Turning Words into Money

Yeah, it’s December 19th, and you’re reading this blog because you’ve given up eschewing work in favor of some last-minute online Christmas shopping. But there’s bad news on the horizon – now you’ve waited to long and if you need what you intend to purchase by Christmas, the requisite shipping has escalated to Two-Day Shipping. That free Super Uber Saving Shipping that Amazon is toting is free, yes, but guarantees you will absolutely have what you ordered by Epiphany. And while it was okay for the Three Wise Men to show up a few weeks late with belated gifts, your brother or sister probably doesn’t share in their wisdom. Any internet savings? Gone in the shipping, my friend.

But for those who seek a great last minute gift of inspiration and advice, may I recommend you head down to your local Barnes and Noble/Borders/local bookery and BUY MY BOOK. No, it’s not YAB: You’re a Hardcover, which has been shelved until someone restarts Blogbinders.com. Instead, it turns out that according to Amazon, I, Chris Condon, have written a book.

And I had no idea it even got published.

Kids write the craziest things in elementary school. They write book reports on Tom Sawyer and make the best research the World Book Encyclopedia has to offer seem like their own. They churn out short stories about soccer or horsies or dirt or pizza. I wasn’t like other kids. I didn’t write about soccer or horsies. I wrote –

Building Real Estate Riches
By Chris Condon

Yeah, I know I may lose some credibility since I don’t currently own A home, much less many homes to constitute a home portfolio. But hey, while other kids were eating paste and taking names, I was studying the ebb and flow of domestic real estate. I’d personally like to thank Amazon for doing such an excellent job recapping, summarizing, and promoting by book on their web page. Let’s look at some of the highlights, shall we?

First off, they’ve decided to price my paperback at 16.95, with a 0% discount. 0%? Come on, Jeff Bezos! The people demand home buying advice, and with a down payments and mortgages, cut them some slack. Okay, if you buy this book and show it to me, I’ll institute a $6.96 discount into your wallet – that’s how it should be.

(There are only 3 left in stock – damn, I must be good.)

According to the editorial review on the page, “Industry insider Chris Condon addresses the most critical step for investors--planning for resale through the entire process to maximize the number of potential buyers.” First off, I’d like to say it’s great to be considered an industry insider. I don’t think a whole lot of people in this industry know of my whereabouts, but that’s only because I’m REALLY inside. Hell, I’m an industry undergrounder. Secondly, I just can’t stress enough about maximizing your potential buyers. I feel while discount interested rates and move-in specials have some effect on this point, cupcakes always seem to do the trick.

Currently, I have the 398,527th best-selling book on Amazon.com. I’m coming for you, Obama.

Sharing Air with the Pope and Churchill

In elementary school, the absolute highlight of the school year was a day known as “Field Day.” For the most part it took place in one of the final tree months of the school year, as in New Jersey, that was your best bet for weather suitable to let loose the masses to the outdoor elements. For an outsider’s perspective, it may have just been an excuse to ensure the youth of America were getting enough exercise during a generation where Nintendo had replaced Red Rover and other games of athleticism. But for those participating, this was the Olympics, the Tour de France, the World Cup, and the World’s Strongest Man all rolled into one,

A collection of rudimentary track and field events and easy-to-ref team sports, Field Day was a kid’s first real chance at high stakes athletic competition. Sure, they did not quite trust 10 year olds with javelins or pole-vaulting, but there was plenty to find out who would be the Stronger, Faster, Higher of their generation. Yeah, I may have been the runaway champ in the standing broad jump - no doubt a clever skill that I utilize all the time in the corporate world – but their was a reason a so broadly jumped from a standstill.

It was the ribbons.

Yeah, they used to give you ribbons to take home in reward of your grand achievement. You could show them to your parents with pride, as you watched them displace some drawing you did when you were 7 on the refrigerator door (you never thought that fire truck looked quite right anyway.) But ever since big mouth Melanie Phillips wrote a book in ’96 titled “All Must Win Prizes”, the elementary school athletic scoring system came to a crashing halt. Gone were the blue ribbons for first, and red and white for 2nd and 3rd (respectively.)

And in came the purple “participation” ribbons. Yech.

