the building, the truck showed up. Then came the whole production of getting the chairs inside and getting the old ones loaded into our SUV.
And what of the new recliners? Bloody awful. They're stiff, have hard wooden arms, sit too high, don't lean back far enough, and are upholstered in bright red faux suede. When you think beach house, do you think red suede? Another impulsive Granny purchase. I love having the old easy chairs at home, but I'll definitely miss them on future trips to the beach.
Then Granny had everyone sit down at the table again for a big lunch, even though we had dinner reservations in 4 hours. I had planned on chilling out for a while that afternoon reading or napping, but Granny got cabin fever and had us drive her to some stupid furniture store just to look around for 10 minutes. She wound up impulse-buying a bunch of linen napkins when she probably already has a hundred similar ones at home.
Did I mention how long it takes to get Granny in and out of the car? She shuffles along using a walker, and Granddaddy has to back the car up to the door and help slooooowly hoist her in, then fold up the walker and load it in the back. Then it takes forever for her to ease herself out of the car.
We got back from that outing at 5 and my wife told Granny she'd take the first shower so she could have time to dry her hair. About 30 seconds after she'd turned the water off, Granny knocked and said "OK, can I get in there now?" Couldn't wait 5 goddamn minutes for her to dry off and brush her hair! So she had to gather up her hairbrush and makeup and scurry out dripping wet wearing only a towel. At 5:10. Over an hour before we had to leave for dinner. And I overheard Granny say to Granddaddy "why did she get the first shower?" ARRRRGH!
Dinner Saturday night was great, but we were so tired from the day's activities that we stayed in instead of going out bar-hopping. After another huge, time-consuming breakfast on Sunday, we launched into helping the grandparents get ready to leave. Granny decided to pack up a tea set and some other items at the condo to take back home with her, as if she doesn't already have a dozen fucking tea sets at home. We had to wipe down the dining table after all those grandiose family meals. Granddaddy decided it was a good time to vacuum the slats on the closet doors and the carpet in the hall, despite the fact that the fucking cleaning lady was coming the next day. Oh yes, the cleaning lady doesn't do laundry, so we had to wash our towels and sheets. Had we known that, we would have brought our own, but, oh wait, we had to sleep in the room with the twin beds, for which we do not own sheets, so we had to use Granny's twin sheets. Granny travels with a potty chair. And a big wooden box just for her jewelry. So all their crap and the additional crap Granny packed up took up two luggage carts.
They left at 1:30. Peace at last! We figured we'd grab some Mexican food for lunch, but as soon as we sat down, my wife got a message that she had to be at work at 7AM, so fuck it, we just packed up and left town. We had to leave at 2:30 anyway in order to be home before dark thanks to the return of Standard Time and its evil 6PM sunset.
That was a fuckload of trouble for a free pair of easy chairs and a free dinner at our favorite restaurant.
Merciful God, what an ordeal! Granny, as you probably know, has a very impulsive nature, and also likes to make everything as complicated as possible. She brought enough food for an army, including a whole ham, 3 loaves of bread, a pumpkin pie, and various cheeses and snacks. That doesn't sound bad at first, but Saturday and Sunday morning she insisted on everyone having a big, complicated breakfast together involving eggs cooked to order. So we lost probably 2 hours each morning in all the preparation, consumption, and cleaning up. When we're down there by ourselves, we relax with some coffee for a while before eating simple cereal and fruit. We don't throw ourselves into cooking up a feast first thing when we get up.
The new chairs were supposed to be delivered in the morning, but after a few hours we called and they said it would be closer to 2PM. So we started to go across the street to get hot dogs for lunch, but just as we were leaving the building, the truck showed up. Then came the whole production of getting the chairs inside and getting the old ones loaded into our SUV.
And what of the new recliners? Bloody awful. They're stiff, have hard wooden arms, sit too high, don't lean back far enough, and are upholstered in bright red faux suede. When you think beach house, do you think red suede? Another impulsive Granny purchase. I love having the old easy chairs at home, but I'll definitely miss them on future trips to the beach.
