(PS – Hooray for Post #700!)
Donald Duck doesn’t wear pants. This happens for three reasons. First off, when he was created in 1934 he was create to be a belligerent waterfowl; his trademark pose included his left and right fists wheeling for a boxing match. Second, he’s ex-military. Now of course, all we have to go on is his occasional sailor’s shirt, but for all we know, Donald could have been Navy Seals. Would you ever question a decision made by a Navy Seal? And third, he’s always had back-up. Big, big back-up.
Winnie the Pooh doesn’t wear pants. Yeah, it’s just a shirt and an occasional raincoat for the worrier from the 100 Acre Wood. Of course, he lives in a sparsely-populated area of the country, and aside from the occasional blustery day, it doesn’t get that cold there. So neither the natural elements nor offended neighbors give any just cause for Pooh to put on pants. Besides, his only friend who wears pants is a human that stops by every now and then, and that guy’s choice of lower apparel could have gotten him a shot to play in the NBA of the 1980’s. Oh, and besides, he’s got the big man watching his back.
Porky Pig doesn’t wear pants, either. He’s quite the dapper pig, always carefully selecting a stylish vest, jacket, bow tie, or suit coat before he ever leaves the house. I guess he occasionally steps into coveralls – for those rare times when the pig actually spent time on a farm – but I’m calling amnesia on this one. No one dresses so impeccably above the belt line and then chooses not to wear anything below the belt line, and that includes the omission of an actual belt. This pig is either absent-minded, or just freakin’ arrogant. But Porky Pig can be arrogant. He has the Big Cheese riding shotgun.
Surely, one would think that in past decades the fundamentalist Christian sects of America would not stand for their children to be entertained by this trio of pantsless animations of the cartoon world. One could argue that any clothes are better than no clothes, since the rest of God’s Creation has opted for the naked way of life, but to only go halfway and stop is no doubt the type of sinful offense that would make the pastor in Footloose breathe fire and brimstone. And other than Donald’s pugilistic attitude and prior covert ops training, who was to stop the Heartlands from condemning this risqué peep show of pig, bear, and duck?
My guess, of course, lies with the Big Guy we’ve thrice alluded to and yet to reveal. Emulation is not only a form of flattery, but of unity. You see, if there was a bigger, bolder, and better ally that the Non-Pantalones Three could hide behind when controversy erupted, then it would no doubt prolong their free-wheeling Hippie way of life. It would have to be someone who is loved and brings a smile to children and adults alike. It would have to be someone who brings the party wherever he goes. It would have to be someone whose shadow intimidates those who would like to cast the first stone. And it would have to be someone who has a complete disregard for drywall..
OH YEAAHHH!
For decades, The Kool-Aid Man has stood in the face of those who think that pants are a necessary way of life. The Man is no nudist – he just sees no reason why a certain attire should inhibit his ability to bring sugar-infused fruit juice goodness to the masses. Can you imagine the amount of demolition debris that would get stuck with the Kool-Aid Man if he chose to crash through elementary school walls whilst wearing a cableknit sweater? What a mess! The smooth, Teflon-infused surface of his giant transparent pitcher is perfect.
Besides, what has Kool-Aid Man to hide? The visual anatomy of his upper torso is identical to that of his lower body. Either way you direct your eyes, you’re looking at the same red fruit drink. Look how happy he is! All this joy, despite the fact that he’s had three GIANT, migraine-inducing ice cubes rattling around in his head for all eternity.
And yet, the conservative movement has made Kool-Aid Man sad. Look, I’m all for modesty and appropriate dress in today’s education system. I think that proper dress can prevent bad things from happening. Hell, I wear pants to work every day. But tell me this.
How can we live in a world where Britney Spears hits the tabloids for not wearing underwear getting out of limos, and everybody’s cool with it, and meanwhile the poor Kool-Aid Man has been sent home from his office to put on some clothes???
A sad day indeed.
Friday, March 30, 2007
But Doctor, They're Not...
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Pockets 1, Schrute 0
The Prodigal Roommate and I have collaborated on many a project in the 9 years of our friendship. There are the seasons of Madden that we’d let the Playstation know who’s boss. There was the Home Depot stripper cake that was as anti-climactic as Mattias entering a spelling bee. There are the 9 Levels of Mafia-Dan, which really deserved more attention for our ridiculous use of the English vocabulary. Throw in a movie classification system here and the best board game ever there, it’s clear we have a chemistry when it comes to comedic uprising. To date, we’ve often used our power of funny for good.
Now, we go all Emperor Palpatine on ya.
A couple weeks back, I took the time on this very blog to mock a Frozen Meal Feedback sheet that appeared on our office fridge. For those who don’t recall, my co-worker (Dwight Schrute as we’ve been referring to her) thought to create a spreadsheet where one and all can evaluate the flavorocity of various Lean Cuisines for the benefit of all. We, in turn, ridiculed the idea irreverently, so much as to suggest a rival spreadsheet be posted alongside it in hopes of fostering some grocer’s freezer competition.
And the Prodigal Roommate answered.
The next day, while in the middle of writing my ode to pilot programs, I got this e-mail from Spud with a peculiar attachment. Call him inspired by our call to arms, but the man had indeed created a rival spreadsheet. A sheet that would once and far all prove the superiority of a certain frozen food, while at the same time make my co-worker cry. I couldn’t ask for a better situations. So I printed it out and later that day, adorned the refrigerator with Spud’s Creation:
Hot Pocket Feedback.
On a spreadsheet eerily similar to the original (eerily because Spud had never seen the original, yet channeled his inner Schrute to parody it), he had pre-populated the Meal column with every variety of Hot Pocket known to man. Sure, he may have gone to the HP website to get this listing, but I’m pretty sure he can rattle them off from memory.
You see, he’s a bit of a fan.
Back in ’05, my roommate wrote to the good people of Nestle to heap some postal praise on a certain meal-on-the-go product. In return, they sent him a personalized letter of thanks (which he’s since had framed, embossed, and hired a painter to do a wall-size rendering of), with additional coupons for his continued loyalty. At any given time, our freezer held more boxes of Hot Pockets than ice trays.
Which is good, because ice trays bubble up terribly if you microwave them.
Back to the Rival Sheet, though. I hung the Rival Sheet immediately adjacent to the Frozen Meal Feedback. After all, the latter had been posted for about two weeks, and not a single rating had been provided. It’s like when a gas station moves in across the street from the other gas station – competition can spark interest.
Just to get things kicked off, I filled in three random ratings to three different Hot Pockets. Sometimes you need to get the ball rolling. So just like that, a 10 for Meatballs and Mozzarella, an 8 for Ham and Cheese, and an underperforming 2 for Jalapeno Steak and Cheese.
One week later…
To be honest, I didn’t want to check the thing every day, for fear of this being a disappointing foray into co-worker torture. So I waited 5 business days until a day came along in which I stored my lunch in the fridge. When I looked up at the Hot Pocket list, I was shocked. We had 8 reviews.
And we’re not just talking some guy who’s an enthusiast ranked his Top 5, either. I count 4 different pen colors (who the hell writes with a purple pen??) and 6 different Pocket varieties with data. (Good God, we have a 9.667 average on the Meatball!). Spud’s Rival Sheet? Runaway Success.
Frozen Meal Feedback Form? So fresh and so clean.
Winner!
