Every Heath You Take

I have a common first name. Many other people have include one of by best friends from each of the Shawnee Group and Monrovia circles of friends. This is in no way an admission that I would like a different first name. Alliteration rules, and I’m a big fan of having more syllables in the first name than the last name. Sorry, Tim Biakabutuka.

But if I had to change my name, why not Heath?

I wouldn’t change my name to Heath because it sounds cool. It would be all for the glory. The glory of potentially being one of the “Top Three Most Famous People Named Heath Ever.” Ah, gotta love the old TTMFPNHE rankings…

The way I see it, the gold and silver are pretty locked up for the time being.

The gold goes to actor Heath Ledger. The 26-year old Australian thespian has been in the business since 13, but broke through in the surprisingly decent teen flick, 10 Things I Hate About You. He followed up with period pieces The Patriot and Mattias Caro’s favorite movie of all-time, A Knight’s Tale. Supported Monster’s Ball, led the Four Feathers, and did a few more roles to show of his accent. But getting an Academy Award nomination for Brokeback Mountain established him as the new King of Heaths. And he can be considered the Normal Guy who fathered the chicld of a Dawson’s Creek gal. Just look who he had to compete with for that one…

Settling for a long servitude in second place was the previous favorite Heath – the Heath Bar. Yes, that toffee candy has taken the silver do to a complete lack of competition. The Heath Bar has put together a pretty nice resume. To its name, it has a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor, a rival in the Skor bar, gone on record as the preferred candy bar of Elvis Presley, not to mention my wife. I mean, we should have seen this coming – it’s the only candy bar I can think of that actually has the word “eat” in its name.

I currently award the bronze medal to Zimbabwean cricketer Heath Streak. If for no other reason but to see the words “Zimbabwean cricketer” typed out on the screen. High Comedy.

Oh yeah, one other reason – to stick it to Heath Shuler.Heath Shuler is doing his best to rank on the TTMFPHNE, but I contend that he is more infamous than famous. A University of Tennessee QB from 90-93, he become the Washington Redskins’ biggest first-round draft flop in history. After five seasons, three with Washington and two more with the Saints and Raiders, Shuler retired to North Carolina to become active in politics, seeking a seat in Congress. Largely, unsuccessful before…

Heath is that much closer to coming back to Washington.

Redskins fans at www.stopshuler.com realize how bad this would be for a team that has seemed to turn the corner. Just his mere presence might send diehard fans into a worried frenzy, slamming their heads into concrete walls, a la Gus Frerotte. Now surely, a Congressional seat may merit Shuler that coveted third place on the Heathlist. Say it ain’t so.

No disrespect to the Zimbabwean cricketer, but wouldn’t I make an excellent 3rd place Heath?

Screw Going to Disney World.

When the topic river runs dry, it’s much easier to skip two consecutive days of blogging in the name of finishing grad school. However, when you don’t have the time to blog, that’s when all the good, flesh-out comedic ideas start flowing. And as much as you’d really like to stop doing break-even analyses and Lexis-Nexis fact trolling* to please the public, you resort to writing down funny ideas on a Post-it. And hoping you remember to bring it to work to start hammering away at the backlog to end of backlogs.

Let’s get it started, shall we?

Today’s first post comes courtesy of my father. Upon speaking with him not twenty minutes ago, I confirmed the fact that I have officially finished all my graded requirements of this semester, and barring a grading meltdown in which one of my professors starts assigning random keyboard symbols for grades, I shall graduate, for I am done with my MBA. (To be honest, I would find it hilarious if I got a &- on my business plan. Though I really deserved an @.) Yep, all 20 courses are in the books. And the books are in a box. And the box is in a closet. And the closet has been closed. Forever.

Or until we have to move at the end of June.

Now I talk to the talented “Mr. C” once a day, except when he phones it in and goes golfing “on business.” (Nordberg just fainted at such a thought.) He hears in my voice when I’m tired of grad school, and has a pretty good grip on how much work it took in less than 2 years. No doubt, the completion of my final paper yesterday came as welcome news to the Condon the Elder. He wanted nothing more to offer a few words of congratulatory encouragement to mark such an occasion. After carefully deciding on what phrase to proclaim on this momentous occasion, he paused, thought, and offered,

"Have a donut!"

(At this point, I’m almost sure this guy should be Nordberg’s father.) But then I thought a bit more as to what a custom this would be, if any moment of victory, joy, and accomplishment were marked with the consumption of a solitary glorious breakfast pastry such as the donut. Would that be so bad? Take the world of athletics, for example. Championship-winning athletes have spent months of training and competing where their bodies in the best shape possible. (Unless you’re name is Daly, John.) Don’t you think that after winning the big games they’d want nothing more than to chomp into a nice Boston crème? (Especially with the recent rash of Massachusetts-based winners?)

