Show Me the Kenny!

This is called getting blindsided by pop culture, folks.

The main facts of the story, at this point, seem to pretty widespread. On the island of St. Johns this past weekend, a private ceremony joined Oscar winning actress Renee Zellweger and country music singer Kenny Chesney in holy matrimony. They met during a Tsunami relief mission earlier in the year, and have been quietly dating ever since. She's the actress you've seen in Cold Mountain, Chicago, Bridget Jones' Diary, and Empire Records. He's the the beach bum Tennessee crooner who for inexplicable reasons, is friends with Uncle Kracker. While YABNews is unable to confirm Kracker's attendance at the wedding, what we can confirm is that Renee firmly thinks that tractors are in fact sexy.

Which reminds me - what good is a entertainment news desk if they are unable to keep tabs on celebrities as famous as Uncle Kracker? I mean, WOW, Uncle Kracker! YABNews should have a camera on this guy 24/7. You never know when he may do something famous, like ride some coattails or remake an unremakeable song (Drift Away, really?). Well, even if we aren't fans, I'm sure his many nieces and nephews are. Cute little Ritz Bitz.

Well, at least we did some of our homework. What seems so shocking to the world is that very few people knew about this relationship, short of Renee showing up on stage at a recent concert in Jacksonville. How did these two lovebirds become so close, so fast, people are asking. He’s on tour, she’s been wrapping post-production on The Cinderella Man. How could they possibly have spent that much time together?Turns out Kenny has been admiring her from afar for years. He had a 1999 single titled “You Had Me at Hello,” which, shocker, was inspired by Miss Zellweger herself. So maybe he saw the Cameron Crowe flick Jerry Maguire on the tour bus one day. Or maybe YABNews better get back from lunch break and do a little investigative reporting…

Turns out a certain country music took part in a certain screen test, but ultimately lost the part to a certain Thomas Cruise when he and a certain actress took some liberties with Crowe’s screenplay…certainly.

Here’s an excerpt we dug up…apparently it was love at first script.

Dorothy looks through the rubber flaps of the luggage conveyor belt. She clutches a cup of coffee. In the background, other SMI agents' grab their bags and exit.

DOROTHY: Ray! Ray! Maguire enters picture, joining her as she looks into the dark depths behind the flaps.
JERRY: Can I help?
DOROTHY: Oh. Hi. I work in your office. I was on the junket to the conference. I'm --
JERRY: I know who you are. You're Renee Zellweger. You're in... wait... you're in The Bachelor, the worst romantic comedy ever filmed. You had the middle trailer next to that ponce Chris O’Donnell.
DOROTHY: Hmm. Pretty good. And you’re Jerry Mag-
JERRY: Call me Kenny.
DOROTHY: But your charac-
JERRY: Hey, nevermind that. When the sun goes down over the water, it doesn’t matter what my character’s name is. Now what did you lose?
DOROTHY: My son... my mind...

Over her shoulder, Chesney sees Ray rounding the corner, riding the luggage conveyor belt like Washington crossing the Delaware.

KENNY: Oh, no shoes, no shirt, no problems…
DOROTHY: What does that have to do with me missing my son?
KENNY: Oh, it’s just a motto. And a number one song on the country charts. Well, while I go look for him, why don't you hang onto this curious gentleman behind you – now where is Kracker with my guitar case?

Dorothy turns, is greatly relieved to see Ray, and snatches him off the belt. She bends down into his face. She speaks softly but intensely, with no frills.

DOROTHY (to Ray): Remember "imagination?"...remember what that means? Well, this is some cowboy musician behind me so you will now IMAGINE me screaming at you right now. Do NOT do that again. Ever ever EVER. (to Kenny) Well, thanks.
KENNY: Well, take care.
DOROTHY: I loved your memo, by the way.

He stops. Turns. She flashes the well-thumbed copy in her purse. Kenny takes a step closer, interested and flattered.

