On the Road Again

Thing #151: Road Projects are not always meant to improve said road.

It's true. I always assumed that when a new construction project was taken up, the end goal was supposed to be better than where it started, but apparently that isn't so.

Example 1: Last year they demolished a decent, though not in great condition, road nearby. After finally repaving the road, it was actually in better shape, so I assumed they were finished. Wrong. They came back and cut a strange rectangular hole in the new road. Then, eventually, they filled the hole with pavement that doesn't quite line up with new paving around it, making it like a little misshapen speed bump tucked away in one lane. But still this wasn't the end. Over the next few weeks, they cut two similar holes and did an awful job filling them. You would think whatever needed to be done could have been when the road was demolished, it's not like they hurried to repave it.

Example 2: The beginning of January they went to the road connecting to the first one. (All these roads, by the way, make up my commute to work). This time they demolished the old road leaving a sad dirt path with chunks of old road and manhole covers sticking a few feet above the ground in places. About three weeks later they finally started the repaving process. It wasn't bad at this point, except they left about a two foot wide gap between the new paving and the old roads that intersect, and the pavement on the old roads sits about two feet higher.

A week or so after this phase, the man hole covers were miraculously back a couple of feet above the pavement. It went on this way for most of February. Until about a week ago that is. Now, right at the intersection where I turn on to this road, in the lane I need to turn in to, there is one of those mysterious rectangular holes, this time longer, wider, and deeper. So how is my tax money helping keep Alabama's roads up? It's not. I'm paying them to cut holes in my roads so I can drive through an obstacle course every day. Well, there are still two roads I drive on in my commute. I suppose they will decide to "improve" those next.

The Chimp

A Blank Stair

Thing #138: Taking the stairs may be better for your health, but it can sure be tricky.

I have a confession to make . . . I've been trying to be healthier. Hard to believe, coming from the guy who once bragged about eating a sandwich made from an entire loaf of French bread, but it's true. I've been eating more fruits and vegetables, going to the gym, and, yes, taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

I found this can have disadvantages though. Truth be told, taking the stairs is a leap into the unknown. To make my case I invoke the following three examples.

The first came in a medical building. I merrily pressed my way up the stairs to the third floor, only to find myself in the middle of some sort of surgical unit. I think it may have be a recovery area or something, but I honestly didn't stay long enough to find out (the man with the industrial toolbox sticks out in such a place). I got directions from a nearby nurse to where the elevator would have come out and headed that direction.

Then, last week, I went to the eighth floor of an eight story building. I decided to take the stairs down. They stopped on the sixth floor, so I decided to go back to the eighth floor and use the elevator there. This would've been a great plan had the door back onto the eighth floor not been locked from the inside. About that time, I noticed the entire stairwell was under construction as was the seventh floor. So, I waited on the eighth floor until someone walked by and banged on the door as hard as I could. Then, I took the elevator.

But this is nothing compared to today. Today I was in a second floor office when I noticed a door at the back with a white piece of paper taped to it. It read "Do Not Use. No Stairs." I decided not to try this one. From now on I think I'll just take the elevator and do jumping jacks the whole way up. That sounds much safer.

Kiwifruit

Welcome Homes

Thing #123: Both of the guys running for president have a lot of money.

As you can imagine this was quite a shock for me. I just always assumed that all politician were good hearted saints who gave all of thier money to the poor, at least all the money they haven't spent helping save cute little puppies.

Seriously, though, now we've got this huge flap about John McCain having loads of houses, which they seem to have countered by pointing out that Barack Obama has a multi-million dollar home and, it seems, a private beach. Personally, I'm glad. I mean would you want to trust your countries future with a guy living out of a cardboard box? I certainly wouldn't.

This, to me, just drives home the point that it's much better to pay close attention to the presidential primaries and then just ignore everything until it's time to vote. The primaries were a constant debate about ideas, hopes, and plans, the meat of a campaign. Now we get Obama being compared to Paris Hilton and John McCain mocked for having a lot of real estate. Can anyone say middle school. (I realize most middle-schooler have neither houses nor Paris Hilton, it's a metaphor about petty name calling.)

So I hope somebody from these campaigns reads this, because, that would be just cool. And it would mean someone was actually reading this. But also, maybe then we could get some discussion of the issues that really matter. Like how may cars Obama has.

Kiwifruit

Beauty and the Beast

Thing #122: Men are civilized, women are savage...