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
All the President's Pens
“Bush readies veto pen for war bill”
This is the teaser link that CNN.com is providing for its story on how President Bush is preparing to shoot down a bill that would give him full funding of the two wars with an added proviso that there’s a schedule of troop withdrawals. There’s both supporters and opponents of what the President is about to do, but there’s really a bigger issue at hand – I seamlessly worked the word “proviso” into political commentary. God, that qualifies me to take any news desk job I want not currently held by this guy.
Yes, everybody who paid attention in 8th grade Social Studies knows that the executive branch has the ability to wipe out any legislation it wants via the magic power of the veto. What you didn’t know, and apparently CNN has now inadvertently leaked to the world, is that upon entering the Oval Office, the President-elect is handed a special veto pen with which to carry out this constitutional right.
While the YABNews team was unable to locate photographic evidence of the President’s Veto Pen, we’ve done some serious investigating as to its make-up, and the results are pretty damn cool. Our first question was what color the Veto Pen’s ink is. Our records are showing RED, as to display the President’s rage and displeasure with the 312-page bill he was just forced to read. (Note: reading appropriations bills are like taking your kids to the mall to spend their allowances – ultimately it’s your cash, but you have no control over what you get for said cash.) Of course, prior to about 1940 or so, the pen only wrote in black and white, according to the history books. In addition, the Veto Pen is HUGE – it’s approximately 30 inches long and you need both hands to sign stuff with it. This is why so many Presidents are known by some sort of initialed-moniker. The Veto Pen is very heavy – would you rather collapse under the weight of the utensil after scribing “Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” when FDR will quash the bill just as effectively?
Guess what? There’s more.
As it turns out, the West Wing doesn’t delve into all the details of the Presidency. The Executive Pen collection is a well-guarded secret. Behind a secret panel on the Oval Office wall is a compartment that contains the Veto Pen, and all the rest. It can only be accessed by current Heads-of-State, and by turning the head of the Calvin Coolidge bust that sits on the end table by the candy dish of Krackels and Mr. Goodbars. Do you want to know about the other pens? Of course you do. We’ll describe ‘em here, but only if you promise not to testify against us in our soon-to-be pending treason hearing. Ok? Thanks.
The Executive Pen Collection
- The Veto Pen – if you’ve forgotten what the Veto Pen looks like already, you probably also failed 8th grade Social Studies. Just a correlation we’re supposing.
- The Appointment Pen – The President, our Hiring Manager-in-Chief, is responsible for the specific selection of thousands of specific civil posts. When he signs the offer letters, he uses this pen. It’s very shiny and very big, yet writes in a dull grey ink. This is to symbolize the lavish attention you’ll be getting as U.S. Ambassador to China, with the sad monthly stipend the job actually pays.
- The Conference Call Pen – Sometimes, the President is stuck on the phone with the leaders of Canada and Mexico, who are bickering about NAFTA trade rights. The Mexicans want lumber for a cheap price, and the Canucks seem to turn Chihuahuas into sled dogs. The President doesn’t give a damn about their problems and needs to stay awake. He puts the call on “mute” and doodles with this pen. A gift from Bill Cosby.
- The William Pen – It’s red, white, and blue, everything it writes comes out liberty, and is used for official proclamations devising federal and state rights and regulations. A gift from the Keystone State.
- The Pardon Pen – Ok, we do know from the West Wing that the President has until the very last minute to grant executive pardons to those who he feels do not deserve incarceration. For those in the clink, this is a happy, happy day. That probably explains why the ink from this pen smells like birthday cake. Hooray!
- The Phnom Pen – makes swift, crisp pen strokes. Used to order attacks on insurgents that have been behaving badly. Extra ink is stored in a tiny pot called by most Presidents the “Pol.”
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Locker Room of Brotherly Love '07
By this time Monday, we will have added 6 new athletes to a storied brotherhood that includes Mike Schmidt, Bobby Clarke, Reggie White, and Julius Erving. Not everyone has the thick skin to play in Philadelphia (Mr. Drew, we’re looking in your general direction. Wusspants.), but for those who do, we greet you with blind faith and love from the Delaware Valley Blind, championship-starved faith.
And hey, who doesn’t like a recurring feature?
Every Friday before the NFL Draft, we will annually publish the TOP TEN PHILLY ATHLETES. This is not a list to mark one’s potential or their past, nor will it show favoritism to any one team. To make the list, you need to 1) be good at what you do for a living (damn good, actually) and 2) play for one of the four major pro teams in Philadelphia at the time of posting.
(For the members of the Philadelphia Soul, KiXX, Wings, Phantoms, and Barrage, we’re sorry. Oh, and while your reading this, you’ve accumulated quite the angry queue of customers waiting for their copies. Kinkos – proud sponsor of athletes who need to pay the rent.)
I figure by publishing this list (much like my Oscar predictions), we’ll have a public record to see how Philly’s best rise and fall, appear and disappear over the years. Some will fade due to trades and retirement (Forsberg?), while others just have turned up the suck in the last year (paging a Mr. Gordon. A Mr. Thomas Gordon…)
Locker Room of Brotherly Love, 2007
1. BRYAN WESTBROOK - #36 - RB - EAGLES -- Credentials: The keystone of a resurgent '06 Eagles offense, rushing for 1,217 yards, making 77 catches for 699 receiving yards, and 11 touchdowns. Made many, many fantasy owners very happy. Fact I Didn't Make Up: He owns a vacation home in Ocean City, New Jersey. Fact I May Have Made Up: While in Ocean City, he challenges small children in Mini-Golf. Small children are no match for Brian Westbrook, whose career it is to find the holes.
2. RYAN HOWARD - #6 - 1B - PHILLIES -- Credentials: 2005 Rookie of the Year. 2006 NL MVP. His 58 home runs in 2006, earning Player of the Month honors during the Phillies' charge towards the playoffs in August and September. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Shares a name with a character on NBC's "The Office." Fact I May Have Made Up: Michael Scott is a better manager than Charlie Manuel
3. SHAWN ANDREWS - #73 - RG - EAGLES -- Credentials: Was a starting guard in the Pro Bowl for the NFC. The fist 1st round draft pick to live up to his billing since Lito Sheppard in 2002. "The Big Kid," as his team knows him, got hurt against the Saints in the playoffs, and his replacement was guilty of the soul-crushing false start on the final drive. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Andrews was born on Christmas Day, 1982. Fact I May Have Made Up: At 340 lbs., he often spends his birthday challenging Santa to an cookie eating contest.
4. CHASE UTLEY - #26 - 2B - PHILLIES - Hardest working player in Philly sports. Normally that's a term you give someone who tries hard but isn't very good (I was featured in a BCTimes article with that praise from my track coach), but Utley backs it up. Batted .309 in 2006 and was an All-Star. The ladies find him dreamier than Pay Burrell. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Uses Zeppelin's "Kasmir" as his coming-to-the-plate music. Fact I May Have Made up: That's only because the stadium DJ didn't have Journey.
5. DONOVAN MCNABB - #5 - QB - EAGLES -- Credentials: Despite a season-ending injury in October, McNabb is still the leader of this team. Dropping to 5th is a result of this off-year. But hey, he still eats his Chunky Soup. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Attended Syarcuse University, where his go-to target was WR Marvin Harrison. Fact I May Have Made Up: He's 100 per cent Irish.
6. SIMON GAGNE #12 - LW/C - FLYERS -- Credentials: Has over 200 career goals in 5 seasons, eclipsed the 40 goal mark in the second-to-last game of the season. Voted MVP of the Flyers, earning the Bobby Clarke Trophy for the second straight year. Fact I Didn't Make Up: I own a Gagne #12 jersey. Fact I May Have Made Up: Is terrified of spiders and shrieks like a little girl when he sees one.
