When I was in college, my pal Brody was mentioning that he had the oldest air conditioning unit in the entire state of Ohio. I began arguing with him – mine was purchased in 1964. We went upstairs and compared – we were both right; we had the exact same model. Good work, 1964 GE. Of course, about six months later, mine, just to spite me, started spitting water all over the place, ruining my Jenny McCarthy poster. Or it was tired of her anti-vaccine bullshit. Probably that.
I thought of that air conditioner for one reason: every appliance I own has taken a hot dump in the last three years, plus a few other house items. My rental property need a new fridge recently, but worse is my house now. Since I moved in with my wife, we have replaced the fridge (died), oven (died), front door (can’t shut without steroids), back door (wouldn’t seal – insert your own joke), the hot water heater (you can figure out why), the washer and dryer (heart attacks, long story). Oh and the garage doors also, for good measure. Either our house is jinxed or my wife is a very strategic planner. If about two more things go in the house, I will have used up all my usefulness. I better start watching the mail for a life insurance policy increase on me… Hang in there, microwave. It’s you and me now!
I had to fly for work recently. To Orlando. Home of one of the Disney places. In all the rush of packing, planning and life in general I forgot until I got to the airport one thing – children like going to see the mouse. I got on the plane and a girl was screaming. Not happy, not unhappy, just plain screaming while her parents did nothing. When I say nothing, I mean I don’t even think they blinked. It was impressive and maddening. I quickly ordered a bourbon and was rewarded with white rum. Getting white rum when you ask for bourbon is like asking for a steak and getting a handful of Taco Bell meat. Then the cabin pressure changed and an older boy began wailing that his ears hurt. For 15 straight minutes. Now all our ears hurt, Jimmy. Misery loves company.
On the way back, there were less children, which is not good. Why? More adults, that’s why. I got the next to last seat and had to cram between a woman with a half shaved head and a very large woman, who had no issue with spreading her mass into my tiny personal space. I fell asleep for about ten minutes; the ten minutes that they brought drinks out. I awoke, parched as a traveler lost in the desert. Unable to reach my bag, thanks to the lady spilling so far into my seat I couldn’t bend over without groping her right half, I had to resort to doing the plane’s crossword puzzle, which was worsened by the fact it had already been completed before I started, oh that, and my piercing thirst.
Mercifully, it was all over and I vowed to make my own wings, like the crafty Daedalus. I think he was inspired by the first Greek airline, which had been such an unpleasant experience before showers and deodorant, that it has been erased from history. Make my own wings, it is.
No, not the lame favorite things from the Sound of Music song. Who likes wild geese with moon on their wings? Or at all? Geese stink. What doesn’t stink? This!
Yes, that’s me as Captain America (how I see myself in my liberty loving dreams). Tonight at Mikey’s Late Night Slice, 268 S. 4th St in Columbus at 7:30 I get to be involved in an insultfest known as a roast. Even more fun, all the roasters and roastees are in full character. Will their character get verbally beaten down or we will reach extra deep and go after their not so secret identities? Will I pass out from wearing a full costume or from excess alcohol like usual? What will be more numerous – World War II references or personal scars being ripped open as salt is poured in? There is only one way to find out – be at Mikey’s tonight!
(On a personal note, I may change my driver’s license picture to the above one. Can anyone superimpose that image onto my wedding photos? I have some research to do).
If you are worried about robots replacing people in the workplace, please read. It may not be that bad.
I ordered some appliances over the weekend and was notified I would be contacted for delivery. The phone rang at 7:15 am on Monday, which means someone is dead, dying or going to make someone else dead or dying. I missed the call on purpose. I checked the voicemail, and lo and behold, it was the delivery manager with glad tidings. I made the mistake of calling back.
“Hello, can we help you?” Yes, I’m returning a call to Bud. “Hold please.” 2 minutes later, someone else picks up. “Hello, can I help you?” Yes, I was calling Bud, someone must have transferred me to the wrong department. “Hold please.” Four minutes pass. Now I am considerably less jovial, as I swerve through AM rush hour on a Monday listening to Islands in the Stream, the instrumental version. That is what we are. I forget the rest of the words.