KENNY: Thanks... actually, it wasn’t a memo, or a mission statement. It’s a new song I’ve been writing.
DOROTHY: Kenny, Jerry Maguire doesn’t write songs.
KENNY: Yes, Renee, he does. Here’s how it goes: “I Go Back to my client, a small wide receiver / The Cardinals, of them I will make believers/ that Rod Tidwell is worth 4 years for 10 mil-
DOROTHY: Jerry-Kenny, whatever, that’s very nice, but -
KENNY (eager for feedback): You think so?
DOROTHY: Yes.
KENNY: I appreciate that, because some of that stuff... you know, it was two in the morning and I was out drinking with Toby Keith...
DOROTHY: -- the part about "we should embrace what it is still virginal about our enthusiasm" --

Kenny looks slightly edgy at the naked vulnerability of his words.

DOROTHY (continuing): -- "and we should all force open the tightly-clenched fist of commerce, and give a little back for the greater good." I mean, I was inspired, and I'm an accountant (or actress, as you believe). Ray, don't spill my coffee.
KENNY: Look lady, I don’t know who wrote that stuff. I’m not that poetic, that must be the hook from some new Big and Rich song. I write about guitars and tiki bars. So honey, what do you say? You want to blow off this audition and go to the beach?
DOROTHY: You had me at hello.
KENNY: But I didn’t say – ah who cares. They won’t let me wear my cowboy hat in this picture, anyway.

Two Hundred.

Here we go again...

Today's post marks the big 2-0-0 for the Internet force known as You're a Blog. Granted, we have no idea what are the appropriate mile markers that warrant celebrating. 100 was a no-brainer, a truly momentous occasion. But is 200 a worthy reason to throw a shindig? Sure, it's the same level of accomplishment that was needed to bring 100 to the festivities, but there's a feeling of "Hey, we've done this before." to it. After this, we promise we'll hold off planning another party until YAB turns 1. And that's when we go global with this baby.

The second 100 of random meanderings, comical pop culture swipes, and all-around funny bringing, in my opinion have been characterized by two main characteristics. For one, I've gotten wordier. But that can't be that bad, can it? What could possibly be needing to get back to rather than reading the final couple 'graphs of a daily musing? Second, there's that back-dating phenomenon. 6 days. That tally has risen and fallen over the last 20 weeks, but I assure you, there's still funny to be made, and we'll rectify that error in the coming month.

Ok, people. Here's where we here at YAB take the time to thank you for reading. Our readership has increased with every month so far, as we regularly tally between 35 and 55 hits a day. I think that week where everyone went comment-happy we topped 70 once or twice. So tell your friends, family, whatever, and let's keep the ball rolling on Condon's Quest to Break the Internet.

Now it's time for free stuff! If you recall at our last gathering for revelry, I offered a fantastic prize to the person with the highest score in YAB Trivia. Well, the winner of that contest was a mysterious "Mr. C," and we assure once we get the merchandise table up, he will be the recipient of one of our prototype YAB t-shirts. Now was he the winner because he aced the test? Nay. It's because he was THE ONLY ONE TO RESPOND.

Well, here we go again. Below are twenty queries that will force you to recall the extremely trivial from the last 100 posts (December 12 - Present). It's an open blog test, so take time and relive the last few months of YAB. E-mail me your answers at condon@gwu.edu by Friday night, and the winner will be revealed next Monday morning. And you, too, can win a YAB t-shirt. (On your answers, e-mail me your t-shirt size as well) Thanks for reading.

