Monday, August 31, 2009

Dexter Fletcher Appreciation Day is August 31

You might not have heard of this day, but it's happened every year since 1999. Break out your favorite Dexter Fletcher movies and series, call your friends, pop the corn, and crack a case cuz Dexter Fletcher Day is here! This year's curriculum at Casa del Genius is Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, Doom, and then the best of Band of Brothers.

Tell the world how you celebrate DF-Day at your "flat" in the comments.

One Biomedical Ethics Class Is Not Enough

For me to be an effective judge or even say what I would have done. Ginger-Talk alerted me to this story, and I am heading off to find a paper copy as it will probably disappear behind the NYT subscriber wall soon.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

I Just Wet Myself

I am going to go change my underwear after watching the Descent: Part 2 trailer. Better break out the Gold Bond.

A Dark and Stormy Face

I yelled at some people last night. It felt fantastic. Their expressions were an amusing blend of shock, anger, and fright. They said nothing in response. Let me set the situation for you.

The management has steadfastly refused to allow us to use any automatic gratuity on large groups, like every other damn restaraunt in the country. They think auto-grats reduce the customer's desire to spend, when all this policy has done so far is reduce our tip percentage. Numerous horrific situations occur: splitting checks 25 ways, only to receive tips of less than dollar from each; hosting 45 people and having them leave piecemeal, some leaving without pitching in, and pissing off their friends who proceed to take that out on the tip; large groups of cocky, aggressive, asshole Euro-trash hassling you all night long and waltzing out while expecting you to be pleased with the change from a dollar on a 200 dollar tab, and etc.

Management encourages the servers to be upfront with our customers if they leave less than a ten percent tip. "Talk to them, ask them why they're tipping so poorly, and I'm sure they'll tip up," they say as they leave at 430 in the afternoon. I find this to be the ultimate in Neocon Bullshit in the Workplace at the personal level. Passing the responsibility for our salary onto us, when the salary is dependent on a customer's good feeling is a perfect blame the victim. Without automatic gratuity for large tables, you encourage poor tips. There is no accountability. These managers also steadfastly refuse to spend any money on upkeep, so the place is a shithole, further encouraging poor tips. How would you feel if you had a great time, gotten great service, gotten drunk, and fucked up your math, and are then presented with a guilt trip from your waiter? I would not be pleased. Having tried this at least twice a week in the last ten weeks, it has only worked once. Cussing out bad tippers when they return a few days later works is our only recourse, and works excellently, if you're aiming for catharsis, but not so well if you want tips. Unless you scare the bejesus out of the kids.

Last night, not only did I receive a pocketful of change from a table after waiting on them for two-and-a-half hours, but a friend and nice person received a shitty tip from a jerkface asshole, after he and his friends had been drinking for several hours. He left a ten dollar tip on his one hundred dollar portion of the bill. Four of his ladyfriends left no tip whatsoever.* This server, we'll call her Rapali, politely asked if there was some way she could improve her service because she must have done something wrong to receive such a poor tip. Jerkface then proceeds to apologize, and even go so far as to say, "Don't worry, I got your back." He then changed his tip to five dollars and then they left. He also left a note about how "rude and inapppropate"** he found her question. Reading this note, I felt my brain turn off and my testosterone surge. My hands gripped an invisible beater stick, and my face...well, I'm not sure what it looked like, but the bartender shouted, "No! Chuckles, don't!" as I stormed out the door. I caught up to the group at the corner, where they well all laughing about how they had treated Rapali. I stopped ten feet away,*** and shouted, "I hope you fuckers aren't fucking planning on coming back, ya fucking douchebags!" Obama probably heard me. In Hawai'i. They stared at me in horror and astonishment while I glared, and then turned around and stalked back to my office. They shouted nothing at my back, which was the healthy choice for all of us.

It felt wonderful to give someone a deserved yelling, and I would have loved to continue screaming obscenities, but I would have worked myself into an arrest-worthy action. That would have been less than wonderful. Anyone want to take odds on me and an aneurysm? Damn, I need a new job.

* I've been told many times by different female servers that they hate waiting on predominately female tables. I have not heard the same from male servers with male tables. I have good luck and bad luck with tables and call it as such.
** Yup, he couldn't even spell inappropriate. I wonder if he can spell cobag.
*** If I had moved within arms' reach, I would probably have needed to make my one phone call. Furious doesn't begin to describe, more like Candidate for Inglourious Basterd.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

My New Career in Advertising Beckons

A coworker and I were riffing on the wonders of Gold Bond in our steamy, seedy place of business. In addition to debating the merits of various application styles, we wrote a few ads that would probably only ever air on a short-lived, summer-replacement sketch comedy show. On HBO. In between Taxicab Confessions 47: The Long Ride Home, and Real Sex with Dolls 11: Real Girl on Real Girl. Here are some slogans I came up with on the bus this afternoon:

Gold Bond: Keeps your balls cold without freezing your nuts off.

Gold Bond: Keeps you dry until you want to get wet.

Gold Bond: For those men who know what "not so fresh" feels like.

Gold Bond: Feels good on your butthole. Real good.*

Gold Bond: Strong enough for a bear's balls, made for a man's. Bear-Men may also apply.

**Gold Bond: The average crotch is a stanky, sweaty 170 degrees fahrenheit, but a Gold Bond crotch feels like a breezy 70 degrees.

Take the Hundred Degree Challenge! If your balls don't feel one hundred degrees cooler after a single dusting of Gold Bond Crotch Powder, we'll send you a bottle of Gold Bond Medicated Crotch Aftershave!

I also invented some new Gold Bond products:

Sandalwood-Scented Gold Bond for the adventuring man. "For those Hemingway days...and nights."

