Chupabarro

Walking home today, I came to the usually dry creek. Today it was slowly flowing. I could either walk around or jump it.

It was about a 6 foot jump. I tested the landing area with a nearby stick. Solid. I can jump this, no problem.

I leap and as I do my plant foot slips, robbing me of all my forward momentum and landing me right in the middle of the f*cking creek. I pull my foot quick. Too quick for my elastic laces which can't overcome the suction of the mud. I have to reach in and pull my shoe out.

I get home and toss my socks in the garbage. They're too muddy to contemplate washing. I put the shoes outside to dry but I'm pretty sure that won't dry...in the rain.

NYC Weekend #2

Friday night: went on a date and then listened to the NY Philharmonic in Central Park. My dinner turned out to be the two beers and half an order of fries from the date (poor planning mixed with thunderstorms at the end of the concert).

Saturday: Morning run in Central Park (around 6 miles). There was some sort of running event being set up as I ran. As I approached the start line, I got to hear part of an argument between a guy wearing a security vest and a really big dude.

Security: This is a sanctioned event of the...
BFD (walking away): I can't hear you.
Security (louder): This is a sanction...
BFD (louder): I said I can't hear you.
Security (as loud as this little guy could yell): This is...
BFD: NA NA NA NA NA NA

To give you a better idea of the situation, it was like a 2 year-old pulling a German Shepard's tail. "I can't hear you" is like "Grrrr" and "NA NA NA" is like "bark"/snap. The next time, you get bit. And then you cry to mommy. And she takes you to the hospital to have your hand sewed back on.

I don't know how it ended but I didn't hear any ambulances.

Decided to do a "taste-off" between H&H Bagels and Tal Bagels. However, service was so slow at Tal, I walked out bagel-less. Oh, and the H&H bagel? Worse than a Wegman's bagel and only twice the price! (Yes. $1.40 for one friggin' bagel.)

In the evening I went to see some "site specific dance" on a basketball court in Riverside Park. Uhm. You know how some art is accessible and some is not? Well, this was more of the latter. Like a Jackson Pollack, the question for me is where does the genius end and the crazy begin? Even still I'd say it was worth my time.

Sunday: Went to see a comedy show in Central Park. Mostly quite good. My favorite joke:

"I know this women in the biblical sense. And by that I mean I don't believe anything she says."

I think the joke works better if you replace "this woman" with "my CEO".

We Need a Post Office Version Of ELIZA

I want to send this certified. I need this to be in Florida by Friday. I need to be able to track this.

No matter what I asked for, the post office always knew what I meant...until today. Sure, sure, I am partly to blame. I asked for "proof of mailing" instead of "certificate of mailing" but any post officer worth their salt should know what I'm talking about.

PO: Do you want to send this certified?
me: No. I just want proof of mailing.
PO: If you want proof of receipt, you need to send it certified, return receipt.
me: I don't need to know they got it. I just need proof I sent it.
PO: Do you want to send it priority?
me: I just want to send it First Class.
PO: Do you want a certificate or a receipt?
me: What's the difference?
PO: The certificate is $1.10 and has the address. The receipt has only the city and state you mailed to.

Ah, here's where I made my error. I did want the certificate. But the $1.10 through me off. My Asperger-y brain thought $1.10 was the charge for certified mail (and it probably was back in 1992) and so I said:

me: Just the receipt.
PO: That'll be $0.76

And then I knew I f*cked up but certainly I was not going to admit that! That'd be like asking for directions at a gas station.

So, I'll save my useless receipt and wait for my check to be cashed. And dream of inventing a gadget that would do for the post office what the GPS did for gas stations.

I'm Trying To Be Less Pedantic. How Do I Explain That?

Ring!

Ring! (I don't recognize this number)

Me: Hello?
Caller: Jess. I yam colling to say my son, he is sick and will no be at school today.
Me: I'm sorry. You have the wrong number. And I hope your son gets well soon.
Caller: Dis no is the school?
Me: Sorry, no. I'm a little pedantic if that helps.
Caller: Little wha?
Me: Nevermind. I'm not the school. Good-bye.


