Rock Back and Fire

In 101 minutes, 2009 will be here. The year 2009 will bring upon the 5th Anniversary of You're a Blog. Who feels old now? (Jamie Moyer, put your hand down.)

In the early days of YAB, my writing was constrained by many parameters. For one, I was leading a life that endured more repetition that your average episode of Scrubs. (Only with less life lessons set to the music of Jack Johnson or The Fray.) I had a regular office job, lived in a regular apartment, and drove a regular car in regular traffic. I rooted for above-average sports teams, shopped for a regular list of groceries on a regular basis, and had a regular sleep schedule where I slept regularly in the same place in my regular apartment every night.

Okay, scratch the last one.

In this blog's infancy, I aimed to be different despite all above the above regularities. And in most cases in this world, "difference" can be defined by an adherence to a bare minimum of rules and standards. And yet, it was the Rules and Standards that I set for YAB that forced my template for bringing the funny. Some of these rules included:

• Blogging on a daily basis, meaning every single weekday including the occasional "observed Monday" holiday.
• Missing one of these clearly defined blogging days results in working harder on a subsequent day, blogging multiple times.
• A complete refusal to report or blog about something that the news media has already done the work on. If you want to know what's going on in the world, read CNN.
  
• A complete refusal to achieve reader traffic by artificial means, such as e-mail blasting, linking to places for a free pingback, and skywriting. Oh, how I loathe the skywriting.
• Posts must be at least 500 words. You know, because verbosity is the soul of wit.
  
• Always strive to be funny.
• Always strive to not be not funny.

You see how complex I made being "different?" With these many rules, I could probably put together an excellent romantic comedy script for the likes of Greg Kinnear and Sandra Bullock by now.

So now, a mere 92 minutes before 2009 is upon us, I've decided to return. What caused this? Bad Chinese?

(I'm no racist.)

You can attribute this second coming to two people, whether they know it or not. Let's review their casefiles. (Fictitious middle names have been added to protect the innocent.)

1. Robert Eugene Rockhound Harford - Of all the people who I led out of the darkness and into the blogging world, Rob has been the closest mirror image I've had. I'm sure somewhere in my archives I can pull that national anthem I wrote for his blog as proof. The nice thing about Rob is he never forgets. Whether it's a subtle jab at my inactivity or an incessant thirst for some Hi-8 videotape I have buried in a box from a 2003 camping trip, he remembers. He could be an almanac, you know, if almanacs had calves the size of whole chickens.
   
2. Frances Santana Moss Reynolds - (heck, just using her real first name has rendered her anonymous) It may have been a simple compliment at a Christmas party, but it meant more than you know. Thanks for reading.

So here we are. 83 minutes from an epic match between a giant crystal ball and gravity and I'm giving it another run. Gone are many of the rules that led to this blog's crushing demise. Here to stay are some new...guidelines.

• Any time your color scheme matched that of an 0-16 football team, it's time to tweak.
• I'll leave the Daily gig to Jon Stewart. Be prepared for exciting bouts of sporadic regularity!
• I can't believe what I'm about to type: PROPER TIME AND DATE STAMPING.
• Crossposting to Facebook, so random classmates from middle school can be in the know.
• Did I mention the PROPER TIME and DATE STAMPING?

You know why Phillies' pitcher Brett Myers was so effective in the playoffs after a tumultuous season that saw him eating on a Triple-A per diem in July? He stopped thinking about how to pitch and what he had to do with each and every pitch. He stopped adhering to rules. He rocked back and fired.

Not a bad mantra for 2009. This is going to be fun.

A Vote and a Smile

(originally posted 8/29/08)

Holy crap, it’s dusty in here.

As you may or may not have noticed, YAB has been on a sabbatical since, well, May. I’d like to say that it was because something awesome was going on in my life that prevented me from writing on a regular basis here in Blogspotville – but it’s just not the case. Work has been busy, despite every auto industry-related newspaper article would lead you to believe. But to come back now – on an idle Friday just before Labor Day – would give you reason to believe that I’m ready to return to entertaining family and friends on the nuances of married/parental/homeownered life. Any return to the scene probably means I’ve got something big to write about that warrants immediate publication.

Wrong.

You know as well as I do that I don’t write about politics much. I live in a region so saturated with Capitol Hillbillies that my neighbors in traffic do the work for me. But it’s an election year, and therefore, let’s consider this my quadrennial piece of punditry.

This week, the Democratic National Convention has been the story, what with their successful invasion of Denver and their subsequent displacement of up to three professional sports teams. (Meanwhile, the Rockies are bunkered up in their dugout, poised to take a Louisville Slugger to the knees of anyone who comes near them with a five-foot tall placard with their state’s name on them. I support political conventions.

It gives Jon Stewart all the material he needs.

But as the DNC has drawn to a close, the Republicans have taken the nation’s focus with the news that candidate John McCain has selected his running mate. Good for him. And while it appears that he’s in no hurry to reveal the identity of said running mate, rumors are that his chosen one has their mail delivered in the crucial swing state of Alaska.