7. JIMMY ROLLINS - #11 - SS - PHILLIES -- Credentials: Three-time MLB all-star, has the longest hitting streak in Phils' history (38 games), and currently is 2nd in the league in home runs. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Rollins originally wore #6, but that switched to #11 to allow rookie Ryan Howard to wear #6. Fact I May Have Made Up: It's because Howard threatened to eat him.
8. ANDRE IGUODALA - #9 - G/F - 76ERS -- Credentials: Led team in '06-'07 with 18.4 ppg, led team once Allen Iverson was traded to Denver. Highly-athletic and talented player, looks to be cornerstone of next Sixers' team. Also averages 6 rebounds and assists per game. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Chris Webber bought him a Rolex so that he would switch from #4 to #9 upon Webber's arrival. Fact I May Have Made Up: Has an extreme longing for cake.
9. MIKE KNUBLE - #22 - RW - FLYERS -- Credentials: On the worst team in Flyers' history, one of two players to maintain a positive plus/minus rating. Scored 54 points on the season in 64 games, including 30 assists. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Competed for Team USA in the Torino Olympics. Fact I May Have Made Up: In ice dancing.
10. BRIAN DAWKINS - #20 - FS - EAGLES -- Credentials: Dawk is the emotional leader of this team, and earned a Pro Bowl invite this past year for his locker room presence and his big play ability. Said pbig plays include a Week 15 INT of Eli Manning, a Week 16 INT of Tony Romo, and a 4th and Goal sack of Jason Campbell - a game in which I was in attendance. Fact I Didn't Make Up: Dawkins is a huge fan of the Wolverine comics, often assuming the nickname "Weapon X." Fact I May Have Made Up: His facemask is made of adamantium.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Live! On Tape Delay!
As Oliver Stone could tell you, everybody likes a good conspiracy theory. There’s just something incredibly fun about finding the fatal flaw in the perfect heist of the imagination. Hell, just last week, Bill Simmons may have lowered the boom on the much-suspected NBA Draft Lottery of ’85, when the struggling big-market Knicks won the right to draft Patrick Ewing. It’s an investigative reporter’s dream shot. Nice work, Sports Guy.
Methinks there’s a flaw in your Idolatry.
Flipping back and forth with the remote last night, I watched the Phillies continue to roll over the hapless Nationals, and at the same time, the American Idol Gives Back special on Fox. Both had good causes in mind. The former further prevents Charlie Manuel from getting lynched in the town square (actually, no rope could hold Fatty McBotcherson.) The latter raised over $30 million for much-deserving charities both in Africa and in the United States. This money will go towards rebuilding the hurricane-raved areas of Louisiana, as well as buy medicine, clothing, and mosquito nets for the indigent of Africa. Oh, and there’ll probably be some money left over for wool –
To pull over the eyes of America.
Aside from AI not booting anyone to the curb this week, the FOX promos pushed its viewers to tune in, so that they may witness “the duet of a lifetime.” Fair enough. I’m 27 and with the exception of a Billy Joel-Elton John concert when I was 14, I can’t say I’ve really seen the duet of my lifetime. So in the second hour, Seacrest finally revealed that it would pair the most famous Canadian on the planet with the biggest Idol to ever hit pop music. (No, not Ruben Studdard.)
Elvis Presley.
I’m not here today to blow your doors off with the fact that Elvis Presley actually died in 1977. That is a well-known fact, and Fox would be crazy to try and make the world believe this. They acknowledged it, saying that Celine Dion “will travel back to the days of 1968” for this amazing duet. And there she was, “magically,” singing on the Idol stage with the King of Rock ‘n Roll, for all the world to see.
I’m not here to tell you they did a crappy job, either. The camera angles, moving and fading, made it appear that the hologram of Elvis Presley was true-to-life. This was far bigger than a blue screen endeavor. Celine played it up, too; looking over and watching the great one belt out a song he actually sand nearly 40 years ago. But the conspiracy doesn’t lie with whether or not FOX used an exhumed corpse or a hologram – they have readily acknowledged that. The conspiracy lies with something else.
The Magic of Television.
I have read the following press clipping in one that more place this morning:
Celine Dion made TV history in America last night when she performed live with Elvis Presley. Technology enabled the Canadian to appear to sing alongside Presley onstage at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood during the American Idol "Idol Gives Back" charity special. The late rocker appeared in hologram form for the breathtaking duet of "If I Can Dream" with Dion, leaving many audience members stunned and convinced they were seeing a ghost.Um. What?
I credit American Idol for running their show live week in and week out. The Celine-Elvis performance, however, WAS NOT LIVE. Working with a hologrammed performer brings up a host of potential glitches, and if one were to go wrong, i.e. the wrong camera angle at the wrong time, the technological breakthrough that was Cyber-Elvis would be a laughing stock. But man, it looked live, didn’t it? The Idol backup singers were in the weird white outfits they donned last night, and the stage looked identical to how it did last night.
Here’s the video (that is, until Fox yanks it from YouTube)
Like I said, everything gives the impression that it’s live, with one MAJOR EXCEPTION. Let’s focus on the Idol contestants, shall we? They rarely show them up close, but we can tell that from attire to hairstyle, it’s a perfect emulation. Blake, Chris, Phil, Lakisha, Melinda, and Jordan – all mirror images of how they looked last night.
“But Condon, maybe it WAS them last night – it was live, right?”
NO!
First, it happens at 2:11 in the video, when the Idols walk out from their seats. Pay attention to the first one out of the blocks. Then at 2:44, we pan across the Idols from right to left, there’s a tall and skinny guy out to the far left. Damn, he looks familiar. A freeze frame at 2:58 will allow you to count seven, not six Idols swaying the duet of a lifetime. And one more time, at 3:07, some gawky kid seems to be standing out in his white suit. And that gawky kid isn’t Seacrest.
It’s Sanjaya Malakar, who was kicked off last weekend.
This was taped more than a week ago, friends.
And for the audience members stunned and convinces they were seeing a ghost, we have some advice for you.
American Idol is not haunted. The NFL Draft, however...
Friday, March 23, 2007
WRs that Go Bump in the Night
This upcoming weekend is the NFL Draft. For 224 young men, their job applications will be accepted by the various employers of the National Football League. In my opinion, this is a WAY better way to search for a job. Much of the awkward interview small talk can be avoided, and all you need is a video resume of you making bone-crushing open field tackles on unsuspecting wideouts.
(If you work in Finance rather than Football, just substitute “bone-crushing open field tacklers” with “risk assessments” and “unsuspecting wideouts” with “potential capital acquisitions.” Dude, if you video yourself doing math, I’d hire you right now.)
Because it’s April and ESPN currently employs 85 football analysts year-round, the televised coverage of the draft has become an annual excuse for fans of the gridiron to crack open a beer and wear a hole in their respective couches for one full weekend. In order to match the coverage of a draft in which 40% of the names discussed won’t be in the league in two years, it seems that the online arm of ESPN, ESPN.com, is also up to the task.
Spooky.
Within their Insider section, both fans and Vinnie Cerrato can review all the latest scouting grades on hundreds and hundreds of players who are eligible to have their name called by a stranger in a few days. Let’s dig into the details, shall we? The consensus best prospect in the draft in Georgia Tech wide receiver Calvin Johnson. He’s not going to make it past the fourth pick, we’re projecting. Not in line to draft him? That’s ok, NFL GMs! ESPN.com has a whole list of wide receivers you can pick from!