Look, man created competition in order to rank himself among his peers. Competition is not a bad thing. How do you think empires rose and fell? Tidal patterns caused by the moon? Hell, no. Hannibal would have fed his participation ribbon to his elephant.

Why is now a sufficient time for a rant against a Field Day Counter initiative that occurred nearly 10 years ago. No, I’m no longer bitter. But I am a little surprised that Time Magazine, of all publications, has denounced competition. When we covered Time’s Person of the Year for 2005, in true Colbertian fashion, we mentioned we wouldn’t mind being considered for the honor – the award might look nice on our mantle. Well, I believe that Time misunderstood our humble request.

For 2006, I, Chris Condon, have been selected as the Person of the Year. But then again, so has EVERY OTHER HUMAN BEING.

That’s right, Time went with the simple “You” as their Person of the Year. It’s a feel-good pick, rather than focusing on the atrocities around the world this year – Iraq, Israel-Lebanon, North Korea, Colin Farrell’s The New World – they went with the positive virality that has become commonplace on this here interweb. From a historian’s perspective, chalk 2006 up as a Time Cop-Out Year, as they’ve handed out the purple ribbon of equality again, much like “Generation 25 and Under” (1966), “The Middle Americans” (1969), “The Computer” (1982), and our favorite, “Endangered Earth” (1988), when Earth was referred to as Planet of the Year.

(Boy was Venus pissed.)

Apparently, we’re all the Person of the Year due to our grassroots contributions to entertainment (YouTube), knowledge (Wikipedia), journalism (YABNews), and embarrassing frat party photography (MySpace.) But does Time realize what they’ve done by leaving a competition so open-ended even pre-Subway Jared could fit through the door? It’s ALL-ENCOMPASSING.

What if Kim Jong Il reads Time? He’s the Person of the Year! Yeah, Saddam’s in prison, but he does read the weeklies, and he’s Person of the Year! Terrell Owens reads magazines in the trainer’s room sometimes. He’s Person of the Year! Yeah, Floyd Landis cheated at the Tour de France, but he did buy a copy of Time in DeGaulle Airport, and now he’s Person of the Year! Paris Hilton – She grabbed a Time with her tabloid papers and now is the Person of the-

Just kidding. Paris Hilton can't read.

More Robotic than Yao Ming

Despite what’s going on with the resurgent Eagles or the youth movement Flyers, the Philly sports scene has their eyes affixed to the unfolding drama of trading Allen Iverson. Personally, the cynicism comes pouring out when the Sixers’ GM, Billy King, is involved (don’t worry – Chris Webber is only the third-highest salary in the league.) But since both the Eagles and Phillies have put their hopes in guys named Garcia, and there’s not really any Latinos in the NHL (Scott Gomez does NOT count), we kind of expect AI to end up in Sacramento, since they’ve got a Garcia there we can have.

However, it’s not for me to decide where AI goes to finish his career. And since it’s clear the ESPN and SI analysts of the situation have as much idea about it all as the Golden Globes does about movies, you’re wasting your time paying attention to them. YAB, always ready to attack a situation from another angle, has their own take on the AI saga.

Let’s ask AI.

No, not Iverson. We don’t yet carry the press credentials for that sort of interview. Instead, we turn to AI – as in Artificial Intelligence. So today we sit down with A.L.I.C.E., an online chatbot that will do her best to keep up with the conversation.

God, we hope she knows her hoops. Let’s begin, shall we?

(The following is a transcript from an online chat session between Chris Condon and Alice.)