3 minutes later

Ring!

Ring! (Ugh, same caller)

Me: You still have the wrong number.
Caller: Dis no is the school?
Me: You...have...the...wrong...number.
Caller: Oh.


Then I left for work. Don't know if she called back again. For my sake, I hope your son is never sick again.

Did You Match The Carpet To The Drapes?

Person #1: Hi!
Person #2: Oh, hi!
P1 : Wow, you look good!
P2: Thanks.
P1: Yeah, nobody could tell you just had a baby.
P2: Yeah...
P1: You really look good.
P2: Mmhmm...
P1: Your hair looks so nice like that...
P2: Yeah, I just got it cut.
P1: It looks great!

That's all I heard.

Obviously, Person #2 is a woman (just had a baby). If Person #1 is a woman, this conversation is a nice compliment. If Person #1 is a man, this conversation is sexual harassment.

Just sayin'...

When I Get To The Mountaintop You'd Better Get Out Of The Way

Think of the bagel I had for lunch yesterday as Hancock.

Think of the fiber bar snack and giant dinner salad as the freight train.

"What happens when an irresistible force means an immovable object?"

Let's just say that I could use a nap.

Note To Self: Don't Just Delete...Block Sender!

9am - email received. I am CC'ed.

Mobo,

I see you have been very busy.

• The KMB11 is moving along.
• YTM507 needs another month since the 506 problems have not been resolved.
• We await a reply from Jombi in regards to the Hokdop and Redop.
• The Sampar document is not complete. I will have Urbootea look into it.

Maradapanan

I do not know Mobo, Jombi, Sampar, Urbootea or Maradapanan. I have no idea what any of these projects are. After seconds of my precious time, I determined that I was incorrectly copied on this email and deleted.

10:30 am - email received.

Maradapanan is attempting to recall this message.

Now I wonder, did it take an hour and a half to realize that he sent this to the wrong place or did it take that long to figure out how to try to recall a message? What is he trying to accomplish? Why am I thinking about this?

11am - email received.

Jay,
By mistake you were copied on this email. Please ignore it. Sorry for the disruption.
Maradapanan

Oh for chrissakes! Now what should I do? Should I reply and tell not to worry about? If I don't will he send me another unnecessary email? Will I be able to get any work done today or will it all be spent wait for another "email shoe" to drop?

These Aren't The Rotors You're Looking For

Recently, I went to get my brake pads replaced.

Sleazy car guy: We recommend resurfacing the rotors and replacing the brake fluid when you replace the pads.
me: Do the rotors need resurfacing?
SCG: We recommend it when you replace the pads.
me: Do they need resurfacing?
SCG then launched into some explanation about how the pads create a groove in the rust and the rotors get some kind of coating and who knows what. I can see he was sure this would do the trick.
me [already knowing I'm not getting the rotors resurfaced]: If I don't get them resurfaced, can I get that done later?

This is a psychological trick. He can't say no (unless he wants to lie). He either answer yes or avoid the question altogether (in which case I will just repeat it). He tells me I could do it later and I tell him to just change the pads and nothing else.

If you're going to sell me some unnecessary garbage you better try much harder than that.

Or have less appendages.

Computer Alzheimer's

As of a few weeks ago, my work laptop had 512MB of memory. After innumerable Microsoft security updates and a new virus scanner, just running Outlook and a browser used up all my memory. I looked online and found an upgrade to 1GB would cost about $50. What follows is a description of what it takes to get a $50 memory upgrade at my company.

Person 1 (me) asks Person 2 (my manager) if an upgrade can be procured. Person 2 okays it. Person 1 calls the help desk and speaks to Person 3 who takes the information (i.e. User needs more memory) and creates a ticket. The ticket is sent to Person 4 (PC support) and Person 4 does something that generates a "request for approval" from Person 2.