Let’s start at the top. Aundrae Allen had a nice season at East Carolina, but you’re pretty sure East Carolina is a made up school. After all, you remember North and South on your ubercool bed sheets from when you were a kid, but not East. And then there’s a darkhorse pick from Albany State. His name?
Antonio Atkins.
What’s not to like about ANTONIO ATKINS? He may be a bit undersized (he’s as tall as Dave Reif), but so is Carolina Panthers star wideout Steve Smith. In his freshman year, he rished for 1,138 yards and scored 14 touchdowns. I’m no ESPN Insider, but I’ve done my homework – this kid has potential. Well, except for one small detail ESPN has neglected to mentioned.
He died in 2006.
Yes, Atkins broke into a house last April and was shot and killed by Albany police. He didn’t play football this past season, probably for this reason. But his stellar frosh effort has got him on the ESPN draft board. Amazing.
I’ve got 10 bucks that say he goes in the 7th round. And not to a famously incompetent draft team like Detroit or Minnesota. No, no. He’ll get drafted by one of the best football minds in the game – one who will see the upside of a player who is deceased. Belichick, Dungy, Reid – somebody with an outside-the-box mentality will proudly step to the podium in the 7th, and draft…
…The Ghost of Antonio Atkins.
There’s nothing like a haunted locker room to psyche out the other team. “My God, just look at them coming out of the tunnel – they’re so damn frightening.” Having a ghost player will reduce false starts and offsides calls, since no one can see if you’re over the line of scrimmage. Forget finding holes in the defense – you can rush right through ‘em. And we have unconfirmed reports that ghosts have the ability to fly. If you can teach Atkins to play defense, your opponent will never make another field goal or extra point again.
Programming note: In light of a potential apparition in the Players Union, whichever team the Ghost of Antonio Atkins ends up on will have a guaranteed home game on Halloween.
(Tip courtesy of Deadspin.)
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Strolling Out Some Advice
This is a blog for the single guys in the room. But first, a brief disclaimer.
(YAB Productions, and particularly its editor-in-chief, wish to present the following extremely informational and educational post about female attraction rituals to assist those in the loyal readership looking to attract Miss Right. YAB Productions, and most definitely its editor-in-chief, do not currently practice any of the following techniques or methodologies, for he has no use for them. But hey, he’s a guy with knowledge, knowledge that should be public domain for the bachelors in the crowd. To the editor-in-chief, “flirt” is merely a group of letters one needs to spell “THE FLYERS WIN!” Nothing more.)
Picture you’re a guy, and you’re in some public setting. There’s people going for walks, stopping in and out of the local stores and eateries, and the sun is shining. You’ve decided to dress your casual best, in hopes of catching the eye of that girl sitting there on the bench reading a classic novel. The following (in ascending order of effectiveness) are a list of things that you may want to consider having with you to catch her eye.
5. The very same classic novel. I’m sorry if she’s a Jane Austen fan.
4. Your dress uniform from that time you were in the military – Maverick had it all wrong. There’s no need to sing karaoke, just look the part.
3. Stacks of money hanging out the back pockets of your jeans.
2. A puppy. Holy hell, she may even buy you dinner if you opt for the retriever.
1. A baby. Let me elaborate.
On more than one occasion in the last week or so, Clara and I have made the trek across Fairfax Corner in the stroller (her, not me) to get Katie a coffee from Caribou. Getting out the door with baby-in-stroller isn’t that hard, since we still place the car seat in it, creating a carriage-type structure. That means that for the duration of the trip, the baby really has two choices.
1) Close eyes and go to sleep.
2) Stare at the sucker pushing the stroller.
Because of the canopy on the stroller and well, the very tiny proportions of the little one, no one outside a three foot radius can actually see that you are pushing a baby around the parking lot. It is only when a passerby on the same sidewalk pulls a whiplash with their neck that the infant verification process takes hold. And when they do (in a shopping center setting, “they” refer to “the ladies,”) hearts melt. Apparently, there’s something about a guy pushing a baby in a stroller that has the sentimentality of a Hallmark card to it. (Not the Shoebox ones, the unfunny ones that nobody buys.)
When I get into the coffee shop, the cashier can’t help but notice I’d decided to bring a four-wheeled child cart with me. They always say something about how cute she is and they ask how old she is. With this, I have two secret desires. First, in response to their question, I would love to deadpan, “My daughter there? Oh, she just turned 12.” That would be worth it solely for the reaction. Second, I feel like if I take the baby out and hold her up, that should entitle me to some sort of “supercute wingman coffee discount.” It’s not like I’m drinking the stuff, so I might as well have a financial cost savings motive for buying it, right?
The tricky thing comes post-purchase. Now that you have your coffee, it’s time to head home to deliver it. So that you don’t drop the cup, your velocity decreases exponentially. This allows you to pass couples enjoying their respective coffees with all the urgency of a parade float. If I had a dime for every time a girl has shot her guy a “We should totally have a baby!!!” look after we pass, well then, I wouldn’t have to consider using my baby as a caffeinated discount tool.
In closing, as a married man, I have no need to use the baby to meet women. But for those single guys out there, I totally recommend borrowing a baby for exactly this purpose. (Note: it would be a total bonus if the baby was named Jane Austen, had a Louis Vuitton diaper bag, was sharing her stroller with a retriever puppy and was singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
Godspeed.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Nomo Moto!
I remember the day well. It was September 27, 2006. I know this because it was the day that I attended a 14-inning marathon at RFK between the Fightin’ Phils and the Nationals. (Hang on – I probably blogged about it, lemme check. (sifts through YAB’s archival cyberclutter) Yep, here it is.) Now one of the reasons I was able to watch the last few innings mere rows behind Philly’s dugout on a $4 ticket was I wasn’t that far from there in the first place. Sure, I had bought a right field upper deck seat, but as Jon and Shay had vouchers for free best available seats, I ended up just claiming their adjacent vacancy. And pretended I was much smaller than 6’4” every time the usher came around.
But that’s beside the point.
September 27, 2006 also was the final death knell for a cell phone that had been often the topic of YAB hilarity for 15 long months. It had been welcomed to the fold with much fanfare and a very jealous girlfriend named Kyocera in June ’05. And then there was the time (in two parts!) when my phone decided in didn’t have the will to live and jumped from the third story of our apartment building into the gutter. And I warned you all that Moto had become a blind man about a month prior to this Phillies game in a post. And for the few weeks after that, we saw what might be a reprieve in the visual standing of this ailing telecommunications lackey.
If I had the persistence to sit there and flip the phone open ~30 times, I usually could get at least a slanted screen to check messages and such. But in the last week of the MLB season, even that finally quit on me. Why was this baseball game so relevant to the final rites of Moto? Had I had access to my text messaging, I could have let Mattias and his buddy know why I had yet to appear in the upper deck. (Even with a paltry crowd attendance of 21,809, it’s still damn hard to talk on a phone at a baseball game.) Oh well. He found us. Eventually.
I could have gone out that next day and purchased a replacement phone, perhaps the very same silver Motorola RAZR I bought just this past weekend. However, I would have had to buy it with ZERO discount, considering the two years of hell with my current phone still had 7 months on its lease of life. At the time, the full price cost of the RZAR was $239.99.
Saturday, I paid $49.99.