What about Nobel Prize winners? You know what they get for their life’s work? A trip to Norway to pick up a lousy medal and 1.3 million dollars. Well, that’s about how much a trip to Norway costs, and you’ve got overdue books at the research library, no doubt, so kiss the money goodbye. And last time I checked, the Norse people don’t have a breakfast delicacy to call their own – so why not a donut? The English? Muffins. The Belgians? Waffles. The French? Toast. The Swiss? Rolls. The Turkish? Delight. The Russians? Vodka Crullers. The Danish? Eh, Danish. What you got, Norway? Viking Pies?

Thanks, Dad. I’ll have that donut.

*- Fact trolling in Lexis Nexis, or any other academic journal database for that matter, does not harm trolls in any way. YAB is not pro-troll, but we can’t harm them in the name of some stupid paper on defense transformation, can we? Plus, trolls haven’t done anything to make this paper more difficult to write, and since gnomes are the beloved people of the short-person world (i.e. Tomsland), haven’t they suffered enough.**

**- How did I just turn into a troll apologist? I’m getting soft in my old age.

From a Parallel Dimension

For those who learn to drive in the city, the concept of parallel parking comes as second nature as making a pretzel and hot dog from the corner street vendor your dinner. If you would like to have a vehicle as well as call a urbanized metropolis home, and you’re totally not cool with spending $160 per month to park the car in a garage, parallel parking is the only option. As one of those skills where repetition and practice makes perfect, the more you do it, the better you become.

Another parallel parking haven is the Jersey shore. Because of the lack of driveways in most shoretown hot spots, if you want to get some rays on the beach, you, too will have to become wise in the ways of jamming a vehicle between a Hummer and a hard place. Needless to say as a Jersey native, I can boast a sense of pride in my parallel parking abilities. The Jersey shore is the whammy wild card equalizer in this scenario. It gives suburban white kids from Jersey street cred compared to the city guys, since they can ace parking on said street. That’s right – I’m representin’ the OC.

(The town, not the crappy show. The only thing on Fox I watch is House– that dude is HARSH!)

So you’ve got cityfolk and shorefolk who have got the parallel parking thing down. Unfortunately, very few of said folk are students at George Washington University, located in the heart of Washington, DC. As a nightly commuter into the city, I wish I could say the parking on campus was “ample.” I also wish I could say that these college kids had parallel parking skills that were “not laughable.”

So bad…

Now, earlier I proclaimed perfect parallel parking requires practice (and perhaps a peck of pickled peppers, but I digress.) My first official time occurred at my driver’s test in the far off land of Winslow, New Jersey some 8+ years ago. Now, I’ll admit, I had an unfair advantage, as I tested in the old white Volvo tank that was my first car. That thing was technologically superior to all other vehicles at the time (well, at least the ones with door handles that didn’t break off in your hand.) It could turn on a dime, pick it up, and then cash it in for two quarters and a nickel. Yeah, Swedes know how to manage their money.

Just look at Nordberg.

Anyways, having the easiest parallel car of life as a training vehicle paved my way towards smooth parking long ago. The state of parallel parking today is a travesty. Cars too far from the curb, too close, slanted in, slanted out, on the bumper of the cars nearby – it’s just a mess.

But nothing compares to what I witnessed downtown on my way to class yesterday.

A woman in her thirties, clearly in a hurry, clearly had no patience for traffic. I first heard her when she was about four cars up on my right. She laid into her horn like a tugboat in a thick fog. She had her ire set on the car in front of her, using each staccato blast of her horn as a warning that she’s going to flip out at any second. The light has been green for the last fifteen seconds, and the cars in the two lanes to her left were moving by without any hindrance. To be honest, I think I’d be pretty pissed too, if I were in her position, going nowhere in the far right lane.

That is, if I wasn’t waiting for a parked car to move.

Bring the Tip. Leave a Funny.

The art of tipping is one of those issues out there in the world that everyone has an opinion on. It’s like economics, religions, politics, and geometry. I’ve never worked a job in which I might receive a tip (passer-bys don’t show you love for painting warehouses as a teen), so I hope that some of you with ‘tipped’ experience will chime in on this very important issue. Just imagine if you needed to tip your blogger. Comments that are 15-20% the length of the post?

You would all hate me on days I do running diaries.

Like I said above, tipping is an art, insomuch as it cannot and is not a science. Despite that cool feature on your cell phone or reference card in your wallet, there’s no exact way to know exactly how much to tip. Most people have adopted percentage ranges that they aim for, using a sliding scale on the quality of service received. That’s the art in it. The tipping method of compensation continues to thrive because it adds a performance-based measure to how much the employee brings home at the end of the day. Waiters, barbers, luggage handlers, delivery dudes, movers, cabbies, and many others use this as motivation.

Clearly, we need to apply the tip system to filmmakers. RV? Really, guys? That’s the best you could do?

Anyways, today’s blog is not to discuss who deserves a tip, or how much each of our readers drop on the table on their way out, but rather with a specific case study that I was part of yesterday. All suggestion and comments are more than welcome.

