Finally saw the horn-as-doorbell idiot in the flesh. While I was out working on my car (@ 8:15AM) there was a familiar blast of steam-boat sounding car horn. Stepping from behind the raised hood I’m face to face with a Cadillac full of (I’m assuming) carpoolers. Lady in the passenger seat says “we weren’t blowing at you, we were blowing for our friend”. I don’t know if they heard me say “Have you never heard of a fucking doorbell?” as I climbed into my car (whose windows, like theirs, were down), but I don’t really care.
What the hell is wrong with people? Surely at least one of those people, too lazy to walk to the front door, has a cell phone and could call their friend to announce their arrival, rather than entertaining the entire neighborhood with their charming novelty horn every Goddamned morning, at 8AM!
I feel bad for neglecting the blog. If you feel like you’re missing out on your daily/weekly/monthly allotment of Gregisms, you can catch up with me on Twitter (@gargreguan). Anyway, I just wanted to share my latest brainstorm with you, my adoring public.
I’m going to start an “anti-social networking” site and call it…
HateBook(!) As soon as I figure out a way to monetize the thing I’ll be sitting on easy street.
As I do almost all of my banking online or via debit card, I use, at the very most, 3 or 4 checks per month. This means that an order of checks lasts me a very long time. After writing the check for my rent (the only check I write every month, I discovered/remembered that I’m almost out of checks. I had noticed this some weeks ago, but since I was still using the freebies from when I opened the account (literally 3+ years ago!) I couldn’t just re-order online and would have to talk to a “customer service represenative”.
So, I call the 800 number and navigate through the menus until I get “Troy” on the line. Troy was quite personable, making chit-chat as he gathers the necessary information (evidently, the weather in Manila, Philippines is quite nice now). Troy asks me if I want the same checks as before, “sure, that’s fine” says I. Then Troy dropped a bombshell; 250 of the rather ordinary-looking checks I’ve been using will cost $77!! First of all, I do not need 250 checks, it’s taken me 3 1/2 years to use 150. Secondly, $77 for checks? That’s fucking crazy!
So, I politely explain to Troy that there is absolutely no way I’m paying that much for checks. With little fanfare he hooks me up with plain-old, regular-ass checks, yellow, I believe, for a much less angina-inducing $21.50 per 150. Assuming I don’t move (or die) I should still be using these checks 5 years from now.
“They” tell you not to make eye-contact with people in New York and for heaven’s sake, don’t speak to people in the city or on mass transit. I say ‘bullshit!’ Don’t talk to the visibly deranged or those who obviously don’t want to be bothered. Otherwise, go for it. Who knows what interesting conversations and experiences you might be missing, sitting in your insular fear-cloud.
Here’s a picture which perfectly illustrates my point:
Click to embiggen.
If I hadn’t engaged him in conversation I could have said “I saw an interesting bike messenger on the train.”
Since I did, I had the pleasure of chatting with him for a bit and when I asked if I could take his picture, he struck this great pose. Just as you’d suspect from the photo, he was a very colorful and interesting character; one I never would have met if I’d listened to “them” and their “conventional wisdom”.
I was talking to my best friend earlier and he was exhorting me to get a Facebook account. I explained that I’m not a big fan of the “social networking” sites and related the story that follows to illustrate my point. He seemed to enjoy the tale and said, somewhat derisively, that I should write about it on my blog, so that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Every year my town holds a real old-fashioned ice cream social at the park by my house. Big Band music, ice cream, the whole shebangabang.
Several years ago, overcome by curiosity, I attended said event with my (at that time) girlfriend. After the music, as I was enjoying my ice cream a sweet elderly lady came up and engaged me in conversation. I played along and chatted for a bit, but the voice in my head was saying:
I don’t know you, why are you talking to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Apparently some of us just aren’t ice cream social material. I still chuckle at my grumpy antisocial attitude (at an ice cream social no less!) to this day. Don’t even get me started on the people at the hardware store!