After Person 2 approves, Person 4 calls Person 1 to determine computer type (and hence memory type), current memory and new memory. After discussion, Person 4 determines that two 512MB modules will need to be ordered. Person 4 indicates to Person 1 that this generally takes two days. Person 4 places an order with some company for the memory. Person 4 closes the ticket, indicating a new ticket (for installation) will be opened when the memory arrives.

Patient Person 1, after 1 week, sends email to Person 4 asking what is going on. Apparently, this is a violation of the prime directive. No response is received but the following day another person in PC support (person 5) creates a ticket stating that Person 1's department has already been charged for memory and nothing else. As a side note, the correct procedure is for Person 1 to call the Help Desk (now Person 6 but had Person 1 done this Person 6 would be Person 5 and Person 5 would be Person 6) and have them open a ticket.

Almost another week passes and patience-wearing-thin Person 1 is kicking himself for not ordering the memory and installing it himself. Even paying for it out of his own pocket seems reasonable at this point. But out of the dungeon of PC support comes a phone call. It is Person 5. "Person 1," he says, "we have your memory."

Glory be and hallelujah! The Messiah, in the form of two 512MB SO-DIMMs, has come.

"Just bring your laptop down and we'll install it."

But person 1 is working. And person 5 is a minute walk away. Plus person 1 needs to close all his programs and shutdown his computer. Ideally, person 1 would do this just before lunch, dropping off the laptop at PC Support (which is right by the cafeteria) and picking it back up after lunch saving countless minutes.

But PC Support is closed during lunch, probably to play Dungeons and Dragons.

So Person 1 spends 5 minutes shutting things down and another 5 walking to the dungeon. Person 5 takes the laptop, installs the new memory and boots it back up to ensure all is well.

"Your laptop doesn't seem to like the memory," says non-anti-statically grounded Person 5.

Person 1 is wonders how he can write his letter of resignation without his laptop while Person 5 applies Computer Fix #1.

Remove and re-install.

As usual, Computer Fix #1 works and Person 5 returns laptop to Person 1 who walks 5 minutes back to his office, boots it up and contemplates how a company can survive when a $50 memory upgrade requires $1000 of labor.

How Big Would The Gouge Be If The Spring Hit The Turkey?

I was talking to a friend yesterday whe a turkey strolled by. Unfortunately, it did not hang around long enough for me to get a picture.

I got another chance and shot that turkey. A little blurry but he/she didn't seem to want to hang around.
I figured that would be the most exciting part of my day. I figured wrong.

I was in the kitchen making cookies (oatmeal coconut chocolate chip, damn their good). Suddenly I heard a loud crash and felt the floor move. I immediately looked out the the window expecting to see my neighbor with their car smashed into their garage. No such luck.

My next guess was that one of my stacks o' crap in the garage had fallen (I did not for second think it was my DVD, amp, TiVo, DVD, LCD stack and it wasn't). Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the garage until I noticed this.

The counter-balance spring on the garage had snapped. After breaking it shot itself into the wall, making a nice gouge, as seen here.

Apocryphal Chinese curse:

May you live in interesting times.

Jay's Corollary:

May you live in this %#!* apartment.

With A Vacation Like That, Who Needs Enemies

I don't often remember my dreams. Almost never actually. But I do vaguely remember one from a few days ago in my parents' house.

I had given someone a gift of some sort and they yelled back at me, "CHEAP!"
It was a pretty nice gift and as I tried to point this out to them they once again yelled, "CHEAP!"
I was a bit offended and also stunned. Before I got to do anything else, "CHEAP!"
I began to get mad, "Keep your voice down."
"CHEAP!"

"CHEAP!"

"CHEAP!"

I awoke at 4:20am. "CHEAP!" What the hell is going on? "CHEAP!"

It was a smoke detector whose battery had died. One of the last times I visited I had replaced all the batteries.