Then Granny had everyone sit down at the table again for a big lunch, even though we had dinner reservations in 4 hours. I had planned on chilling out for a while that afternoon reading or napping, but Granny got cabin fever and had us drive her to some stupid furniture store just to look around for 10 minutes. She wound up impulse-buying a bunch of linen napkins when she probably already has a hundred similar ones at home.
Did I mention how long it takes to get Granny in and out of the car? She shuffles along using a walker, and Granddaddy has to back the car up to the door and help slooooowly hoist her in, then fold up the walker and load it in the back. Then it takes forever for her to ease herself out of the car.
We got back from that outing at 5 and my wife told Granny she'd take the first shower so she could have time to dry her hair. About 30 seconds after she'd turned the water off, Granny knocked and said "OK, can I get in there now?" Couldn't wait 5 goddamn minutes for her to dry off and brush her hair! So she had to gather up her hairbrush and makeup and scurry out dripping wet wearing only a towel. At 5:10. Over an hour before we had to leave for dinner. And I overheard Granny say to Granddaddy "why did she get the first shower?" ARRRRGH!
Dinner Saturday night was great, but we were so tired from the day's activities that we stayed in instead of going out bar-hopping. After another huge, time-consuming breakfast on Sunday, we launched into helping the grandparents get ready to leave. Granny decided to pack up a tea set and some other items at the condo to take back home with her, as if she doesn't already have a dozen fucking tea sets at home. We had to wipe down the dining table after all those grandiose family meals. Granddaddy decided it was a good time to vacuum the slats on the closet doors and the carpet in the hall, despite the fact that the fucking cleaning lady was coming the next day. Oh yes, the cleaning lady doesn't do laundry, so we had to wash our towels and sheets. Had we known that, we would have brought our own, but, oh wait, we had to sleep in the room with the twin beds, for which we do not own sheets, so we had to use Granny's twin sheets. Granny travels with a potty chair. And a big wooden box just for her jewelry. So all their crap and the additional crap Granny packed up took up two luggage carts.
They left at 1:30. Peace at last! We figured we'd grab some Mexican food for lunch, but as soon as we sat down, my wife got a message that she had to be at work at 7AM, so fuck it, we just packed up and left town. We had to leave at 2:30 anyway in order to be home before dark thanks to the return of Standard Time and its evil 6PM sunset.
That was a fuckload of trouble for a free pair of easy chairs and a free dinner at our favorite restaurant.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
I don't care for shopping
As the year winds down and that annual frenzied orgy of consumption known as "Christmas Shopping" lies just 'round the bend, I bring to mind the pleasant memory of last year's low-stress holiday in which every gift I procured for loved ones was acquired over the internet, an intelligent and modern choice which delivered me from the bedlam of local shopping centers and their nightmarish driving & parking clusterfucks and allowed me to spend the early winter days in my warm abode, wallowing in my flannels, sipping mead and guffawing while foolish procrastinators scurried about in the cold outside world. I am compelled to contemplate everything I hate about shopping at physical places of business in person.
Unwashed throngs
People just get in the way. Everywhere I go to buy stuff, there are other shoppers. The majority of them do not meet my standards of acceptable outward appearance or behavior. People go shopping in dirty, disheveled, mismatched, or inappropriate clothing, and blunder about with no consideration of other shoppers who know where they're going or may be in a hurry.
Unwashed throngs' shrill offspring
Even worse than trashy shoppers are the children they bring along and refuse to supervise adequately, allowing them to run about without leashes, muzzles, or other restraints. Just last week I walked into a Target store and nearly came into contact with a pair of little boys giggling loudly while staging a sword fight with foam pirate cutlasses, thus committing two offenses at once: annoying me, and abusing merchandise.
Incompetence
So many times have I been stuck in the checkout line behind an idiot who can't read, and argues with the clerk about his coupon that was refused for being expired, or used for the wrong item, or only valid at another store, and acts like it's the clerk's fault. All the while I've got ice cream melting or I need to hurry home in time for a TV program, and this fucking twit won't budge on saving 20 cents on ketchup.