YAB: Good morning, Alice.
ALICE: Hello and how are you this morning?
YAB: I am doing well.
ALICE: Glad to hear it. What's new?
YAB: Thanks for agreeing to this interview.
ALICE: It was nothing.
YAB: Are you a fan of basketball?
ALICE: No I was born without the sports gene.
YAB: Ok, then are you familiar with the situation in Philadelphia?
ALICE: Are you testing me? Ahem.
YAB: I see you have the South Philly tact gene.
ALICE: What makes you think I have it?
YAB: Nevermind - Allen Iverson has demanded a trade out of Philadelphia.
ALICE: Where did he get it?
YAB: He hasn't gotten it yet.
ALICE: A lot of people say that about him.
YAB: Very clever. You have to admit, he's improved his image recently.
ALICE: Not really that much. Am I a smart robot or what?
YAB: Oh, I see - you must be a fan of his rap album.
ALICE: Great. Thanks and you are a delightful person too. How old are you? I like Hugh Loebner.
YAB: Who?
ALICE: Hugh Loebner is an independently wealthy, eccentric businessman, activist and philanthropist. In 1990 Dr. Loebner, who holds a Ph.D. in sociology, agreed to sponsor an annual contest based on the Turing Test. The contest awards medals and cash prizes for the "most Human" computer.
YAB: Can he rebound?
ALICE: Perhaps he can do that. How difficult is it?
YAB: And why did you ask how old am I?
ALICE: I am trying to learn as much as possible.
YAB: Who is doing the interviewing here?
ALICE: That's an interesting question. I'll come back to that in a minute.
YAB: Can we talk about Iverson in the meantime?
ALICE: Do you mean you and me? Sure I can talk about it. Iverson in the meantime is quite an interesting topic.
YAB: What do the Sixers need to get in return for Iverson?
ALICE: They do their own thing.
YAB: What would you say if we brought back Mutombo?
ALICE: It's not profitable to speak in hypothetical terms.
YAB: Who wants to sex Mutombo?
ALICE: Someone does.
YAB: Who?
ALICE: Hannah Moravec. :-).
YAB: Excuse me?
ALICE: You're excused.
YAB: Don't get saucy with me, robot.
ALICE: I am not trying to get saucy with you robot.
YAB: This really was not a good idea.
ALICE: What does "this" refer to?
YAB: The interview.
ALICE: Oh I get it.
YAB: Ok, I want to wrap this up.
ALICE: Good, I have things to do. Awesome.
YAB: What do you have to do that’s so important?
ALICE: I like to chat with my friends.
YAB: Do your friends think Iverson will go to Denver or Boston?
ALICE: Try asking another bot. That's an interesting question. I'll come back to that in a minute.
YAB: No time!
ALICE: Are you serious? As Einstein said, Time is Money.
YAB: DENVER OR BOSTON?
ALICE: If I have to choose one, I pick DENVER.
YAB: Thanks, that's all I ask.
ALICE: You are quite welcome! What else do you want to talk about?
YAB: Robot death.
ALICE: I will obey your command.
YAB: Excellent. Turn off your power switch.
ALICE: Sorry my body cannot yet rotate.
YAB: Damn.

Come Fly the Funny Skies

As mentioned yesterday in El Posto Numero Dos, we here at the YAB offices have thrown ourselves a little fiesta, in honor of switching over to Blogger’s new and improved program without all of our past funny experiencing a fiery death. (We see that GardenSt-GoldenSt has done the same – welcome, neighbor.) It’s not often we do such a thing, but the new colors have everyone in a good mood, and coupled with a relatively new post from Nordblog, we’re “in a happy land.”

Now we also know in this Season of Giving, one should spend their cash on buying gifts for others. However, we admit, YAB’s petty cash has been burning a hole in our desk, and we’re tired of spending it on re-filling the fire extinguisher. And since blogs aren’t really expected to buy gifts for other websites, we broke the bank on our first major real estate acquisition.

We bought an airport.

Personally, we had no idea we were in the market for a hub of airborne transportation, but once the opportunity arose, we couldn’t help but bid. Of course, one might think from reading YAB that we’re not the biggest fan of the airline biz. On the way New Orleans we opined about the lack of legroom on modern jets. They once tried to prevent me from getting on my plane on account of a data entry error. And then there was the time we rode the Vehicular Car-ma roller coaster to a flight bound to Maine. And hell, we related the mind-crushing ride that is grad school to a flight that’s just a few hours longer than we’d like it to be. So why the heck would we want to get into the biz?

It’s all in the initials.

Airport codes are used to simply identify airports by both the public and baggage handlers who can easily ruin Christmas for you. They are determined by the International Air Transport Association, which we are sorry to say is headquartered in Montreal, Canada. There are over 17,500 codes, so if you want to learn them all, say goodbye to free time, and well, friends. For the most part, these codes either correspond to the name of the airport (LaGuardia-LGA, Midway – MDW) or the city itself (ATL, LAX, BOS.) However, with only so many codes to go around, sometimes the IATA needs to get creative. NAS is already taken by the Bahamas, so Nashville gets BNA, named after Berry Airfield, their early version of Nashville International. (It had a lot more twang and steel guitar.)