Except one that the ladder couldn't reach.

Have I Wasted Enough Time Yet?

It's 5am. I've been up since 3:30 with this f***ing Love, Reign O'er Me song running through my head like a freight train. How does this song end? Make it stop!

Crossword puzzle #2, version 2 (maybe I should call it 2.1 to make it seem like I wasted less manpower on it) is on its way to the NYTimes. I allow myself only a sliver of hope that it might find its way into newsprint. And by sliver I mean that it is about as likely as me getting this freaking song out of my head anytime soon.

It's 5:15am. Continuing to ramble, I was just thinking about those tests you take in middle/high school that tell you what field you should go into. I don't remember what mine said but it certainly wasn't "engineer". Those tests must not be very good because it's hard to imagine something I'd be better at.

Except maybe gigolo or Chippendale dancer.

Here's an abbreviated version of how a "real life" version of one of these tests would work.

1. Do you like to play with fire?


• Yes - go into firefighting


2. Do you like to shoot people?


• With a camera? - Try photography


• With a gun? - Try the military or police


3. Do you like to have sex with children?


1. If Yes, are you religious?


• Yes - Become a priest or minister.


• No - Become a teacher or child care worker.


2. If No, do you like to have sex with women?


• Yes - Become a rock and roll star or an investment banker


• No - Become an engineer or a mime
  

Alice Doesn't Live Here Any More

Arriving home after my bike ride this morning, I checked my mail. A quick glance showed the normal credit card offers, a catalog, something from the library (what the?) and something from (dum dum dummmmmm) the IRS.

It doesn't matter how honestly you fill out your taxes; nobody wants to get a letter form the IRS. So I opened the library mail first.

Overdue book! That's crazy! I have one book out and it's due today. I know this for sure because I just checked yesterday. Maybe it's for a book I returned and they lost? Nope. Says right there "Running with Scissors". Worse is that I haven't finished it and now I can't renew it online. Oh well. I should be able to straighten that out. Now to envelope number 2.

What does the IRS want? As I'm about to open the envelope I notice it is not addressed to me. It's to a previous tenant. I'd swear this happened before. Very annoying.

Perhaps He Was Supposed To Be Señor Manager, In Charge Of Landscaping?

I received this email today at work (names changed to protect the innocent...meaning me)

From: Head, Richard
To: Head, Richard; [yours truly], Jay
Subject:

Test

Dick Head
Senior Manager
etc. etc.

Just to be clear, I have no idea who this Dick is. I've never heard of him. I've never worked with him. But, based on what I do know about him, he probably should not be a Senior Manager. I think that "Ability to properly use email" should be a minimum qualification for that job.

The Lights Are On But Nobody's Home

I gotta say, I love this "every Wednesday is a vacation day" plan. I feel refreshed and revived. Well, until this morning I did.

I was heading to work. Driving down a steep hill, there is a cop at the bottom (on the corner of the cross street) with his lights on. He appears to be parked (maybe giving someone a ticket or something) but I approach slowly anyway. The street I'm on is the through street. The cross street has a stop sign.

I'm about 3/4 of the way down the hill when the cop, lights still on, moves toward the intersection. I assume he's going through and slow down even more. He's just sitting there. Does he not think he can get through? Does he think I'll speed up? I slow almost to a stop and just feet away from the intersection and...

he turns off his lights. I continue through the intersection and in my rearview mirror, I watch the cop cross the intersection.

To serve and protect and drive like shit. And people are surprised when they hear about cops on the take.

It's The Euphemisms, Stupid

If the press covered my daily home life, yesterday's headline would have been:

Jay Sets Nuts On Fire, Burns Date

Incredibly, I had my pants on the entire time.

What happened was, I was making some cookies. These cookies contained everything that was in my pantry that could conceivably go into a cookie that had not been eaten by my new roommates (more on them later): oatmeal, chocolate chips, walnuts and dates. I didn't have a recipe for a cookie with that much of my junk in them so I just wang it. Wait, I think I meant "winged it".