That’s a mighty difference of $190. As anyone who didn’t sleep their way through Microeconomics 101 (ok, that sounded horrible, but funny) can tell you, $190 is the opportunity cost of waiting out my phone for these past seven months. For each month that I did not cave and drive to the nearest Verizon Wireless store, that was another $27 bucks in my pocket. In fact, for every DAY since that baseball game that I didn’t throw my hands up in defeat, I made a little under a dollar in resolve. Is that a just price to pay for the added hardship of a blank-screen cell phone?
That’s loose change, people.It’s not like I was going without a cell phone – I was just without some of the luxuries many of us in the wireless age have come to afford. Like knowing who’s on the other end of the line when you flip that infernal phone open. This only burned me twice. A long-lost guy from growing up pinned me for 40 minutes just prior to my fantasy football draft, and of course, this exchange between yours truly and an unknown female friend sometime last fall:
Chris: Hello?
Julie Viehweg: Hey! I just wanted to call and let you know I’m one of your buildings right now.
Chris: (looks out apartment window, sees no one) Oh really? That’s great! Uhh…which building?
Julie: You’ll never guess!
Chris: I bet you’re right!
Julie: Your building in Anchorage!
(at this point, not only do I have no idea who I’m speaking with, I’m now trying to figure out when I acquired property in Alaska. And for that matter, who I know in Alaska.)
Chris: No way!
Julie: Yeah – I saw the big SAIC sign and figured it might be fun to give you a call.
Chris: I’m really glad you did.
Julie: Ok, well I have to run, I need to make it back to the tournament.(light bulb goes off)
Chris: Best of luck, Julie (??)
Julie: Thanks! Bye!
Whew. Close one.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Jar is Adoor. (Strike that. Reverse it.)
Living in an apartment complex that provides a sheltered parking garage is one of those things that make me cry a little less every time the rent is due. The ability to walk out to one’s vehicle and not have to use an umbrella or towel is a luxury that I hope to someday afford in a house of my own. Considering most trips out to the car include the carrying of a 12-pound person who is voluntarily postponing the choice to walk in favor of this paternal shuttle service, I have to be thankful that we’re not exposed to the elements.
Another parking garage perk? You get to know your neighbors vicariously through the cars and trucks they drive. Having lived now in 4 different complexes, I’ve yet to befriend a neighbor by knocking on their door and introducing myself. And to my own credit, none of them have done it to me, either. I’m not anti-social – I’m just anti-knock. But I know who my neighbors are – through their makes, models, colors, and choice of bumper stickers.
There’s the Subaru Outback that clearly voted for George Allen in his last senatorial election. There’s the red Sentra with the license plate, “HKRBNY,” which while probably very sentimental and heartfelt in its meaning, I can only translate to be the Hooker Bunny. Let’s not forget the Ford F-250 that extends far past the painted lines and into the center of the parking avenue – I sense sadness that this guy isn’t living on some ranch in Wyoming. Oh, and Katie’s best friend – the blue and black Mini Cooper – is the ultimate choice in adjacent parkers – you could swing your doors open with reckless abandon and not come anywhere close to a inter-car collision.
But what of the Audi?
One of the more curious of parkers is a sleek new black Audi rs6. I would think that someone who drives that type of ride could afford to own property and not have to rent like the rest of us, but I guess not. As we left the apartment to go to Mass Sunday afternoon, I pondered this – but for only a brief second. After all, something else caught my attention with the luxury car in the spot next to the door.
It was wide open for the taking.
The back left door was sitting wide open.
Now, I’d think nothing of this usually, and other than the fact there was no one around, I moved on in my thoughts. After all, I leave the door open between trips of bringing groceries all the time. (Unless, of course, I bought beer. With a county cop living on our floor, I don’t want to get busted for distribution to minors. The same logic goes for cookies as well.)
When we returned from Mass, the back left door? STILL WIDE OPEN. Now because Father Catechism (he who tries to cover the entire teachings of Christianity in every homily) rambled yet again, we were away from the apartment for about an hour-forty-five, including travel time. I could have sat down in the back seat of this guy’s car and watched Sleepless in Seattle on my laptop and been completely uninterrupted. (Yeah, there’s nothing strange about a 6’4” guy sitting in the back of an open car watching a heart-warming romantic comedy, right?)
We went inside, got the baby settled, and then 20 minutes later, I’m back out the door to pick up dinner for the evening. The Audi? Still as open as Smitty’s wallet at the Borgata. So I come up with the following scenarios as to why this door has tormented me for the last 2 and a half hours.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Hey! Who Painted in Here?
When 9/11 happened, I was a senior at the College of William and Mary. My daily job consisted of 1) going to class, 2) doing homework, and 3) making sure Nordberg didn’t spend his whole day phoning it in. It was a simple life, and the only person I had to answer to at the end of my day was myself. When that American tragedy, which will sadly help define my college years, occurred, we greeted a brief era of confusion. On the brink of stepping out into our future lives, something so inexplicable happened that no one knew quite how to act.
It’s been 5 and a half years since that harrowing month, and a lot has changed in my life. I’ve got a wonderful wife and a beautiful baby. I answer to them with every breath I have – Katie and Clara are the pride of my life. Holy hell, I’m employed, too! (That explains this tie I'm wearing, methinks.) There’s a company out there that has decided that they would like to compensate me for spending the greater part of my weekdays with them. With both my family and my job, I now have a lot of voices to answer to, and it is my goal every day to have those answers. The greatest sense of accomplishment comes with satisfaction of those who rely on me. Oh yeah, I have one more group of people to answer to.
The Loyal Readership is composed of family and friends who I have shared my life with, as well as complete strangers who Google search for things like “meat guy song i am” and “Webster, Webster and Cohen”. (Note: The Internet is filled with crazy people.) Since the beginning of YAB, the mission has been a simple one. BRING THE FUNNY.
And with the exception of the saptastic mushfest I wrote about W&M Orientation back in September ’04, we’ve done a pretty good job about that. Writing for YAB has kind of become a second job for me. I feel proud to get a daily post up and I’m hard on myself when I fail to do that. Sure, I could post 23 random links or pictures or news articles to make up the back dating, but I’m a tad on the prideful side and have already sworn to the Comedy Gods that I’d do it the noble way.
I’ve been wrestling with this all week. Through the first five posts, we’ve covered everything from work stuff to Christianity to the ensuing hilarity of my freshman roommate, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t jarred by the actions of one lonely college student and his final rampage. In fact, the only mention of Virginia Tech to date here on YAB, I’m sure, has been some routine comedic pot shots at a former co-worker of mine, who happens to be an alum. I’ve watched other comedy blogs this week try and do the same. Deadspin did it in a classy way, for example.
So rather than glossing over the issue, we’d like to be the Stewart, the Letterman, and the Michaels we so admired back in 2001. I’m just 5 years removed from the type of community the students of Virginia Tech are currently meandering through, and I have not the composure or imagination to even picture this happening to my hallowed halls of Williamsburg, Virginia. Unfortunately, neither did the Hokies. In tribute to those who live on with those feelings I had following September 11th, we’ve changed our colors here at YAB for the weekend. You know, just like Charlie Manuel. (However, we have no intention of completely mismanaging an extra inning game against the Nationals in their honor. That was all Chazz. Instead, we leave you for the weekend with the words of Ryan Miller and Guster.
(On Monday, hilarity will ensue once again.)