I know, the last thing you expected to hear. And I'm sure many of you are laughing so hard it is difficult to read (Especially you women). But, it is the truth!

I have worked in retail long enough to know that when women shop, they transform into monstrous beasts that tear through your store leaving a trail of destruction. And men, well they transform too. They may be too stubborn to ask for directions on the road, but when a man walks into a woman's clothing store, they become timid and helpless creatures.

To illustrate my point, I will lay out two scenarios for you.

Scenario A:

Man goes into clothing store. He is looking for a shirt, but only because his wife FINALLY threw away all of his old ones that were ragged and full of holes.
He wanders around for a bit looking at shelfs and racks and tables with wide, fearful eyes. Suddenly, he sees a shirt. He decides he likes it, so he quickly grabs said shirt in every color available and proceeds to the check out.

Scenario B:

Woman goes into clothing store. She isn't looking for anything in particular.
She proceeds to the first rack, picking up, moving, and generally pawing through every item. Then the next rack, and the next.
Slowly, the beast begins to emerge. She begins to pick things up, walk around, toss them back on shelfs they don't belong on.
She heads next to the beautiful table displays. By now her transformation is in full swing. She goes into a frenzy, unfolding every shirt and tossing them all back in a pile on the table, the beauty now gone.
Finally she makes her way to the dressing room with the 14 items she has selected. She tries each one on, finally decides she hates the way she looks in everything and will buy nothing.
Before she leaves, she makes sure to take every one of her 14 items and put them back... in the wrong place.

So you see, I now spend my days and nights picking up the pieces left behind from these uncivilized encounters. I must now rest, and prepare to return on Monday, to try to bring some order to this chaos.

The Chimp

And the Gold Goes to Canada

Thing #121: NBC stinks.

This is a bit harsh, but not, I think unwarrented. You see I love the Olympics. Not that I would ever, ever . . . ever (no this is NOT to much emphasis) be able to actually compete in the Olympics. I once wanted to be an Olympic rowing, but then realized that never actually having rown or even been in a boat I should find a more realistic dream. I ended up with watching the Olympics, which is much more realistic.

NBC is 'covering' the Olympics, so I came home from work and turned on NBC. Then, my wife tells me that it's not on again until eight (3 hours away). I wait the whole time. Then turned said channel back on. It was men's syncronized swimming. Yes, there is such a thing. No, I did not want to watch it. I have since landed on the local Canadian station which is covering . . . rowing! I love Canada.

Kiwifruit

Balloon Wars, Continued...

Thing #116: Balloons are naturally given to escaping.

As my colleague Kiwifruit mentioned earlier, balloons can sometimes be difficult things to deal with, however, what those difficulties pertain to can be be entirely opposing factors, for instance... Kiwi mentioned the malicious and destructive nature which some balloons possess, taking every opportunity to lash out at the world around them, on the flip side however, I would like to say a word about the elusive nature of balloons

To illustrate this I will use a few true childhood stories...

It was a Sunny Sunday afternoon, a group of children stood at the far end of a lobby inside of a church, at the other end a group of kid's camp counselors had just finished blowing up balloons and one of them stepped to the forefront, calling out that the kids may "proceed in orderly fashion over to where the counselors were and that they could each take one balloon of their choosing".

One boy (a.k.a. The Swedish Chef) was especially fond of balloons and was standing toward the front of the crowd, as soon as the "come over here and grab a balloon as fast as you possibly can" order was given the entire group of happy children surged on mass toward the balloons The Chef was younger than most and so was trampled underfoot by the throng, by the time he recovered his senses and stood back up on his feet all the balloons had been accounted for and the poor young Chef was out of luck.

Another time that same young man actually got a balloon and took it all the way home, once home he happily jumped out of his car and accidently tripped and fell, in dismay he watched his balloon drift down to the ground and touch the very tip of a single blade of grass... POW!

As if this isn't enough to illustrate the point...

Just recently the Chef was shopping at a prominent retail establishment on a certain holiday which embraces love, and romance, and all those wonderful mushy concepts... he was shopping for his wife and selected a large balloon in the shape of a big red heart which said "I Love You" simple, and accurate thought the Chef. He seized the balloon by the string and happily walked up to the awaiting cashier, still oblivious as to the transitory nature of his esteemed prize.

The cashier, snatched the balloon, yanked it forcefully downward, scanned it, and let it go... It flew up, it's string drawing tight, it's string not holding, it's string falling down the the ground as the actual balloon floated all the way to the very, very high ceiling...