Malfunctioning inventory systems
I guarantee that on one out of every two trips to a Lowes home improvement store, the whole checkout line will be held up because an item won't scan properly or has no price sticker, so everything grinds to a halt while someone hauls ass to the exact spot in the whole fucking store where that item is stocked to get the price. Then half of those times, the customer will argue that that's the wrong price.
Check writers
There are still people who haven't yet emerged from the stone age of commerce and insist on hand-writing paper checks. All of them are women, and 99% of them are old enough to have purchased groceries with beaver pelts. They've all been issued debit cards by their banks, linked to their checking accounts, and yet they're bewildered by this magnetized piece of plastic and cling to their archaic little books of perforated slips. And they never, ever put pen to paper until every item has been rung up and bagged, choosing instead to engage in mindless chitchat with the clerk and taking even more time out of the lives of everyone waiting in line. Then they're surprised to be asked for identification, and fumble around in their purses among the Gold Bond lotion and petrified Freedent to dig it out. I hope there are magazines nearby if you get trapped behind one of these dinosaurs, because you're going to be there a while while the clerk gets the assistant manager to enter a secret code known only to assistant managers so that Prunella can take home her Fancy Feast to Boo-Boo.
Coin hoarders
Just as maddening and time-robbing as check writers are people who pay for a cartload of stuff with rolls of coins, which the clerk has to break open and count out one by one to make sure he doesn't come up short a nickel. No one ever told these bumbling assholes that coins can be changed for paper bills at banks and coin-counting machines.
Solicitors
Even before you enter the store, you risk being confronted by a charity worker soliciting donations or selling overpriced chocolate to support their high school band, all with the store's permission. Why the hell would I buy their shit when I'm already going into a store to spend my money on shit I actually need? However, I do support having public health workers stand outside Wal-Mart and hand out condoms to the shoppers buying Wonder Bread and Easy Mac for their 7 kids with food stamps. Even worse are the bums that sometimes walk among cars hitting people up for spare change while they're getting in or out of their cars. These cretins should be shot on sight.
Parking lots
Even when it's not a major holiday, parking lots piss me off. No matter what time of day or what day of the week, every store I go to has a crowded parking lot, and yet only 1 out of 4 handicapped spaces is occupied at any time. People seem to forget the moment they exit their own cars that there are other moving vehicles in a parking lot to look out for, and meander through the middle of the thoroughfare at a snail's pace or walk mere inches behind a car with its bright white reverse lights aglow. I have yet to encounter a shopping center with a thoughtfully designed parking lot; every lot has weird dead-ends in places where an exit should be but isn't, shrubs that dangerously obstruct the view of oncoming cars, and barriers around freestanding buildings such as restaurants that force you to drive a 270-degree circuit until you arrive at that building's own parking lot. God help you if you return to your vehicle to find a woman with small children getting into a car parked right next to yours, because you'll be hanging around for 5 minutes while she corrals her hyperactive spawn into the minivan or SUV and then straps them all into their complicated toddler seats. Even worse is when it's poor people stooping over to strap children into the back seat of a Ford Fiesta.
Traffic
No matter where you shop, you probably have to drive to get there and back. That means leaving your comfortable home and risking your life on the roads while precious minutes of your life tick away. Multiply that times a few thousand on peak shopping days and you lose hours of your life driving, hunting for a parking space, and walking to, inside, and from the store.
I say, fuck all that. These are all reasons why I buy shit online. Everything I could possibly want (that exists, anyway) can be purchased over the internet, in my cozy PJs, from the comfort of my recliner, and most of the time at a considerable savings over what I'd pay in a physical store. Shipping is often free, and sales taxes are damn near nonexistent. I've bought books, clothes, movies, electronics, and car parts at half retail, and paid nary a dime in sales taxes, and never had to set foot in a store full of trashy, slow people. With online commerce, I can maximize the time I spend in my cozy home and save a huge chunk of change at the same time. I may go so far as to start having my groceries delivered as well.