1. On February 23rd, what accomplishment was finally realized by the YAB Editor-in-Chief? (1)
2. In true “behind the times” fashion, what did YAB declare the best movie of 2003 – at the tail end of 2004? (1)
3. What quartet of accountants did YAB hire to hit the tax deadline, mon? (1)
4. What three keystrokes have ended countless blogs-in-progress? (1)
5. Who filled in to review the minor Oscar categories with everybody while Condon was busy coming to grips with a disappointing 8th place finish at Oscar Party 2.0 (1)?
6. Who valiantly defended the honor of having a toaster oven in the kitchen on behalf of Condon in a winner-take-all debate? (2)
7. What is the name of the born-again canine whose glorious conversion story was told right here at YAB? (2)
8. Name two of the seven office deadly sins. (2)
9. In a Cabinet full of Muppets, who would be best suited to deal with Transportation issues? (2)
10. Which financial guru of a YAB reader put Mattias in his place with a financial knowledge pummeling concerning “The Economics of Blogging?” (2)
11. Just how many “Simple Rules of Vending Machines” were there? (3)
12. What is the real “best reason” to seek a promotion? (3)
13. What is the preferred weapon of choice in Condon’s apartment complex to defrost car windshields after a night of light snow? (3)
14. What quickly became the number 1 successful marketing machine of the new year, causing Condon to dejectedly utter, “Sign me up for 2…” (3)
15. Name the two colors of highlighters that have never been used by the Chief Awesome Officer. (3)
16. Explain why sliced bread is better than a personal computer. (4)
17. Who is the one kid from U.S. Elementary (Day 1) that Mattias claims I never mentioned, but in reality, he just never learned to read? (4)
18. How much did Condon pay to have a valet not so much park his car at a nice restaurant, but rather just leave it where it is? (4)
19. Which out-of-work NHL franchise has turned the route of evangelism during this latest lockout? (4)
20. What was the real reason for Madness in March, and what type of techno dance party should be instituted for such times? (4)

Shift-PageUp-Delete

Today's post appears in the April 2005 edition of 'Zine, the new literary magazine published by one Kelly Barrett. It may someday have an online form, and if so, YAB will proudly give you that link. If you would like a paper copy of this hot-off-the-press masterpiece, you can contact her at barrett.twenty.six.@gmail.com.

What a deadly combination that trio of keystrokes is. I mean man, one ephemeral thought and all that you have written can be gone quicker than Sky Captain from your local cineplex. This is the problem with writer’s block in the technology age. Hitting the aforementioned consecutive button sequence leads to the instant termination of whatever half-written column you became fleetingly dissatisfied with. Maybe that the column-to-be had some hidden promise that you just hadn’t realized yet. But instead, ZAP!, your working document has been relegated to tabula rasa.

When guest columnists on killer ‘zines were looking for creative angles in those trying pre-laptop days, half-finished articles stood an exponentially better chance of survival. You know, the days when writers took to the ink to the parchment (or at the bare minimum, cocktail napkin.) There were so many more safety nets in place. The first step for a disgruntled ‘zine correspondent would be to rip the paper from the comfy confines of its spiral notebook home and crumple it with so much force Yoda would be envious. From there, the writer would take his brand new projectile and do his best Roger Clemens impression, with the waste basket serving as his strike zone. Following that, as a vent for extreme frustration, there was always a decent chance that that trusty writing utensil would end up in two (for pencil users) or airborne (for pen users.)

But for each course of action, those individuals had reprieve! Paper could always be unballed, smoothed out. Writing utensils could always be retrieved. Take a deep breath, go make a sandwich, set the editor’s deadline in focus, and get back to work. This is where technology has failed the writers of the world. Especially the ones with the itchy trigger fingers that could wipe out your column-to-be. Especially Condon.

This is why those (read: ME) with writers’ block have taken up permanent residence at Square 1. Hell, I’ve been there so long, I’m getting junk mail and am expected to mow the lawn every weekend. Because unless you’ve got a topic that you think will confirm to the high quality standards of this ‘zine, you might as well just stay put. It takes less work, and you get to watch TV and become an expert on whether or not the new TBS is in fact, “very funny.” (Answer – if you keep insisting on showing A Knight’s Tale every damn day, the answer is NO.)

Hold on a second – cell phone’s a ringin’…Hello?…oh, hey, Barrett…yes, yes I know the deadline…no, it’s almost finished…yeah, just a few more sentences…I know I’m the staff slacker…no, I’m not kidding you…yeah, I’ll send it soon…ok, bye.

Crap.

It’s time to find that golden topic. Otherwise, Barrett’s getting 600 words from some college application essay I wrote in 1997. Alright. On my mark, get set, GO!