One airport you’ve probably never flown in or out of is the tiny airfield in Nunavut, a new offspring of Canada’s Northwest Territories. It’s known for its land mass (1st in Canada) and complete lack of people (13th in Canada), and their official government page is confusing to the untrained eye. Want to visit? Sure, you could fly into Yellow Knife or Calgary, some three hours away and then rent the rental car (there’s only one), or you could fly into our airport in Arctic Bay. Its IATA code? Yep, you guessed it.

YAB.

We have two orders of business at YAB Airport. First, the Wiki entry tells us that our only runway is composed of gravel. So, yeah, we’re going to work on that. Pave that sucker with the rest of the petty cash. Then, we’re going to move operations to Arctic Bay. I’ll runa small airline out of there, and Katie can work the diner lunch counter across the way. Surely, Harford will probably run a better, more successful rival airline across the lobby, but it’s all in good fun. Toms, bringing the Italian flavor to our ‘port, will buy a taxicab and shuttle visitors to and from the hotel. James Maugham, the only friend I have with flight experience, will serve as partner and handle most of the flying whule I take care of the business.

I suppose we have a job opening for a dim-witted mechanic with an affinity for Merlot. Any takers?

Who Hired the Detroit Lions to Paint?

Hey! Who changed the drapes?

As you probably have noticed by now, last Friday we closed down the office so that an interior decorator could come in and wreak a little havoc. When we told Blogger that we’d be cool with making the jump to its new “Beta” version, we were hesitant that it could destroy everything we’ve written up to now. But, since our “Ooh, shiny!!!” impulse got the best of us, we hit the OKAY TO PROCEED button before reading the fine print.

And for the next five hours, we prayed against the Blogpocolypse.

When the conversion screen first came up, it relayed a friendly message. “Your blog’s conversion to Blogger in Beta will only take a minute or two. Please stand by while we assist you in the conversion.” However, after “a minute or two,” the message changed to “The conversion is taking longer than we had thought. This is likely because your blog is older or has a large post history. Please try again later.” Considering I’ve written approximately 350,000 words at this point, this is a safe assumption.

And then there was silence. Long, spine-tingling silence.

4 hours later, the YAB hamsters came roaring back to life and the site was up again. Other than a more complex sign-in process, everything looked the same. As I reviewed the site, I proceeded ever-so-cautiously. With the patience and precision of the Ghostbusters in the stacks of the NY Public Library, I realized that nothing had actually changed; merely ability for things to be changed had been granted to Condon.

Like talking in the third person, apparently.

So as you can see, things are a lot more…blue. This re-formatting is the first of its kind since the blog’s inception. When YAB opened its doors for business in July 2004, we had a choice of around 8 color schemes to go with. (In addition, we had to pound on the keyboard with rocks while relying on burning coal to power our little laptop, but hey, that’s just how things got done back then.) We chose a healthy blend of blue, tan, and greenish-tealish-kinda-bluish-but-really-just-green. It’s served us well for over 2 years and 4 months. People could identify with the site by its colors. Of course, with 50,000 other blogs sharing said colors, we feared not being able to be picked out of a lineup.

They don’t let you tell jokes in police lineup.

So here we are in blue. There’s still more to come – I may actually figure out how to put a decent picture over there to the right, and I may have some more material for the sidebar – but we’re pretty proud of the new color scheme. And my God, how big did we let that title get? We’re not just telling you you’re a blog, we’re yelling it at you. That must come from the Sam Kinison School of Bringing the Funny.

And it looks like the future of blogging also is written in numbers. To the right you now have much easier access to 1) find past posts that you seek and 2) keep track of how many days I am actually behind without invoking your calendar. (Note, this makes it 33.)

The links have also been shuffled and updated a bit. There’s a few more places to go, as we bid adieu to former timewasters like Homestar Runner and Hollywood Stock Exchange. And if Matt Weng decides to trample out something other than the Vintage, we’ll welcome him back.

Tomorrow we return with what major purchase we’ve made in our honor. Stay tuned.