The cashier didn't notice at first and after she did she and another lady began suggesting that the chef take a large ugly frog balloon which was holding a heart as a replacement... The Chef was very sad.

Fortuantely the Chef went shopping with his wife in that same retail establishment shortly after that and he pointed out to her the balloon he had meant to get... She seemed to enjoy it, even from far away...


Mork, Mork, Mork

Surely, It Stinketh

Thing #111: Maintaining the refrigerator is an important, yet trying task.

My wife left me in charge of defrosting the freezer and cleaning out the old leftovers in our refrigerator. The trouble is, our freezer door is broken in such a way that it doesn't close properly and has been known to leap out at unsuspecting victims (a.k.a. my wife) who then ask me to get food out of it so as to avoid another attack. I'm good at catching it. The problem with having a door like this (other than a good scare from it flying at your face) is that frost quickly builds up on edge of the freezer until it starts to look like what I see out my window from around December to March or April, snow covered hills.

It was a valiant effort. I didn't realize you could sweat while working in a freezer, but apparently you can, or at least, I can. After blow drying, chipping, and pounding my way through this, I moved on to the simple task of emptying out leftovers (and by simple, I mean gross). We're actually pretty good about getting rid of left-overs in a timely fashion, but this is the time when the ones that got lost in the back turn up.

As I prepared to open the first container, I was reminded of a Bible story. Yes, you heard that right. If you remember, when Jesus is about to raise Lazarus from the dead, Martha protest. She points out that he's been dead four days and surely it stinketh (in the KJV). Some part of me was similarly saying, "It's been in there X number of days! Surely it stinketh!" I persevered, doing my best not to breathe through my nose. Now, I just have to make certain everything got back in the fridge. Maybe later I'll tell you about my new theory on balloons.

Kiwifruit

What It Takes

Thing #102: It takes a special kind of person to be a Philadelphia Flyers fan.

That type of person is a sheep, or a lemming, or a dumb dog. Pretty much anyone who is willing to think the best of a group of people no matter how often they are proven wrong is a good candidate. Case in point: The Flyers built a 3-1 lead in their playoff series. In hockey, this is the equivalent of the point in the movie where the good guy has finally outsmart the bad guy, knocked the sword out of his hand, and has but to take him into custody.

Now, we are at game seven. Out of the last 226 series with 3-1 deficits only 20 teams have come back to win. You can always count on the Flyers to beat the odds to lose. Granted, I am being a bit premature. The Flyers could win tonight, manage to stay alive. The point is even if they do, this turnaround simply confirms what Flyers fans have known for a long, long time (since 1976), the Flyers seem to excel at finding ways to lose.

That being said, I am hopeful. This is another trait of loyal Flyers fans. No matter how many times our team manages to lose, we are always hopeful. This is probably because the Flyers have a knack for being really, really good, until they collapse. However, this year is different. Instead of the usual string of aging, soon-to-be retired/free agent ex-superstars we usually put together we have a crisp, young group of players whose best years are still ahead of them. Even if we do lose tonight, we'll be back next year. And we'll be better. Assuming we don't trade everybody again.

Kiwifruit

Taxes: "Just Say Hold"

Thing #95: There is something worse than being on hold . . . being on hold with the IRS.

It's true, I had to call the IRS recently. And when you have to call the IRS, you HAVE to call the IRS. So I called. Then I spent the next 20 minutes on hold listening to what Katherine suspected was "The Nutcracker Suite." I could not verify this. My favorite part though, what the pleasant, generic sounding voice which would chime in every so often and remind me that all associates were busy with other customers. Customers?! Seriously?

Don't get me wrong, I understand this is probably just a generic message, but it just seems a bit wrong. Having the IRS refer to me as their "customer" seemed akin to having the guy who just mugged me thank me for my business. Weird.

At this point I should say that I fear the tone of my posts have been getting more and more negative. Several months of winter will do that. So here's some positive stuff.

I'm going to see my family in Alabama at the end of next week. Woohoo! Also, my in-laws are letting us house sit for them this weekend. They have good cable. Woohoo! I also still love racquetball and am getting better at it. My favorite moment from last nights game was when Rob had me analyze what I did wrong when I missed. The second one, I swung at, or so I thought, but was nowhere near it. My analysis for what I did wrong? "I didn't hit the ball." Duh. At least it got a laugh. I love laughing. I'm going to go laugh with my wife now. Funny movie. Steve Carrell. Enjoy life. Say no to drugs (unless your doctor prescribes them.) This post is quickly devolving into chaos. I'm ending it now.