Yesterday afternoon, I met jolly old Slacker Claus himself, Chris Nordberg, for lunch just north of Richmond. Katie accompanied me down I-95, as we decided this was the best way to transfer camping equipment to his car for a post-graduate trip later this May. (The airlines frown on carrying tanks of propane and metal tent spikes in your carry-on, you see.) Arriving in Ashland, we hit up the local Chili’s for a nice relaxing lunch (and welcome break from final projects). Herein lies the question…

What do you tip when your waitress just frightens the hell out of you?

Our waitress was a nice woman, probably late twenties, with a hint of a southern accent, and a name that for the life of me, I can’t remember. Ok, then. We’ll call her Crazelda. (Plus, this is a helpful blogger’s trick if one of your subjects decides to get their ‘Google’ on.) So Crazelda had enough enthusiasm to blow up the balloons in the Macy’s Parade. Katie had the convenient detour to the ladies’ room upon on arrival that allowed her to avoid the following introduction.

“Hi there! Welcome to Chili’s!!! Can I start you off with something to drink? Do you like strawberry lemonade? On a hot day, that stuff is just to die for! It’s really sweet, but not too sweet, you know? Now we serve Pepsi products, if that’s alight! (Nordberg orders Mt.Dew here) Ok, that’s a great choice on your part! And you sir? (I order root beer) That’s wonderful news! You know I was just thinking the other day that the kids these days just don’t love root beer anymore. I don’t know why that is. That’s super exciting!

What just happened here?

Needless to say, this level of service was maintained completely throughout the meal. At one point, Crazelda rushed to her table to say, “Suffrin’ succotash, aren’t ya?” The problem was that this was clearly a question. And none of us quite knew how to respond.

So bring the art of tipping back into this – how would you handle such a situation?

Big Top Travel

“I fell to the ground and heard a voice say to me, 'Saul! Saul! Why do you persecute me?” – Acts, Ch. 22:7

Ok, maybe it’s not persecution, but it’s at least general annoyance. A few weeks ago, I was exploring possible destinations for Katie and me as a post-grad school vacation. The options were numerous, and even though I still have much to do the semester, I used valuable writing time to leave no stone unturned for our future excursion. And having heard a co-worker’s story of their recent Caribbean cruise, I figured I might as well explore the possibility of stretching my sea legs rather than jamming them into my ribcage on a Boeing 757.

I’ve done the cruise thing before, and it was a pleasurable experience. Over spring break senior year, I joined 9 Monrovians on a jaunt through Key West, Cozumel, and enough free bread at dinner to create our own raft. Therefore, I threw “taking a cruise” onto the list of destinations. I even surfed the Carnival Cruise Lines webpage for possible itineraries, boat information, and date options. It seemed like a worthy choice, but I wasn’t ready to book on the spot, so I filled out a contact information form, and went on my way – back to monitoring my fantasy baseball pitchers.

This is where we meet Saul.

Saul Hernandez is a travel representative for Carnival Cruise Lines. His job is to make money for Carnival Cruise Lines by convincing those who left the webpage without booking a trip into coming back and charging their credit cards on that initial instinct. Carnival Cruise Lines has assigned Saul to be my personal travel representative. Saul makes sure that I haven’t forgotten about the Carnival. In other words –

I’m being stalked by a Carny.

In the wide world of amusement parks, the term “carny” is used to depict those who work under the big top. It’s not a favorable term, but then again, neither are their sales methods. Somehow, if you by chance end up at a carnival, you’ll end up dropping way more money that you planned to, and a carny’s goading is often the source of such financial fallout. And whether you’re a carny for Big Top Carnival or Carnival Cruise Lines, you’re probably annoying as all hell.

Let’s take two examples of carnies to make our point. First you have Josephus, the sketchy guy who tends the “Drill a milk bottle pyramid with a Softball” racket at the fair. Second you have Saul Hernandez, Chris Condon’s personal travel representative.

Josephus waives an overstuffed cute panda bear in your face, insisting that he can be yours if you can knock down the bottles with this here softball. Saul sends you an e-mail about a 1-Day ONLY Super Cruise Savers that can be yours if you book in the next 12 minutes.

After missing the milk bottles on a fluke toss, Josephus tells you that you can have two more throws for only 1 dollar – half price! Saul sends you another email the next day – and it strangely mirrors the 1-Day ONLY deal from the prior day.Seeing that you feel sheepish for missing the milk bottles (made out of concrete, you’re convinced), Josephus allows you three more throws for 2 bucks, AND you get to lean over the counter. Saul ramps up efforts by calling you on your cell phone, leaving messages since you don’t answer your phone during class.

40 bucks later, Josephus has sold you a 3 dollar panda bear, which will tear on the exit gate on your way to the car. 6 e-mails, 5 missed phone calls, and 3 voice mails later, you expose Saul Hernandez from Carnival Cruise Lines for the annoying sneak that he is.

A Carny.