Once I got my junk out of the mixing bowl, the hardest part was at hand: how long do I keep my cookies in the oven for things to come out right? Since my cookies are big, I figured on around 16 minutes.

After 8 minutes, my stuff was looking good. I set the timer for another 8 minutes. Quite a while later, I checked the timer, which read 7:59 (whoops!). I went immediately to pull my cookies from the over but I had come to late. My nuts were already burned.

As for my new roommates, who apparently enjoy nibbling on my silicon bakeware, I'm sending you on an all-expenses-paid trip to mouse heaven.

Dumber Than A Gas Pump

Some nearby gas stations have started selling gas about $0.40/gal cheaper than everyone else. Since I needed gas, I decided to take advantage. Unsurprisingly, there was a line at the station; not like a 1970's gas line but still a line none-the-less.

There were 8 pumps at the station. At first people were sharing nicely with those entering from one side using the first 4 pumps and those entering from the other entrance using the last 4 pumps. Then someone had to be a dick and everybody had to choose a pump to line up behind. I became the second car waiting at pump 8.

Eventually the current pumper finished, shook off the end of the hose, and left. The guy in front of me moved into position and I creeped ahead. He got out of his car and stared at the pump for a bit. I think he may have been reading it. Maybe he couldn't believe the prices or thought there was some kind of catch? He stood there for a good 15 seconds accomplishing nothing and I felt like Nancy Kerrigan. Finally he walked inside, I assume to pay cash. I did not see any other person go inside while I was at the station.

He returned and opened his gas cap. He stared at the pump a little more and chose the "regular" nozzle, inserting it in his car. He squeezed the handle and nothing happened. And then he stared at the pump again. And stared. And started.

In hindsight, I know what his problem was. There were 3 nozzles at the pump: regular, mid and premium. Next to the mid and premium nozzles was a red square clearly printed with "Press to Start".

The regular nozzle had a red square with a worn out middle. Who knows what it might have said? "Press when finished." "Press for emergency." "Press you friggin' idiot!" How long did it take this guy, who is apparently licensed to drive, to figure out how to start the pump? I was just about to get out of my car to start it for him.

Now, the boy genius can't figure out to get the handle to lock in the "on" position. He tries several methods which couldn't possibly work before deciding either: to just give up or that the thing must be broken [which it wasn't].

He must have paid for a certain amount of gas because even though the handle has "popped", indicating the tank is full, he keeps releasing it and pulling it. Pop. Release. Pull. Pop. Ok, you get the idea. I counted 30 not including all the ones I missed before I started counting or after I got tired of counting.

Finally, he replaced the nozzle. Put his gas cap back on. Gave the pump one more stare and got into his car.

And sat there, futzing with something before eventually leaving.

Fortunately, I drive so little I won't need gas again for about a month.

When I'm In Bed All Weekend Sick, This Is The Kind Of Post You Get

Who can turn their morning drive to work into entertainment for several quarter dozen people?

Who can turn the world on with their smile?
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?

Who can take a sunrise...Okay, enough of that.

My simple mission this morning, stop at the post office on the way to work to mail my taxes and a package. I arrived at the P.O. at 7:57, 3 minutes before opening. As I parked, three people got out of their cars and got in front of me in line waiting at the door.

The post office opened just after 8 with one counter worker. (What do you call these people? In a bank, they're tellers. Should we call them penns?) Customer #1 walks up to the counter with a UPS envelope. And so it begins.

After several minutes of discussion, the penn has finally convinced this woman that she can send whatever she is sending ina USPS envelope for $14.40 overnight. He hands her one of the overnight labels and sends her away to fill it out.

It turns out the second and third people on line are together. I can't quite figure out what the guy wants. At first I thought he was applying for a job but it turns out he needs a passport. "Passports don't open until 9:30," says the penn. Since the first woman is still busy filling out her form I take a step forward, ready to mail off my stuff.