Finally, another department, not Bud’s. “Are you holding for someone?” Yes, please don’t transfer me again. “Why didn’t you leave a message?” I would LOVE TO. I have been on hold for over five minutes, I can’t even get the department. Silence, as my words clearly confused the rep. “What’s the message?” I don’t know, he called me. I’m calling back. I guess it’s about a delivery. “It’s probably about a delivery.” At this point, the thin veil of kindness has been ripped open. YES, PROBABLY. JUST TELL HIM I CALLED HIM BACK. MY NAME IS CHRIS. “Did you order something?” Oh Jesus help me now. Give me strength. YES, THAT’S WHY I’M CALLING HIM BACK.
Then he poked the bear again. This has escalated. “So you didn’t order anything?” OH GODDAMNIT CAN I JUST RELAY THE FACT THAT I AM CALLING HIM BACK, I DON’T WANT TO HOLD OR TALK OR DISCUSS THIS ANYMORE! SHIT! The melonheaded dunce on the other end was silent, finally deducing that I may, in fact, be somewhat annoyed. “OK, gosh…I’ll tell him.” I knew he wouldn’t.
Then the actual driver called me and scheduled the delivery. Then Bud called and cancelled it. Then the driver called again, while I was at work and told me they were 15 minutes out. Then I realized if I didn’t have a wife and child to provide for and love, I would easily have driven to the store and made the entire employee base a statistic on a spreadsheet. One day at a time. One day at a time.
I got an mp3 file from my radio interview last week. I thought, what an easy way to provide an audio component to my blog! Plus, it’s actually clean, unlike 99% of everything else I do!
I uploaded the file to my site. Too big, wouldn’t link. OK, I put it on YouTube and link it. YouTube won’t take it without a video or picture…says use Movie Maker, which is free. Downloaded and took 5 minutes figuring out how to find it on my new computer, which I don’t comprehend yet. Says file doesn’t work, use Media Player to add missing components to use in Movie Maker to add video to send to YouTube to link to website to save time from typing blog. 45 minutes later, gave up trying to save file on Media Player to send to Movie Maker. Blood clot starts in brain over furious rage, night wasted, lost month or more off life, saved zero time and had to type blog about technology besting me yet again. I hate computers.
My daughter is really into books right now. Well, sort of, she likes turning the pages while you’re trying to read to see the next picture. She is my child, after all. The other day she grabbed my reading glasses, so I took them off. I realized I couldn’t read the words in the Elmo book, so I just improvised.
I inserted my own dialogue to spice it up. Elmo: “Hey man, you want to hang out or something?” Oscar: “Man you better get out of my face.” E: “Whatever man, I’ll stuff you back in that trash can.” O: “Whatever is right, you best keep steppin’.” E: “Yeah, I will because I want to, not because you told me to.” O: “That’s what I thought!” At this point Mom started paying attention to Dad’s story time. “Dad’s story sounds awful.” Whatever, Mom.
Elmo: “You two want to hang out or something?” Bert: “Man, we got stuff to do.” E: “Whatever man. You can deal with your own problems.” Bert: “Whatever man, you better mind your own business.” E: “Yeah, you’re lucky I don’t have time for you fools.” B: “Yeah, you’re lucky I’m busy cleaning up this crap.” E: “Whatever, man!” B: “Yeah, whatever is right!” Mom chimed in again, “Dad isn’t allowed to make up anymore stories.” I got this.
Elmo: “Hey, what’s up?” Zoe: “Just blowing bubbles and stuff. What’s it to you?” E: “Whatever.” Z: “Yeah, whatever. You want to hang out and stuff?” E: “Yeah, I guess or something.” THE END. By the end my daughter was whimpering, clearly moved by the beautiful story her father came up with all on his own. In other news, my wife will be reading most of the books and also teaching her how to interact with other people. Whatever.