“Hang On”
Guster – Ganging Up on the Sun
Here we are outside a novel
Friday, March 16, 2007
Blinding You With Science
You're A Blog: Who likes grant money? Researchers do. And when we run out of relevant stuff to research, we get things like the 2006 General Social Survey. In it, the National Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago (NORCBERG, for short) lets us all know who's happy with their life's work. One of the more guilds of shiny happy people? Science Technicians. Before we insist that NORCBERG's pants are on fire, we though we'd sit down and interview David Reif, a science technician of sorts. Good afternoon, Dave.
David Reif: On this Earth Day, let us remember that "Good afternoon" is a relative greeting. It all depends on where you live. For instance, parts of California are covered in smog today, and nothing good ever happens in Ohio. For us here on the East Coast, though, good afternoon indeed.
YAB:Ah, that's an excellent point, Dave. Since you did mention the void of happiness in the Bubkeye State, I have a side question. Is it really an honor for rock and roll gods like Van Halen and REM to be inducted into a Hall of Fame located in Cleveland?
DR: Well, as [Drew et al. (1995-2004) "The Drew Carey Show"] point out, Cleveland does rock.
YAB: I appreciate the official-looking annotations. Such a bold choice in an informal interview lets our readers know that you are rather edumacated. Can you tell us a little bit about your post-William and Mary science schooling?
DR: After college, I moved to Nashville for the requisite graduate education, guitar lessons, and a wife. The education and wife were easy, but the guitar research continues. My Master's thesis in Inconsequential Statistics was "A Very Multi Modal form of Modern Major General Models", and my doctoral dissertation in Genetics was "I don't believe in DNA".
YAB: While we don't have, um, the "time" to read said papers, we are sure they are very engaging. So does this make you a Doctor?
DR: Depends on whether you are wearing any pants.
YAB: Good point. Doctorally accredited or not, is it safe to assume that your current line of work can be categorized as "science technology?" (Note: if you say "No," it will render this interview completely useless, and we'll have to talk about Jane Austen novels or why breakfast cereal is Communist. You better say "Yes," damn it.)
DR: Although I am working on Jane Austen's Glastnost Flakes, I will say "yes" because I am on the formula development side. The hardest part is figuring out what I'm gonna do with all those flakes, all those flakes inside that box. You see, it's the classic scientific "humps" dilemma. I'm just building on the work of Dr. A. Morrisette.
YAB: I thought I called for a No Canadian format to this interview. That makes everyone read more slowly. So let's get the to NORCBERG's findings. As a science technician, are you insanely happy with your choice of occupations, as per the findings?
DR: Yes, "insanity" is the most appropriate word choice. My insanity for science-job is all-consuming. Sometimes, my throbbing scientific insanity makes my hands jittery, and I spill science all over my computer. Then I have to command one of my many robots to clean up.
YAB: Wait a minute – you have robots working for you??? Are they happy as science technician's technicians?
DR: No. They have been programmed to absorb all my pain and anxiety. Still, after seeing William Smith's informative iRobot documentary, I always keep plenty of human-only weapons on hand.
YAB: William Smith also was part of a movie called “Pursuit of Happyness.” When it comes to the state of euphoric glee that you and your fellow science technicians share, do you spell happiness with and "i" or a "y"?
DR: Yes. (pauses) And we certainly would never have made Wild Wild West, either.
YAB: So what exactly are you trying to tell us – the key to happiness in the workplace is Will Smith movies? If so, I'm going to give you the following scenarios, and you tell me how you would handle at work. First, your secretary thinks she's Muhammad Ali. How do you greet her in the morning?
DR: I calm her by recounting the story all about how my life got flip turned upside down. If that doesn't work, I try to slap myself out of the delusion that I have a secretary.
YAB: Ah, slaphappiness is a higher level of happiness. Forget the other scenarios, you have achieved Work Satisfaction Nirvana. In closing, what's a scientist's favorite Nirvana song?
DR: Are You Jimmy Ray?
YAB: Who wants to know? I mean no, I'm sorry. The answer as "Lithium." Dr. Reif, thanks for playing and thanks for your time.
DR: You’re an element.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The Pilot Program
Coming this summer to a multi-national corporation near you: Chaos!
Our company is currently switching its entire financial mainframe software from one product to another product. They tell us it will allow our company to operate efficiently in a 21st century environment. Personally, I don’t see the need for change. After all, hasn’t 20th Century Fox been responsible for the X-Men series, the Ice Age flicks, Moulin Rouge, Walk the Line, and Devil Wears Prada in the last 7 years, all without an overdue name change?
(What’s that? Oh – Big Momma’s House, too? Ok, nevermind.)
The evolution of technology in business is something that is increasingly important with each new invention and idea that the science dorks come up with. If a CEO is unwilling to innovate and advance, his firm will be left in the dust. (However, if the firm has invented a way to convert dust into printed currency, then that changes the entire business model.) So I am passively for the upgrade to the new software. I figure the powers-that-be will make sure it caters to all the business processes we are currently carry out in the current system, and then we will all be happy people in the new world. However, the view from the flight deck doesn’t look quite that optimistic.
In a company as large as mine, you don’t just shut down one system and turn the other one with the flick of a switch. Without proper testing of the new system, this would be disastrous just about every time it occurs. Therefore, a pilot program is instituted. A pilot program is a program by which a smaller cross-section of a company engages in the new practice. Their success or failure with the new system will allow the installers to have valuable input prior to the full roll-out.
It’s like a pre-planned trainwreck. (Sorry, Sara.)
My department is part of this pilot program. And judging from the meetings we’ve sat through, the new system is anything but ready to implement. Come the pilot program kickoff date of July 1st, things look to be…well…catastrophic.
Thank God this doesn’t involve actual pilots. On second thought…
PILOT: Alright Control, this is the pilot speaking. I wanted to go over some of the features of this new plane before we try and land this thing in Chicago in a half-hour. Would you care to review the diagnostics with me.
CONTROL: Roger.
PILOT: Ok, the first thing that has me a little spooked is this light here that says, “Landing Gear Missing.” Can you confirm that this is a faulty light, and I in fact, have operable landing gear?
CONTROL: That’s a negative. No operable landing gear found.
PILOT: WHAT? The plane I used to fly had landing gear, why doesn’t this one? After all, it’s clearly something that I need on a daily basis. Where is it?
CONTROL: It’s not ready.
PILOT: GUH. Ok, then, we certainly must have some other functionalities that will allow me to safely land this plane. New planes should be more advanced like that. (deep breath) Control, what futuristic modules do I have to land this craft?
CONTROL: Do you see that green lever?
PILOT: Yes, I do. Will that help me land?
CONTROL: Negative.
PILOT: Then why did you point it out? (pulls lever, two pieces of hot toast eject from the dashboard) We have a lever to make toast?? Why?
CONTROL: Pilots sometimes are hungry.
PILOT: AND SOMETIMES PILOTS DIE FROM NO LANDING GEAR.
CONTROL: Negative. Fatality rates are still in beta testing.
PILOT: Ok, calm down Jenkins, you can do this. Control, surely there must be a contingency protocol I can adhere to, correct?
CONTROL: Affirmative.
PILOT: Please relay the contingency protocol.
CONTROL: You see that easel near the jump seat?
PILOT: I do.
CONTROL: It’s a drawing board. Go back there.