Uh, umm, Going through airport customs to get into Narnia…no, that’s no good…er…what if The Aviator had cast Howard the Duck to play Howard Hughes…that’s a reach…a VH1 Storytellers transcript with Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem…funny to me, not to others…going through a fast food drive-thru with the Aqua Teen Hunger Force….yeah, forced indeed…Monkeys, pirates, monkeypirates? Tempting, but…what time is it? Oh, good. Time for Barrett to kick me off the staff.

Well, at this junction, I have two options. One is send all I’ve got to the office, and watch as my column gets a lesser billing then the guy who just copies and pastes different sections of the phonebook to make his word quota. The other –

That’s easy: Shift. PageUp. Delete.

Best Company Ever, Chapter 5

So last time we walked this road, I let you in on some of my future management strategies. As I close the books on my second semester of graduate business education, I wish I could tell you I pulled that managerial gem from a great professor or a highly regarded text I was forced to purchase. But nay, that one was a Condon original. Maybe if I took the time to devote some extra energy towards my BCE practices, I could teach them a few things. I can handle instructing one of my four summer courses, right? If I could, I’d guarantee my students the avoidance of several pitfalls we incurred during this past spring semester. There would be no “2 finals in 1 night” challenge. The instructor’s voice would not rival that of a squawking parakeet. If students feel the need to bang their head senselessly on their desk, pillows will be provided to soften the blow. Yep, all of these would have been nice over the past few months.

But that is the classroom, and here at Best Company Ever, we care about the workroom. It’s time for some more personnel changes.

Since my department continues to press on while we seek a new shortstop, I’ve become more intimate with the administrative tasks that take place daily. The building’s support staff often interacted with our vacant position, so much of the behind the scenes work that takes place was carried out without out me seeing it. (Does that make me “in front of the scenes?) One such stupid task is signing for the delivery of the daily mail. Our current mail clerks are nice enough, but just wait until they get a load of this…

The entire mailroom operation is to be run by penguins.

In a radical move that would make Batman cringe, I’ve decided to take my pirate-led HR boat to the South Pole in order to find a new breed of mailroom employee. And when a polar bear nearly mauled my Recruitment Manager (Parrotman Pete), I turned my focus to the noble penguin. And let me tell you, if there were ever a way to make a mundane clerical job function like delivering the mail awesome, it’s by letting penguins take the postal wheel.

First off, you no longer have to worry about the mail guy giving customers a lowly opinion of your company due to not caring about personal appearance. Here at BCE, every employee should take pride in their appearance, as management feels it conveys a sense of passion and interest in what you do for a living. Our mail guys wear whatever t-shirt doesn’t need ironing and sneakers. Forget that. My mailpenguins will be the most formally-dressed employees at the office. Even on Casual Fridays, those fellas are donning tuxedos. Snappy dressers indeed.

Secondly, just picture the renovations to the mailroom itself. My penguin proposal: coat the entire mail facility in ice. I have several reasons for this move. First, it’s a penguin’s natural habitat. Studies show that people are most comfortable in their natural surroundings, and I can’t help but think penguins share this. Second, penguins will be able to slide back and forth between the different parts of the mailroom. This will speed up sorting protocol, meaning people will get their mail quicker. Additionally, you can count on the mailpenguins being at their counter at all times of the work day. Rather than going outside onto the loading dock during their breaks, they’ll just be sliding on their stomachs to AND fro. This cuts down on waiting time to get one freakin’ stamp. Sure, it may cost you a little extra coin in supplemental air conditioning units, but it’s most certainly an improvement.

Thirdly, who isn’t happy to get a daily visit from a cute mailpenguin? This will boost corporate morale, twofold, maybe dare I say, threefold.

Also, because of this icy infrastructure, mail pickup will be all but eliminated. A series of pipes and tunnels, all ice-coated, will be installed within the walls of the building. An employee, when the need arises to mail something in non-electronic form, no longer has to wait for the mailroom employee to make rounds. Just stick the letter in the icy chute, and it will sail out the other end in the mailroom. And because of the ice, it will slide over to the correct distribution bin. I’m sure there’s some issues that will need to be ironed out, but I can’t right now. The ice would melt.

Finally, there will a dramatically decreased employee turnover rate for these mailroom positions. Penguins are not a flight risk.