Kiwifruit

Will Someone Please Remove This Month From the Building

Thing #94: If March goes out like a lion, February has to be dragged away by security, kicking and screaming.

Every month has its theme, its motif, its, dare I say, personality. You know what I mean. July is the patriot, waving flags and testing us with its heat. May is the NHL playoff timme and someone's birthday is (just in case anyone forgot). And February is the month that, at least up here, clobbers us over the head with snow and then drops to below 0 temperatures to freeze us under an immovable floor of ice. Not a very friendly month. Then there's March.

March is normally the month that smiles warmly on us, thawing the snow and ice, so April showers can bring May flowers (and playoffs). March is benevolent, kind and friendly. Maybe that explains what has happened. See, when it came time March showed up, smiling and preparing its warmth, then BAM!!!! February clobbered March over the head declaring it would never give up, and cackling maniacally.

As you may know, we up here in the North Country had a rather sizable winter storm this past weekend. This explains why I spent an hour and a half shoveling to get the car loose so we could get to church Sunday. Then, another 30-45 minutes when we got home so I could get the car back in. I didn't mind. It was March. It would melt soon. Then I got up this morning. It was -10. No problem, it'll pass. Then I saw the weather today. Next weekend low 20's and 30's. I'm so glad we're going to Alabama.

Kiwifruit

The Coca-Cola Currency Exchange

Coke machines are more than just blatent commercialistic attempts to get our cold cash for a cold drink. They are also magical boxes of transformation for change.

I was going to do my laundry today. I dug through my change jar, sorting through loads of useless nickels and dimes, desperately seeking quarters for this endevour. Two loads, at $1 for washing and another for drying comes to 16 quarters total. I had nine.

So, I went and started washing with the 8 quarters I did have and plotted my next move. I would go down to the cafe in one corner of campus and take out some cash as I had none. Then I would go to the other corner of campus and turn that cash into change at Environmental Services, the location of the only coin changer on campus.

Now, granted, this all hinged upon the assumption that the coin changer was operational, which is a very big assumption. It never seems to be operational, when I need it. I've heard rumors that at times it does work, but they are as of yet unconfirmed.

The final leg of my journey would bring me back to the laundry room at the other corner of campus. So, I entered my room, grabbed my wallet and keys, and headed out, locking the door behind me. That's when I saw Ian, my roommate.

Ian, you see, always has loads of change in his drawer, so, I asked him if I could borrow some and give him cash in a little bit. He kindly obliged, but was low on change for a change. I told him I'd be fine but he insisted.

So, he gave me the last of his quarters and two dimes and a nickel.

"Just put these in the Coke machine and press the coin return," he said, "It'll give you back a quarter."

"Really?" I replied.

"Yeah, but don't use the Pepsi machine. It doesn't work. Confounded new-fangled technology."

I swiftly returned Ian's change and went back to the change jar. I counted out 8 sets of dimes and nickels, for good measure, and rushed down to the laundry room.

I arrived and shoved two dimes and nickel in. I pressed the coin return and like magic a quarter came out. I proceed with the rest of my change, transfixed with childlike awe on the process. It was amazing . . .

Flaming Kiwifruit.

Contractions: They're Dangerous

Words are tricky. They are dangerous little things that just try to get you in trouble. For instance, I'm writing this script the other day and I want a character to say, "Who are you?" Well, logically, this would be the perfect place for a contraction. They are = They're. We are = We're. Who are = . . . Well, you see the problem. Okay, maybe you don't. Just finish the equation on your own. Then delete it before anybody walks by and sees it. Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea, you know.

And contractions aren't the only offenders. Take the word "assistant." A perfectly innocuous, innocent-looking word, if taken on its own. Then, you try to abbreviate it, and WHAM! You hit a wall. This is why you don't abbreviate while your driving. Current reports suggest that if the current "Abbreviation Driving" trend continues, there will still be no reports of such an accident, but you can never be to careful.

No, no, a more common problem when abbreviating "assistant" is the "three-letter problem." You see, the easiest way to abbreviate a word is to grab the first three letters. Colonel = Col. December = Dec. May = May. Ralph Nader, President in Exile = Ral. Assistant = . . . Again, you get the point. Again, if you don't do what I said before. Clearly this will not work as a viable option. Unless of course your assistant has displeased you and you wish to wreak vengeance upon him or her <----- (See Borghy, I'm not a sexist jerk. I'm learning!) in a subtle, yet not so subtle way. I wouldn't suggest this.