PILOT: Sigh.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Consumer Retorts
I can’t say I’m exactly a power consumer of frozen meals. I know people who swear by them, though. It’s the delicious combination of mini-servings from the major food groups, combined and then cryogenically ice-blasted for your mid-day consumption that Lean Cuisine makes a killing on. Hey, it kills some time at the microwave which you se spent banging your head against thy desk. Sounds win-win to me.
But this is too much.
Look, I’m all for the creation of central information for fans of a common interest. Take Lostpedia, for example. Millions of Losties around the globe have created a compendium of all the Island’s mysteries and facts, so that an obscure reference from tonight’s ep is just a few clicks away. Lostpedia makes sense.
Frozen Meal Central does not.
In a glorious return to break room signage, and perhaps founded by a certain crazy person, there’s a new refrigerator posting that needless to say, has caught my eye. It’s a spreadsheet – finance types are drawn to them like moths to flames – and upon further inspection, it’s got a noble cause. A noble cause that we will now make fun of endlessly.
Hey, that’s how we roll at YAB.
The average frozen Lean Cuisine runs about 3.99/per lunch. That’s A) cheaper than going to McDonalds, but B) more expensive than starving. However, with so many options and so many entrees out there, how is a frozen meal rookie to know which one is a diamond in the icy rough and which one will make you long to have chosen the aforementioned choice B)? If there was only a consortium that would report on individual meal’s quality for all to read, so that we as a nation could stop buying the abysmal Stouffer’s “teriyaki pork with rice” because it “tastes like shoes,” we could all be happier employees. And thus, a spreadsheet was born.
The spreadsheet asks the question (in bold caps and center-justified), “Have You Ever Had a Horrible Frozen Meal for Lunch?” While you pause in front of the fridge to ponder, the sheet hits you with an order. “Please rate the meals you eat to improve everybody’s lunch experiences!” After that it’s an empty form of 15 or so rows, with room for the brand and meal name and ten individual ratings from ten individual reviewers.
(For the record, Olympic figure skating employs only 6 judges. Which means this is WAY more important.)
But how will we rate the meals, oh Spreadsheet of Truth? We demand an objective scale by which to assess the gourment quality of these frozen peas and cauliflower!!! Oh, what’s that at the bottom? “Please rate your meal for taste on a scale from 1-10. 10 being the best meal you’ve ever had.”
If the best meal I ever eat comes in a small rectangular box and requires 2 and a half minutes in the microwave, I’ve completely wasted God’s gift of the sense of taste.
Ok, that’s the whole spreadsheet from top to bottom. Feel free to make your own to put up in your common kitchen spaces. In the meantime, I’ll contemplate how to contribute in my own little way. Here are some of my options.
1 – Skew the tallies. Once this gets rolling, who’s to police whether or not I serve as Judge #3. Oh, the possiblities. Negative numbers, fractions, and letter grades come to mind. Something tells me the origin of this spreadsheet doesn’t work in finance, but someone who works in finance may sure as hell end it.
2 – Invent frozen meals. Not ridiculous things – actual cuisine that could pass in your grocer’s freezer. How does Spring Breeze Chicken sound? Sounds real enough to me. When I give it three straight tens and one 9 (all in different ink color for cloaking purposes), I’ll have the pirates scouring their local Safeway for hours.
3 – Create a rival spreadsheet – I’m a firm believer that competition will make anyone play better. So when I put up a spreadsheet asking people for their take on their favorite office kitchen signage, we’ll see just how mighty Frozen Meal Central. (My guess? Somewhere behind “Please refill the empty coffee” and just before “U.S. Department of Labor Health Statistics.”
4 – Put an actual shoe in the freezer.
(NOTE: I borrowed the still-blank spreadsheet for the writing of this post. It’s been up since Monday and there’s not a trace of ink on it. In the 20 minutes I’ve had it at my desk, a replacement has been drafted and hung. I’m speechless.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Don't Mess With Taxes
Talk about holding a grudge.
Throughout the New Testament of the Bible, it’s frequently mentioned that one of the main groups Jesus returns to Earth to combat are tax collectors. Along with prostitutes, Pharisees and Atlanta Braves fans, the tax collectors are often called out by the Gospel writers as the living embodiment of greed, evil, and non-negotiable deduction policy. Can’t say I blame them, honestly. Who likes paying taxes?
It has long been theorized that God used the parables and unfavorable caricatures of tax collector because of what they did to cheat honest, hard-working people. It wasn’t that God was anti-tax; look, when His Son was walking from town to town, I’m sure He was glad that there was public Kingdom funding that created an inter-village highway system. Without it, it’s just a dozen or so be-sandaled guys wandering aimlessly through the Desert.
(The GPS of the time, the North Star, was a little hard to see during the day.)
Yes, in Jesus’ teaching, the tax collector was often the villain because of his deceitful ways. But there are cracks in this theory. After all, the Son of God accepted Matthew, a tax collector, into his posse. If God hated the tax collector so much, this would have never happened. It’s like inviting a bunch of your friends to go to a very genre-specific outdoor concert, and making sure you convince your one country-music hating friend to come along for the hell of it. In addition, we know that Jesus didn’t hate the tax collector because of His agreeing to eat dinner in the house of Zacchaeus, the Michael Jordan of all Biblical tax collectors. Surely, if it was tax collectors he hated, there’s no way Jesus stiffs his followers for a fine meal with Public Enemy Number One.
(That is, unless Mrs. Zacchaeus makes a mean pot roast.)
What does this all mean? It’s simple, really. God doesn’t hate the Taxman.
He just hates Taxes.
I have no idea what the Big Guy’s Master Plan for the funding of Civil Service and Community Spending, but taxes are NOT the answer. Aside from making sure His selected biographers wrote scathing depictions of those who collected 38% of your weekly wage for a living, it wasn’t personal. It’s the taxes that He’s disagreed with all these years. How do we know this?
On Monday, the Internal Revenue Service declared that all Americans affected by the recent Nor’easter storm that ran up the East Coast would be granted a two-day extension to pay their taxes on time. Because many people were stranded at airports – far, far away from their shoeboxes of receipts – the IRS decided to come to the rescue. They’ve granted 48 additional hours of calculations and withholdings for the down-on-their-luck Americans who still want to pay lots and lots of money to fund that stupid federal appropriation for everyone to wear name tags. That’s right, a storm almost prevented you from having to pay taxes. Weather! Natural Disaster occurrences!
God was trying to give you a free pass.
Why? Because He hates Taxes. It’s not like this is the first time the Almighty has used his meteorological know-how to make his point. What’s that? Wickedness of humankind got the Ruler of Creation down? Whatever. I’ll just unleash this 40 DAY FLOOD. That’ll do the trick.
Thanks for the rowboat, IRS. We are forever indebted to you for your bravery to allow me to do something I don’t want to do, and defy God in the process. In the process, you’ve probably incurred God’s wrath. Just wait until he steals the Sun from you during audits. Where are your precious solar-powered calculators now???
Note: If this were me, I would have just postponed Tax Day and scheduled a day-night doubleheader next April.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Best Company Ever, Chapter 10
Has it really been a year?
The last time we wrote a Best Company Ever column was dated 3/20/06 (which means it was actually written right about a year ago – we shun calendars in the YAB Office.) Some might infer that our void of business forethought has aligned itself with the fact that I’m no longer spending three nights a week in business school. Others might assume that it’s a recurring feature that had been long forgotten, much like the Superhero series of 2004-2005. The real reason? The Best Company Ever has had to endure some fierce industry competition from archrivals Really Good Company and Occasionally Stellar Corp. We saw those market challenges coming, and felt it was best to hold the cards close to the vest for awhile.