Probably like you, I’m not one who just clicks through news links that are sent to me in e-mail. Therefore, I know not the name of the GOP’s appointed second fiddle. And like I said, I’m busy at work these days. So rather than do my due diligence – we’re just going to assume what everyone’s ready to assume.

The Republican VP candidate is a Polar Bear.

Like I said, there are probably several logical reasons why the above statement isn’t a valid one. Polar Bears may not actually live in Alaska. The life span of polar bears may be below 35 years. With migratory patterns between Alaska and Siberia or gasp, Canada, the US of A may not be their place of citizenship. But my fellow Americans, I assure you this:

This would guarantee the Presidency for John McCain.

Hell yes, I’ve got reasons.

1. Polar Bears are Bears, and thereby, score high in Adorability. Coca-Cola makes a point to remind us of this every holiday season. And just because a baby polar bear can't muster the dexterity in his paws to open a tiny glass bottle of cola, does NOT mean he can't step in the Commander-in-Chief role should something happen to his running mate.
2. Polar Bears can also be MEAN. There's something at the negotiation table about mauling that gets policy done. Polar bears are tough on crime, tough on foreign policy, tough on illegal fishing. Toughness is a good characteristic for a VP to have.
3. Soft and furry coat takes focus of whiteness off McCain's dome.
4. As good as a selection Joe Biden is, I don't like him in the Vice Presidential debate against a Polar Bear.
5. Polar Bears who are forced to wear a suit and tie, are by definition, hilarious.
6. PB and J - how's that for a campaign banner?

Hate Mail from Garden Gnomes

(Originally posted: 5/29/08)

One of the things you have to do when you switch from one job to another is make sure you leave nothing behind. Part of this is obvious, and actual. When you close the door to that old office for the last time, make sure you have taken every last personal item with you. What if I had accidentally left my diploma from GW sitting on the shelf? The next person to fill the position may accidentally assume they have gotten their MBA and start managing things they are far from qualified for. Won’t you be sorry when you here your old office building has been trampled by a fleet of angry zoo animals because some lackey in your old job signed a spend approval above his pay grade?

Note: That would be the best spend approval EVER.

But not only are your personal belongings things you can load into a box and throw in the back of your car, you also have to deal with the virtual belongings. After 5 years, do you realize how many things can be tied to your e-mail address? Answer: Eleventy billion. Just think about all the automated bill statements you have. If you lose visibility into this e-mail address, you better count on bankruptcy court. Because you will never be able to pay another bill ever in the history of forever. Period.

(Yes, I know this seems like an ideal scenario. But so is running water and electricity.)

In order make sure this didn’t happen, I wrote an e-mail to just about every address of friend and family I could think of, to ensure that our interwebbian communication will not cease on account of me decided to work for a different firm with a blue logo. It follows…(wait for it)…now.

Dear Everybody I've Ever Met,

I am writing to let you know that after today, you will no longer be receiving e-mail from me at this address. After all, today is my last day at SAIC. I've accepted a new position with the corporate office of Volkswagen-Audi, which from their web site, seems to be a small German firm that manufactures road vehicles. I've always had an entrepreneurial spirit, and I look forward to contributing at a small enterprising start-up. I start Monday. My German needs work.

From this desk, I've written (briefly counts "Sent Items") eleventy billion e-mails in the last 5+ years. And if you're receiving this, you've probably been on the receiving end of at least one of them. Well, if you receive an e-mail from this address after today, it's not from me. Barring the unlikely possibility that this company hires someone with my exact name over the weekend, it probably won't happen anyway. But if it does, beware.

That e-mail would be from a Chris Condon imposter.

Chris Condon imposters can't be treated lightly. For one, they're shorter than me more times than not. If there's anything I learned in life, you don't trust short people. (I already have a list of 7 people in my head who will no doubt be e-mailing me to argue.)

AND SCENE!

And judging from the overwhelming response, I lowballed that one. Try 14 people. If their ringleader, whose name is an anagram for “MINI SHORT CATS” ever gets them organized, we could have one serious pint-sized rebellion on our hands.

Das Question?

(Originally posted: 5/7/08)

I realize that yesterday’s introduction to working at VW left a lot of questions, considering it’s kind of major news that was casually slipped into a sporadically-written comedy blog. So in the spirit of full disclosure, here is a question and answer session that was recently held sometime recently somewhere inside my brain.(Note: This method of information was perfected by Rob Thompson back in our One Accord days. If you’re reading this, consider it a homage, rather than an obvious swipe of a brilliant idea.)

Were you looking for a new job?
Answer: Yes, I was, albeit passively. Forget soccer, the most grueling test of endurance in the world is coming home from one job and spending your evening on a computer looking for a different job. For the past two years since I had completed my MBA, this ultimately was always the plan. But as I described in my interviews, Life happened. We had a baby. We bought a townhouse. We painted a townhouse (We did not paint a baby.) So two years removed from grad school, I’m finally moving on.