Whiskey-Scented Gold Bond for the gentleman. "Who doesn't want to smell like Sean Connery?"

*This one comes courtesy of the barback.
**This is more of a marketing campaign than a slogan. Sorry.
***Please don't sue me for this, I write this from love. Plus I'm broke.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Thanks, But No Thanks

I really appreciate all the help that people are giving me as I continue to look for a fruitful job. As usual, some of the help is good and some of the help...means well. The number of articles I've read about tech sector jobs, and other careers that are so far removed from my life and skills, would bore you. They bore me. I am not, and never will be, a programmer or coder. I learned in college that computers are fun and useful, but that my mindset is not quite right for programming. Maybe I should enroll in expensive software classes, but three to five years of classes later, most of these jobs are going to be filled. I have no drive to be a programmer, and I know what happens to me when I am not motivated in a job.

When you're looking for work, there's the job you take while you seek the job you want. Knowing the difference is important for your happiness and sanity. I am kept motivated in my current job by that irritating carrot called tips, and simultaneously motivated by the same rotten carrot to find a different job, a job in the career I enjoy. You've got to know your bliss to follow it.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Salt on the Wound: The Return of Starla

She came back tonight. If I've had more awkward moments, I can not recall. We smiled and joked and everyone, including her companion "Tom," was left scratching their heads, and asking me what the hell that was about. I would find the whole thing far more amusing if I weren't so oddly stuck on her. Why do some people linger in our minds? Why do I see her eyes when I close mine? I don't even know her name, nor harbor any hope to ever learn it. I think I just answered my question. I do love a challenge. Maybe we'll run into each other at the IPK again.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Mr. Show is Not Mr. Saturday Night

I don't know exactly when I confused these two, but I bet it was in college. Anyroad, some of my coworkers call me Charles McCutchence. Watching selected episodes from season four, I haven't laughed so hard and for so long since my first viewing of Orgazmo.

I have seasons one through three in my temporary possession, and I will watch them over the next two weeks. Hopefully, these twenty episodes should keep my spirits on a somewhat even keel. Shit does have a habit of piling on, doesn't it?

Saturday, August 15, 2009

This Summer's Movies, Ranked in Order of Preference

1. District 9 (OMGWTFBBQPWND!)
2. (500) Days of Summer (For Zooey Deschanel, I too would suffer.)
3. Up (You can't prove that I cried, so stop lying.)
4. Bruno (Haha, penis!)
5. The Hangover (A close match between these two.)
6. Star Trek (Woulda been higher if there had been a single flying leg kick.)
7. Terminator: Salvation (Opening scene was stupid, and the trailers gave away too much.)
8. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Cutting the brawl at the end? Inexcusable.)
9. Ice Age 3 (Not offensive, just not funny either.)
10. Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (Why hasn't there been more outcry about the Shuck & Jive twins? Offensive as hell.)

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Update to the Post About the Best Worst Things Said (To Me) During a Breakup

#2: "Call me when you have money."
It wasn't "I'm sorry things are tough right now, call me when things improve." It wasn't "hey, I'm kinda broke too, let's check out those museums you suggested." Nor was it "that's really awful, let me buy you a drink tonight." Considering the rather extreme difference in income, I would still have been a complete cad to have asked her to pay more than half of any bill. Instead, I suggested a number of free activities for us to do on our next date, and she responded with, "call me when you have money." Six words that said so much.

I have not wondered why she doesn't come by my office for drinks anymore.

I will link to the original post when I can. Sent from my crackberry, or more appropo, my pornberry.

My Post About Air Guitar

The show was amazing. I am currently struggling to overcome some technical difficulties in posting pictures. I will have an entire Flickr album dedicated to really blurry cell phone pictures as soon as I can get the library computers to cooperate.

In the meantime, John Bustine has a show at Comet in Van Ness tonight! The cover is only $5. Matt Hemerlein is also doing a show tonight, but with a Nigerian* metal guitarist, at a venue near 1st and T. Unfortunately, that is all the information I have. Having checked myspace and his web site, I am stymied by this old clunker of a library terminal.

*I hope I am remembering that correctly. I think the guy plays with Sons of Osiris? I ran into Matt on the street after having a couple beers with some of the lads. There may have also been some karaoke.

Friday, August 07, 2009


One (1) acre of corn, cob consumed.
One (1) herd of cows, hamburger consumed.
One (1) orchard of cherries, canned, dried, and whole consumed.
One (1) litter of pork, bratwurst consumed.
Two (2) toilets, interior destroyed.

I think the Ernest Nesingwary stuff is for vacations that start in the dumps. This one was a lot of fun and I was not in the dumps when it started. I was also too busy to blog much.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Toys of the Golden Age

It may not be my golden age, but someone else is entering a new golden age with my toys. Playmobile, Legos, G.I.Joe, Visionaries, Dinoriders, Construx, Batman, Wolverine, some constructible dinosaur skeletons with cavemen riders*, vintage Transformers**, all have experienced a renewed happiness as their purpose entertains a new generation. I have spent a lot of time finding capes, scabbards, swords, blue 2 by 4s, black 1 by 6s, wings, jets, rayguns, yellow hands, black hands, red helmets, green torsoes, hats, shoes, gloves, and answered every form of the question, what is this for?

In the face of this onslaught of pure childhood bliss, punctuated by short, loud, periods of utter wailing despair, I have been unable to channel my usual voice of vacation. I'll see if I can dredge him up after today's bike ride and beaching.

I will say that I seem to have brought the best kind of rain. The storms have hit between the hours of midnight and 8 am. The land is thirsty and we do what we can.

*No doubt a product of the creationist movement of the '80s.

**Jazz and, uh, Sideswipe? The Autobot cop car.