Unwashed throngs
People just get in the way. Everywhere I go to buy stuff, there are other shoppers. The majority of them do not meet my standards of acceptable outward appearance or behavior. People go shopping in dirty, disheveled, mismatched, or inappropriate clothing, and blunder about with no consideration of other shoppers who know where they're going or may be in a hurry.
Unwashed throngs' shrill offspring
Even worse than trashy shoppers are the children they bring along and refuse to supervise adequately, allowing them to run about without leashes, muzzles, or other restraints. Just last week I walked into a Target store and nearly came into contact with a pair of little boys giggling loudly while staging a sword fight with foam pirate cutlasses, thus committing two offenses at once: annoying me, and abusing merchandise.
Incompetence
So many times have I been stuck in the checkout line behind an idiot who can't read, and argues with the clerk about his coupon that was refused for being expired, or used for the wrong item, or only valid at another store, and acts like it's the clerk's fault. All the while I've got ice cream melting or I need to hurry home in time for a TV program, and this fucking twit won't budge on saving 20 cents on ketchup.
Malfunctioning inventory systems
I guarantee that on one out of every two trips to a Lowes home improvement store, the whole checkout line will be held up because an item won't scan properly or has no price sticker, so everything grinds to a halt while someone hauls ass to the exact spot in the whole fucking store where that item is stocked to get the price. Then half of those times, the customer will argue that that's the wrong price.
Check writers
There are still people who haven't yet emerged from the stone age of commerce and insist on hand-writing paper checks. All of them are women, and 99% of them are old enough to have purchased groceries with beaver pelts. They've all been issued debit cards by their banks, linked to their checking accounts, and yet they're bewildered by this magnetized piece of plastic and cling to their archaic little books of perforated slips. And they never, ever put pen to paper until every item has been rung up and bagged, choosing instead to engage in mindless chitchat with the clerk and taking even more time out of the lives of everyone waiting in line. Then they're surprised to be asked for identification, and fumble around in their purses among the Gold Bond lotion and petrified Freedent to dig it out. I hope there are magazines nearby if you get trapped behind one of these dinosaurs, because you're going to be there a while while the clerk gets the assistant manager to enter a secret code known only to assistant managers so that Prunella can take home her Fancy Feast to Boo-Boo.
Coin hoarders
Just as maddening and time-robbing as check writers are people who pay for a cartload of stuff with rolls of coins, which the clerk has to break open and count out one by one to make sure he doesn't come up short a nickel. No one ever told these bumbling assholes that coins can be changed for paper bills at banks and coin-counting machines.
Solicitors
Even before you enter the store, you risk being confronted by a charity worker soliciting donations or selling overpriced chocolate to support their high school band, all with the store's permission. Why the hell would I buy their shit when I'm already going into a store to spend my money on shit I actually need? However, I do support having public health workers stand outside Wal-Mart and hand out condoms to the shoppers buying Wonder Bread and Easy Mac for their 7 kids with food stamps. Even worse are the bums that sometimes walk among cars hitting people up for spare change while they're getting in or out of their cars. These cretins should be shot on sight.
Parking lots
Even when it's not a major holiday, parking lots piss me off. No matter what time of day or what day of the week, every store I go to has a crowded parking lot, and yet only 1 out of 4 handicapped spaces is occupied at any time. People seem to forget the moment they exit their own cars that there are other moving vehicles in a parking lot to look out for, and meander through the middle of the thoroughfare at a snail's pace or walk mere inches behind a car with its bright white reverse lights aglow. I have yet to encounter a shopping center with a thoughtfully designed parking lot; every lot has weird dead-ends in places where an exit should be but isn't, shrubs that dangerously obstruct the view of oncoming cars, and barriers around freestanding buildings such as restaurants that force you to drive a 270-degree circuit until you arrive at that building's own parking lot. God help you if you return to your vehicle to find a woman with small children getting into a car parked right next to yours, because you'll be hanging around for 5 minutes while she corrals her hyperactive spawn into the minivan or SUV and then straps them all into their complicated toddler seats. Even worse is when it's poor people stooping over to strap children into the back seat of a Ford Fiesta.