Also, gender relative terms can be troublesome. I'm not refering to aunt/uncle, mom/pop, Sonny/Cher, fishherder/fishherdress type words. Nope, this is about his and hers or him and her or he and she, well, you get the point. The man problem is that the English language has not gender nuetral pronoun. Well, there's it, but use of it in regards to a human being tend to be somewhat offensive to the target. Trust me, I know.

So, thanks to this oversight, by the crafters of the English language, poor innocent males, completely oblivious to the complexities of gender relations in our modern world, say phrases such as, "If you have an employee who won't work, you should discipline him." When the correct phrase should be, "If you have an employee who won't work, you should pummel him mercilessly with frozen peacocks."

No, no, that not right. I in no way condone violence with or against frozen poultry. The correct phrase would be, "If you have an employee who won't work, you should discipline him or her." The poor, unwitting men, who say such phrases, are then pummel with frozen peacocks, by all of the women, and more "sensitive" men in the room. (No there is not a story in this, and if there were I would not tell you about. It's just a coincidence that I get all jumpy when I walk through the poultry department when I walk through the grocery store.)

Well, as Mark said in the most recent script I wrote:

Look, I ain't wanna hurt ya' . . . Well, maybe I did, but I ain't gonna,
now. So, just come on out and I'll be all nice.

Actually, that has nothing to do with anything, but I just loved the line. Talk about grammar infractions. Somebody, get that guy a dictionary, for crying out loud! I'm tired. I had to write this twice because my finger slipped and I delete this whole post the first time. Good night, or morning, or whatever it is when you read this.

Flaming Kiwifruit

All Roads Lead to Where?

You can't trust roads, anymore.

Yep, it's not like in the old days, when roads progressed in logical patterns. You know you'd see a road and say, "Yeah, that'll take me where I need to go." Then, it did. Well, those days are over.

See, I was trying to get to this sweet shopping plaza (by which I mean CITY) so I turned down this road. It took me over the crest of a hill where I could look heroically down on the center, which spread out before me triumphantly. I quickly realized that rather than bringing me to the valient City of Commercialism, this was bringing me around the back of the Target.

No problem, I thought. What goes around the back of Target surely loops around the front.

WRONG!

No, this road lead to a construction site which led to another road, which led to another road, which led to another road, which led to the City of Commercialism. So, why, you might ask, did I not turn around rather than brave the exhausting maze of tangled non-sensical roads? It's simple: I'm male.

You see what you have to understand about men, is we are never wrong. Even when we are wrong we have to find a way to prove we're not wrong. For example:

A man, whom we will not name, was driving around a lake. Said man, took a wrong turn, going the way which would be longer. A female freind of said man pointed out the mistake. So, I . . . I mean, this man, simply replied that he liked this way better.

You see, that man wasn't wrong. He just liked taking the longer way. Making him an idiot, but a correct idiot.

The moral of the story is it's better to be a correct idiot, than and incorrect genius.

Gee, that's not such a great moral. I need to work on that.

Flaming Kiwifruit

I HATE MY EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

E-mail is a terrible, terrible thing.

Okay, so maybe I'm just annoyed that I've been busy with e-mail so much tonight. I had to email crew for my production, cast for it, radio people, audio people, people I don't even know! And people emailed me. It's driving me crazy!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I feel better. I am so glad no one reads this anymore.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Lucky Me

Fortune favors the lucky.

It's true. I found this out while searching for S&S Pest Control today. After getting bizarre directions from BR, our office manager, which lead me to an abandoned house, I consulted my dad, the main salesman at our company. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey, where's S & S Pest Control?
David: Huh? Oh, I think is down on Enterprise Road or something.
Me: Really? Bobby Ray's crazy. He sent me to an abandoned house in Opelika

My dad, David, got a good laugh out of this, although couldn't believe it, really. This was yesterday.

Today, I set out again. I drove down to Enterprise Drive. Nothing. Then I went down Centerhill Road, a branch of Enterprise. Nothing. I was about to turn around and give up when I noticed that a construction site on the road had signs up informing everyone that thier site was protected by S & S. It also included a phone number to dial. So, I called and got directions.

It turns out it was just a ways further down the original road I found the abandoned house on. What's worse? It was less than a mile down the road from my house. I pass it on a regular basis, which explains why I could visualize the sign in my head the whole time. Go figure.

Flaming Kiwifruit.