But now we come back to the public fold after a long year of silence. If there was only a way to catch you as to our financial performance, key products and services, and long-term strategic decisions, we’d be sure to give it to you. A lot can happen over the course of a year in a company, especially one whose operation is so full of awesomenesss, and we just want to share our successes with you, our consumer, stockholder, and friend.
Hold on – phone’s ringing…
Hello?...Oh, really? It’s done? …
Well, that changes everything …
no, you don’t get a raise.
Thanks. Like I was saying, we DO have a method to impart all that stuff we said earlier.
It’s the BCE Annual Report.
An annual report is designed to distribute value information concerning a firm’s current standing in the marketplace. Annual reports are often sent out to stockholders, and stockholders then use them to 1) prop up wobbly table legs and 2) collect dust. Why? Because they’re boring, that’s why. It’s 30 pages of public relations fluff followed by very tiny numbers that don’t do a whole lot to shed light on the firm’s core competencies. There are probably some pictures of the demographically-diverse workforce doing their jobs in cutting edge office facilities, and if you’re lucky, maybe even an official statement of financial audit compliance. Man, what a page turner.
Yawn.
Here’s why the Best Company Ever Annual Report will have you turning its pages so fast you’ll need to ice your fingers. First off, our Annual Report is SHINY. Very shiny. In our experience, the easiest way to be distracted while reading is with the passing of a shiny object within your peripheral vision. Whether it be the reflection of a window on a passing bus or the glint from the sun bouncing off your watch face, you have no choice but to be pulled from whatever it is your trying to read. However, if we make the entire annual report shiny, well then, you have no choice but to read the thing cover-to-cover. We expect to make print the page numbers in aluminum and emboss all chapter headings using that marker you used to sign yearbooks with.
Our Message from the CEO – nay, make than CAO – will also be quite the attention grabber. Rather than a carefully-worded, succinct, three-paragraph note of blind optimism coupled with a 12-year old picture of the firm’s Number 1, we’re going all out – with a hologram. You want commerce to come to life? How about a 10-inch representation of me coming right off the page, R2-D2 style? And what the hell- I’ll deliver my address with a British accent. That always makes things sound more impressive.
Thanks to a technology that the BCE has developed, we will also embed YouTube videos within the pages of the performance review section. That’s right. You press your finger on the page number, and the video box in the middle of the page shows you something awesome, that we will take complete credit for. Like this.
When it comes to the numbers, we understand that you probably don’t remember a whole lot from that 8 AM accounting course you took in college. There’s a lot of numbers on that balance sheet and income statement, and we don’t expect you to understand what’s good and what’s bad. Therefore, each number will be printed in a specialty ink that corresponds to how good or bad the number is. Annual gross income of eleventy billion dollars? That’ll be bright green. The 275k write-off for the failed Monkey Xbox Initiative? A deep red. That will make everything 1) clearer and 2) prettier.
Oh, and that $2.5 million dollar figure at the bottom listed as “Cost of Annual Report?”
A well-deserved bright green.
Friday, March 09, 2007
He Got Game
As I may have mentioned earlier this week, we spent the Easter weekend up at my parents’ house in Medford. Going back there always gives me a chance to reflect on the memories I have of my childhood. Well that, or some decent material I can use to mock it. Here we go again.
I don’t what it is that compelled me to help reorganize the game room on Saturday morning. (Although, it’s my best guess that the TV was controlled by the women of the household, and TLC would rule the day.) For those who haven’t been to the house, we have a room that connects the garage to the rest of the house that used to be the frequent locale of time wasting during my youth. Aside from being Old School Nintendo HQ, we kept the ping pong table and dart board in there, as well as two full shelves of board games. Hence the name “game room.” (It should be noted it has been often referred to as its alternate name “play room,” but for the life of me I cannot recall ever staging a production of Julius Caesar in that room.)
In reorganizing the board games, I had the following set of thoughts. I thought that now I’m some 15 years removed from playing most of them, it’s time to look back and see just what warped version of competition I was spending my time engaged in…
Retrospective Board Game Epiphany #1: Not all games are designed fair. Even before we get to board games, there are two games that I played as a kid that require ZERO skill, strategy, luck, tactic, or knowledge. The first is Tic-Tac-Toe. If you go second in Tic-Tac-Toe, and therefore are playing with Team O, you will end up with a maximum of four squares in a 3 x 3 grid carrying your circular team banner. And the goal is to line up three of your mark in a row. Therefore, 75% of your O’s need to line up to win. That’s freaking impossible, considering you don’t get to go first. Why have we played this game for generations and generations? Why didn’t better simple games come and wipe this sham off the map? With all respect to Peter Angelos, let’s face it. The O’s suck. Connect Four took the idea and made it way better. And what about the card game War? I used to play this for hours, trying to take the rest of the deck from my sister. Now what skill was I applying to my victories? Let’s see. There was the ever-important “not dropping my cards on the floor” and the also-needed “being timely about picking up cards I’ve won.” After that, it’s pure luck. Pure luck of the cards you were dealt forty minutes ago. And yet, we used the name “War” for this mind numbing game. Couldn’t we have saved that name for a card game that involved winging cards at each other’s head? Now that, my friends, would require some real skill.
Retrospective Board Game Epiphany #2: Not all board games are good board games. My parents liked to get us board games for holidays, and with good reason – we played a ton of them growing up. Dice, chance cards, fake money – no matter what, it held our attention – almost. At some point you had to figure that we would receive a game that was a dud. After all, if my parents were 100% successful at picking good board games, they could leave their jobs and take over product development over at Parker Brothers. So looking back, we can afford a flop here or there. That flop?
The Game of the States
You could tell how much we played these games as kids by looking at how much duct tape has been applied to keep their boxes in tact. Games like Clue and Monopoly and Scattergories are almost entirely metallic silver by now. The Game of the States would earn a mint condition rating on eBay. This game should have been right up my dorky little alley. It involved money, geography, and dice-rolling. And yet, it just never held my attention. I guess if it had, I wouldn’t be a financial analyst. I’d be a commercial truck driver.
Retrospective Board Game Epiphany #3: My sister had no chance. Yep, looking back at the configurations and old score cards on these games, one thing became quite clear. I often used my 3 years of extra existence to my advantage. Example #1: The game was Guess Who? At some point, I alphabetized the game boards, so that they were identical. I also would make it clear that I was knocking down the picture of the guy I had, and she would do the same to keep up. And thereby reveal exactly who she had. Example #2: Battleship. I used to keep my fleet adjacent (I’m a Jasen!) to one another so that even if she found five consecutive hits, that wouldn’t necessarily sink a ship. Drove her crazy.
Retrospective Board Game Epiphany #4: It promotes the legalization of gambling. You want proof? This is taken from the rules of “The Game of Life:” If a player felt like he was trailing severely at the point he retired, he could make one final gamble in an attempt to become the "Millionaire Tycoon". He selected one number on the number strip, and placed his car here. He spun the wheel; if the number was anything but the one he selected, he was banished to the "Bankrupt" space and lost the game. If, however, he landed on the number he previously chose, he became the Millionaire Tycoon and automatically won the game.
Let that be a lesson, kids. You can work hard all your life and be happy, but a slacker with a lotto ticket may be the one waving to you from his yacht.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
The Night in Review
This is a list of things that happened last night… This is a list of things that did not happen last night.
Sometimes the volume of 9 words can drown out the volume of 600.