Are you moving to Michigan? The Lions kinda suck.
Point taken. No, it appears that they’ve decided to come to me. Obviously, Detroit is the automotive capital of our country. Not only does it serve as home to the Big 3 (Ford, GM, Chrysler), their tiny German neighbor, Volkswagen, was nestled in the confines of Auburn Hills. (Note: not actually hills, nor the color auburn.) No longer wanting to be in their shadow, VW decided on a move. And because of this area’s surplus of tall, left-handed hockey fans, they decided to move to Herndon, Virginia. That’s where I come in.

Was this a promotion for you?
In terms of level or promotion, and in reference to my old position, I’m now my former supervisor’s supervisor. I jumped two levels, in essence. From my experience, I find that this is rather difficult to accomplish. Take Super Mario Brothers for instance. When you are little midget Mario (LMM), you can jump and barely land atop that low level row of mysteriously floating bricks. If you are fortunate enough to get a mushroom, you grow to be twice your size. That aforementioned jump just got a lot easier. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, Mario acid trips on a bouncing star and your athletic abilities heighten to the point where you can leap tall building in a single bound. That’s what an MBA can get you. It’s the Acid Trip Star of the Job Market.

Wow, that’s an unusual analogy.
Wow, that’s not actually a question.

Sorry. So what do you do now?
My official title is Financial Consultant for Corporate Group Functions. So I consult. Consulting is a magical term that features all the expertise with none of the chopping block. You provide the best financial analysis, reporting, and planning skills you can to the managers to which you are responsible, and then, disappear in a cloud of smoke. Of course, I’m still in training, so I haven’t had time to order a carton of Smoke Clouds from the Office Depot catalog. As for the Corporate Group Functions part, just assume it’s a set of a budgets of departments that are required to have a business. You know, like Marketing, and IT, and Pyrotechnics.

Where you workin’, homeslice?
Don’t get sassy with me, Inner Monologue. I now work in Herndon, VA, right on the Dulles Toll Road (not to be taken literally, I’m not in an insurance commercial with Dennis Haysbert.) It’s an easy drive in to the city from here, and it’s a better commute than to Tyson’s Corner. Besides, I was growing tired of Tyson’s complacency. Dude, Tyson, when are you going to get off your butt and try and annex more of a geometric shape? Corners are for slacker. I want to see you push yourself and annex a whole side. Oh, I love your chicken, too.

Condons Wanted.

(Actual post: 5/5/08)

You see what I did there? I used the grammatical gift of parenthesis to let you know when I actually wrote this. That way, I can re-initiate my pipe dream of destroying the back dating whilst giving you all a timely reminder of when the below happenings were actually scribed. It’s the best of both worlds.

Anyways, this is more of an update posting than anything. Many things have changed around here since I last wrote. First off, the very nature of “here” has been, in the words of one William Smith, “all turned, flipped upside-down.”

Surely your remember the four-letter acronym contractor (that is, they are an acronym, they do not contract acronyms) that employed me for the past five and quarter years? As it turns out, I do not work there anymore. For I have moved on to my next position, which probably has a lot to do with the embedded graphic I’ve used.

Yes, I am now working at a new acronym, this time only two letters. And the current two letter and the former four letter are mutually exclusive, meaning I’ve now been employed by six of the twenty-six letters in the alphabet (how’s that for a career aspiration?) In full, my new place of employment is Volkswagen Group of America. From my research, it seems to be a small German firm that manufactures road vehicles. I’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit, and I look forward to contributing at a small enterprising start-up. I started a fortnight ago. My German needs work.

Aside from talking Beetles, we’ve got other cars to. Some fast facts:

• Audi: Audi is the official car sponsor of your current box office champion, Iron Man. You think Robert Downey Jr. is impressive? Go see this movie and tell me that the Audi Q7 (the SUV) isn’t unstoppable. Your mother’s SUV has 11 cup holders, how quaint. My company’s SUV RUNS OVER SUPERHEROES. I win.


• Bentley: I figured by now I would have met P. Diddy. With all the free pub he gives this small English branch of our company, he’s got to have an office around here somewhere. Speaking of our office, the company is in the process of moving HQ from Michigan to Virginia. It’s still pretty empty here. Mo’ cubicles, mo’ problems.


• Bugatti: Our annual sales target for this brand is 30 cars. That’s right. Thirty. When each car costs eleventy billion, it makes for a keen profit margin.


• Lamborgini: The other night, I had to stop at 7-11 to pick up some drinks for a dinner party we were hosting. As I was about to leave, a candy red Lambo pulled into the parking lot. Something inside me questioned the need of a Lamborghini target market member to shop at 7-11. But I guess Slurpees have no need for class wars.
  

So, like I said, it’s been two weeks in, and I’m loving the new job. I’m out in Herndon now, which makes for a nice home commute but a trickier softball commute. That’s okay, though. The latter one allows me to swing an aluminum bat at other stupid drivers. I'm back, baby.