Not...so...fast. First, the penn double checks with someone in the back about the passport times. He does this the same way a twelve-year-old does when asked to tell his dad it's time for dinner. "DAAAAAD! TIME FOR DINNERRRRRRR!" "9:30," is the shouted reply. The penn then helpfully lists every P.O. in the area and whether or not they do passports. He explains that one branch does them from 4 to 5 but they don't want anyone doing them after 4:30. He explains that he doesn't know any of the other P.O. passport operating times. He explains that this is already a strange day. He explains that it isn't even a full moon. He explains that he's not even sure if it's a full moon or not. He explains long enough for the first woman to finish with her paperwork and get back in front of me.

At first, he told the first woman her envelope would arrive tomorrow by 3pm. The woman said that would be fine. Now the computer is saying the envelope will arrive by noon tomorrow. The penn is concerned. The woman says that noon is fine but the penn takes no notice. I can already see myself explaining to the tax authorities that my taxes were late because I was stuck in line at the post office for 9 nine days.

Just when all hope is lost, it is my turn. This will be qick as I know exactly what I want to do.

me: I want to send this Cetified and this First Class I say.
penn: Certified'll cost you $2.40 plus the postage whatever that comes out as.
me: OK, that's fine.
penn: You got a computer?
me: Wha? Uh, yeah.
penn (turning the Certified form towards me): If you type this here number in at our website, usps.com, it'll tell you when the letter was delivered.
me: OK, great.
penn: You don't want no Return Reciept?
me: No, just Certified is fine.
penn: Ok, then, how about this one [picking up the package]. Certified also?
me: No, just first class.
penn. Anything in here breakable?
me: It's just a stuffed animal.
penn [after typing on the computer]: First Class'll probably get it there Thursday. For a dollar fifty more, it'll probably get there Wednesday.
me: Probably Thursday is probably fine.
penn: Alrighty. Any stamps?
me: No stamps, thanks.
penn: Alright, anything else?
me: No, that's it. [please, please, please, let that be it.]
penn: That'll be $5.82.
(I hand him $6.)
penn: Eighteen cents is your change. And here's your receipt. Thank you. You have a nice day.
me: Thanks, you too.

Time: 8:16.

I go to pull out of the parking lot but the nearby traffic light just switched and I have to wait a minute for things to clear. I then miss the light. I also just miss the next light. After it turns green, I head across the bridge to DING, DING, DING, DING. It's a train! Yeah! I can't help but laugh.

A Crowning Achievment

It's been a while since I had a good post about the restroom (some might say I've never had a good post about the restroom but they're just critics). So, on to the john.

As I've previously described, the closest bathroom to my cube contains two urinals and two stalls (one tiny, one expansive). It was a few weeks ago that, sitting in the big stall, I noticed someone walked into the tiny stall, did a kind of pirouette, then left without, umm, using the facilities. I thought that was a bit strange.

Last week I went into the bathroom to find the big stall taken. Usually, I'd either return later or use a bathroom further away but that day things were a bit urgent so I decided to just suck it up (so-to-speak) and use the tiny stall. I found the reason for the pirouette. The lock did not work. I puckered down the hall to the other bathroom.

That brings us to today. I'm leisurely riding high on the big throne in the big stall when someone came in and walked into the tiny stall. They tried several times to get the latch to work. I waited for the pirouette but was surprised when they dropped trow and sat down. I could tell by the floor shadow that their door was ajar.

Someone else came in to use a urinal. "Squeeeeeak" went the door as the guy slowly pushed it closed. His arms weren't quite long enough though. He couldn't keep it pinned. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. I started laughing that closed-mouth, snorty, quiet kind of laugh. Squeak. Squeak.

I told myself it wasn't funny.

Squeak. Squeak. Then, resignation. The door was ajar again. I couldn't take it anymore.

It's not often you leave a bathroom because you think you're going to explode.