Traffic
No matter where you shop, you probably have to drive to get there and back. That means leaving your comfortable home and risking your life on the roads while precious minutes of your life tick away. Multiply that times a few thousand on peak shopping days and you lose hours of your life driving, hunting for a parking space, and walking to, inside, and from the store.
I say, fuck all that. These are all reasons why I buy shit online. Everything I could possibly want (that exists, anyway) can be purchased over the internet, in my cozy PJs, from the comfort of my recliner, and most of the time at a considerable savings over what I'd pay in a physical store. Shipping is often free, and sales taxes are damn near nonexistent. I've bought books, clothes, movies, electronics, and car parts at half retail, and paid nary a dime in sales taxes, and never had to set foot in a store full of trashy, slow people. With online commerce, I can maximize the time I spend in my cozy home and save a huge chunk of change at the same time. I may go so far as to start having my groceries delivered as well.
Monday, October 4, 2010
...and another one bites the dust
Well, I'm in an odd mood. This morning it was announced that we'd FINALLY be up for raises this year, after 2 years on a salary freeze. I know, woo-hoo, right? Then my hopes were brought back to earth after learning that the average projected salary raise this year would be in the neighborhood of 2%. If that were the case for me, I'd get enough extra per month for the two of us to go to a moderately-priced restaurant.
To make things even more disappointing, and to get around to the title of this entry, a veteran of the staff got the axe today. What the fuck? This was right after a cheerful announcement about what a great year we'd had. Just drives home the point that nothing's good enough. There's no loyalty here, no compassion or second chances. All they're interested in here is how much money you can make for them. Slip just a bit and make them almost miss a payment on the Mercedes and you're out on your ass.
So what should be a happy day has become another spike in the stress-o-meter. Every time this kind of shit gets pulled around here, it just adds to the teeth-grinding anxiety. When a staff member has been here over a decade and gets the boot, what does that say about my own job security? It says, keep your head down and look busy, fool! And pray for that lotto jackpot!
This serves as a stabbing reminder of how unpredictable and unreliable a hired position can be, and only fuels the flames of my desire to grab that brass ring, hit the jackpot, and bail the fuck out. What is the divine, cosmic reason behind why I have as of yet not had my greatest desire in life fulfilled, and have instead been left to tread water in this gray cubicle? Meanwhile, those who do win the lottery are always common, tasteless people in fly-over states who end up getting scammed out of all their winnings by scheming relatives and televangelists. The world just ain't fair, I tells ya.
To make things even more disappointing, and to get around to the title of this entry, a veteran of the staff got the axe today. What the fuck? This was right after a cheerful announcement about what a great year we'd had. Just drives home the point that nothing's good enough. There's no loyalty here, no compassion or second chances. All they're interested in here is how much money you can make for them. Slip just a bit and make them almost miss a payment on the Mercedes and you're out on your ass.
So what should be a happy day has become another spike in the stress-o-meter. Every time this kind of shit gets pulled around here, it just adds to the teeth-grinding anxiety. When a staff member has been here over a decade and gets the boot, what does that say about my own job security? It says, keep your head down and look busy, fool! And pray for that lotto jackpot!
This serves as a stabbing reminder of how unpredictable and unreliable a hired position can be, and only fuels the flames of my desire to grab that brass ring, hit the jackpot, and bail the fuck out. What is the divine, cosmic reason behind why I have as of yet not had my greatest desire in life fulfilled, and have instead been left to tread water in this gray cubicle? Meanwhile, those who do win the lottery are always common, tasteless people in fly-over states who end up getting scammed out of all their winnings by scheming relatives and televangelists. The world just ain't fair, I tells ya.
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