All Hail the Farmer Clown

It’s weird. From what you read of la vida Condoca, one may get the impression that I live and die under the direction of the Golden Arches. So what if I needed to break this story on a slow news day? Is it that big a deal if I wanted to evaluate their new credit payment system? Fact of the matter is, even if I do not eat there that often, Sir Ronald is as omnipresent as Ashton Kutcher in the movies these days. So, it’s time once again to dip into the McDonalds topic bag once again. I’d talk about rival restaurants from time to time if I could, but McD’s has one tough press secretary. And face it, that Grimace is just plain mean.

And once again we discuss McDonalds for everything they are but the food. The reason for writing today is to inform the loyal readers of YAB (I really need a better name for you all) is that McDonalds has decided to join us in this century. Last century, they were known for greasy, high caloric, documentary inducing cuisine. This century, they’ve become the kid with all the cool toys on the block. Gadgets and gizmos are apparently are going to bring them market share. So while Burger King is busy freaking Rob out and Wendy’s is in the back room beating that Number 1 Fan guy into submission, McDonalds is hoarding all of those wonderful toys.

Let me explain.

On two recent trips to this franchise of note, I have seen a different side of McDonalds. Not the side with the Happy Meal toys that 2 year olds will choke on and then know better once they hit 3. Not the side that thought the Arch Deluxe was the wave of the future. Not even the side that have the placemats with the way-too-easy word finds and connect the dots. (I rock those every time.). This is the side that likes to make money in new, cool, savvy ways. McWays.

Scenario 1 – After a long day of apartment hunting Sunday, I decided that defrosting pork chops didn’t have the same allure as say, driving to a local dining establishment known for velocity of service. So that’s precisely what I did. Knowing that that Fox’s Animation Domination lineup was fast approaching, the Prodigal Roommate and I headed to the car and we Randomly Ran.

On Gallows Road is our local McDonalds. If you asked of its location a mere week ago, I could not give you the same answer. You see, we had a McDonalds on that very spot up until November of 2004. Katie drives by it on the way home and can usually verify for me its existence. However, it all changed in a day, when she reported in that Clowntown had been reduced to rubble. “A New McD’s is Coming!”, so said the sign. And as of this past week, that sign finally found its prophecy fulfilled.

The new McDonalds has glammed it up on the inside. More seating, nicer flooring, better soda fountain station. All of these can be expected when a franchise is redone and renovated. But can one honestly expect what we saw in the corner of the restaurant? But of course! A luxury leather couch, flanked by equally luxurious and equally leather armchairs. Man, eating fast food in such quarters sure would be nice, but whatever would you do if conversation got as stale as the fries? Oh, that’s easy. PLASMA. TELEVISION. (I bet Philo Farnsworth never imagined this scenario.) Pimp my Fries.

Scenario 2 – Onto the money making technological advance. I stayed home this morning to study for a couple of pesky exams that will enter my life this evening. The curse of coming in around lunch time is that it’s a guarantee that your co-workers will take complete advantage of the situation. “Dude, since you’re in your car, could you pick up food on your way in? Sweet.” The venue du jour – of course, McDonalds.

Now, picking up lunch anywhere in Tyson’s Corner is somewhere on my list below root canal and watching a Mama’s Family marathon. So, I dreaded ordering four meals worth of food at a drive-thru window. If I was lucky, I may be at work by 3:30. But then I saw McDonalds leave the on deck circle and step up to the place.

As I pull onto the back of the 10 car waiting line, a gentleman comes to my car window with a clipboard and a smile. “What would you like today?” he says. “You mean to eat?” I reply. He says yes and takes my order (all four of them) on a clipboard. I’m still ten yards from the menu board. He calls them in on his head set. I drive around the menu board curve and before I get anywhere close to a window, another person comes to my window. She takes my credit card and walks it to the window some three cars ahead. Runs the card, comes back with both it and a recent. I continue driving up to the food window, where there’s a guy outside the window reaching in and obtaining my order. He hands it to me and sends me on my way. Total length of drive-thru experience: 3 minutes. Amazing.

I’m so in awe I drive right by the shelf on my left with assorted condiment bins. Wow.