I know this video is old-hat to the majority of my fellow netizens. But the MP3 player just shuffled up the song that the video is set to and I was moved to post this. Hopefully the one person out there who hasn’t yet seen it will, and will enjoy it as much as I do. The song, if you’ve ever wondered is “Praan” by Garry Schyman. One translation I’ve seen goes thusly:
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
If you’d like to purchase an MP3 of this magnificent tune, you can do so here: Praan.
Anyway, for whatever reason this really resonated strongly with me today, so I thought I’d pass it along.
Here in my area of the country tonight is the night we celebrate “Beggars’ Night”. For some reason they arbitrarily pick a date for trick-or-treating but they can’t even bring themselves to call it that (wouldn’t want to encourage mischief, dontcha know) nor to so much as mention Halloween. What the hell is up with that?
Apparently, since adults have co-opted Halloween and turned it into a night for drinking and for women to dress as slutty sexy witches and devils and such, the powers that be have decided that it’s not a good night for kids to be out and about, especially if it falls on a Friday, Saturday or (gasp) Sunday. So, they move the date and call it something else.
I hate that. Halloween is October 31. When I was a kid we really looked forward to it falling on a Friday or Saturday, as that meant no school the next day. It’s really a shame how many of the simple pleasures of childhood have been swept aside in the name of “safety” and “convenience”.
Fellow blogging cyclist (or is it cycling bloggist?) Ed W over at CycleDog has raised a great kid. This story proves it.
Bring a tissue.
Thanks Ed, thanks Jordan, I needed that.
The day after Barack Obama announced Joe Biden as his running mate, I found myself involved in a conversation about his choice.
The person I was chatting with could have been a co-worker, an acquaintance, or a stranger on the street, it really doesn’t matter to the story so, in the name of anonymity, you can select whichever you prefer.
Anyway, this person says to me, quite contemptuously (about Joe Biden):
“That man looks more like a Republican than he does a Democrat.”
I walked away from the conversation at this point, shaking my head and thinking:
“Jesus! And your vote counts just as much as mine does.”
Nothing like having an informed opinion. Honestly! S/he doesn’t like him because he “looks like a Republican.”
Thanks to the combined efforts of “the terrorists”, the news media, and the Bush administration, it appears that we are becoming a nation of trembling Chicken Littles frightened by our own shadows.
I just came across this AP news story by way of Boing Boing, which I will use to illustrate my point.
Basically, here’s what happened:
A Connecticut teacher thought she was alone in the school building. Two teenagers and a custodian, also thinking they were alone in the building began singing “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses over the PA system. Upon hearing the lyric
You know where you are?
You’re in the jungle baby
You’re gonna die
the teacher loses her mind, and fearing for her life, barricades herself in a room then notifies the authorities. Six troopers and three police dogs show up and the kids are handcuffed until the “investigation” reveals that there was no threat or danger.
Now honestly, I can undestand how that would startle, even frighten a person, but come on! Surely most rational people would immediately recognize it for exactly what it was; kids goofing off.
Similarly, apparently all it takes is a “suspicious package” or an errant piece of pipe to fling an entire community into mass-hysteria. Recently our local news reported that a man had found what he thought might be a pipe-bomb in his garage. As you can imagine, the response was immediate and overwhelming. With the help of all manner and sorts of high tech equipment, the bomb squad determined that the “device” didn’t contain any explosives. But even after this discovery, they (the reporters and law enforcement) continued to refer to it as a “pipe bomb”.
Uh, excuse me, but isn’t it the addition of explosives that makes it a “pipe bomb”? Without something that goes “boom”, it seems to me that all you really have is a pipe.
The sad thing is, as society becomes further indoctrinated into the culture of fear, this type of incident will become more commonplace and, I’m afraid, eventually accepted.
In my previous post I mentioned Kurt Vonnegut’s appearance on The Daily Show. Comedy Central has it available on their website. Click here to find it.
Trust me, it’s well worth your time.
And here is the list he speaks of, “Liberal Crap I Never Want to Hear Again”, a brilliant morsel of Vonnegut-style satire.
