Grand Buffet, part 2

June 24th, 2008

A while back, I posted about Grand Buffet. I haven’t been following them much since then, but looks like they came out with a new full-length album this year. I’ve listened to snippets of some of the tracks on Amazon and their sound is a little different. Not sure if I’ll like it as much as what I’ve heard from them before but I’ll probably give it a try.

The reason I’m thinking of Grand Buffet is that I was listening to them the other day in the car. During their song “Stocking Stuffer”, I heard one of the same rhymes that was used in “Maggie May”, which I critiqued in my previous post. They rhyme “pool” with “school” but in their case the lyrics make sense and don’t feel forced. So I thought I should post the lyrics to this song as an example of good lyrics. It’s a short song. Here they are:

Stocking Stuffer

Santa Claus once picked me up after school
We had some drinks, we shot some pool
Told me that he’s not a one woman man
He’s got a few, they understand
Over some dinner we talked about things
He ordered ribs, I got some wings
He said he fancied the girl in my life
Asked me if she could be his for a night
How could I say no to old Saint Nick?
He fills up my stocking with beautiful gifts

Santa Santa Santa
Got my girlfriend pregnant this Christmas
That’s not what I had on top of my wish list
Santa Santa Santa
Had a one night stand with my lady
This Christmas Santa Claus gave me a baby

Bad lyrics, part 3: Maggie May

June 8th, 2008

I think it’s time for another post about bad lyrics. Almost two years ago, I griped about Silverchair lyrics in parts one and two. This time I’m going to complain about a much more popular artist: Rod Stewart. And a much much more popular song: Maggie May.

Some of you will be aghast that I would disparage such a great song but I think once you see what I have to say you’ll agree. Because I’ve convinced myself of my superior powers of convincing.

The tune of Maggie May is okay. I don’t get why it was such a success, but I think I’d be inclined to like it on the music alone. The subject of the song I don’t have a problem with either. I don’t know if it’s based on a real experience in Rod Stewart’s life, but it certainly sounds like an honest song about a real experience. But I just can’t get past the horrible lyrics.

Many of the lyrics in the song are fine, but then he’ll throw in some line that seems clearly like he was stretching for a rhyme. It just sounds so amateur. Then again, since the protagonist is a young uneducated kid, maybe that was the intent and he’s a more genius songwriter than I’m giving him credit for.

I’ll reproduce the lyrics here, commenting on the groan-inducing rhymes. Feel free to groan along at home.

Maggie May

Wake up Maggie, I think I got something to say to you
It’s late September and I really should be back at school
I know I keep you amused but I feel I’m being used

Editor: Uggggh… amused/used. And who says “keep you amused”? In other words “I amuse you” but that wouldn’t rhyme so I’ll twist it around so that it does.

Oh Maggie, I couldn’t have tried any more

You lured me away from home
Just to save you from being alone

Editor: Not horrible… worthy of a wince but not quite a groan.

You stole my heart and that’s what really hurts

Editor: The last line of each verse doesn’t rhyme with anything, which I commend him on. I wish he had followed that policy for the entire song.

The morning sun, when it’s in your face really shows your age
But that don’t worry me none, in my eyes you’re everything
I laughed at all of your jokes, my love, you didn’t need to coax

Editor: WORST LINE OF THE SONG. There should be a room in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland for worst lyrics, and this should be inscribed over the entrance. I hear this line and I picture Rod in one of those typical movie scenes, bent over a pad of paper with a pencil in hand, surrounded by a hundred wadded up pieces of paper on the floor. “What rhymes with jokes?.. ‘Folks’? No.. ‘Smokes’? Hmm ‘You even let me bum your smokes.’ No.. ‘Cokes’? ‘Coax!’ Yes! You didn’t need to coax my love… but how do I get the word ‘coax’ at the end of the line? I know, I’ll just move the subject to the beginning of the line. Perfect! Moving on..” Hey Rod: your lyrics, they suck. I’ll use your technique on a line of my own: “You’re so lazy with your verses / My mouth, you make erupt in curses”.

Oh Maggie, I couldn’t have tried any more

Editor: As I said: lazy. You should be apologizing to us for not trying hard enough.

You lured me away from home
Just to save you from being alone
You stole my soul and that’s a pain I can do without

All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand
But you turned into a lover and mother, what a lover, you wore me out

Editor: ???

All you did was wreck my bed and in the morning kick me in the head

Editor: ???!!!! Either this guy is really really stretching for a rhyme or he was making love to a horse.

Oh Maggie, I couldn’t have tried anymore

You lured me away from home
‘Cause you didn’t wanna be alone
You stole my heart, I couldn’t leave you if I tried

Editor: Yeah we’re getting that whole lack-of-trying thing.

I suppose I could collect my books and get on back to school

Editor: And take some grammar classes perhaps?

Or steal my daddy’s cue and make a living out of playing pool

Editor: Okay I admit the double-meaning of ‘cue’ is somewhat clever, but it seems he made up this “father is a pool player” thing just for a rhyme.

Or find myself a rock and roll band that needs a helpin’ hand

Editor: Here Rod, I think you dropped something… some syllables. Heh.

Oh Maggie, I wished I’d never seen your face

You made a first-class fool out of me
But I’m blind as a fool can be
You stole my heart but I love you anyway

Editor: This is the only decent verse of the song. It’s merely mediocre, not horrible.

Maggie, I wished I’d never seen your face
I’ll get on back home one of these days

Here’s where the song ends and you don’t get to hear Maggie’s response to being woke up by some lazy punk telling her she looks old, and he wishes he never saw her face, and she makes love like a large farm animal. Or perhaps his mother. That’s a shame, because I think it would have made for an interesting song.

Room with black people

May 31st, 2008

In a previous post, I mentioned a time that someone said something very racist to me and implied that it’s entirely possible that I didn’t correct him on the matter so as not to cause myself discomfort for the remainder of the summer. Mind you, it’s also possible that I did confront him on the matter in dramatic fashion. It was one of those two - my memory’s a little spotty. But just in case you’re inclined to believe the former, I’m going to share with you a story that should redeem myself.

A friend from college was getting married in Arizona. So my other college friends and I were planning the trip out to the wedding. We booked some hotel rooms and later on, I was looking at the hotel’s website. One of the pictures showed a young black couple in a hotel room. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but I noticed the filename. I think there was some mouse-over text or something. The filename was “room-with-black-people.jpg”.

I thought that was horrible. I understood that they probably had a bunch of different pictures to appeal to various demographics and that they had just named the files in a way that they could identify them. In some ways, it’s good that at least they were showing different races. But I don’t care, you don’t need to be a PR expert to know that’s not a good way to name your files.

There was a link to email the hotel so I sent them this angry email about how offensive that was and when I looked at the picture I saw a young, attractive, professional-looking couple and why does it matter that they’re black, etc. I was hoping that they’d offer me a free room to make up for it but they didn’t. It would have been perfect if we arrived at the hotel and some manager wanted to apologize to me in person - only to notice I was just some white dude.

I don’t think I even got an apology email, but I checked back on the website later and the file had been renamed to “room-with-people.jpg” which is of course ridiculous. That gave me a huge laugh.

I’m not so sure this was a redeeming story after all considering my main motivation was getting a free room. OK, I admit it, I got nothing.

My first job, part 5

May 27th, 2008

Finally the conclusion of this topic. Read parts one, two, three, and four first. Or don’t. Hell you can go for a whole Memento experience and read them backwards if you’d prefer. Knock yourself out.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a couple of other characters that were part of the crew that summer.

Mary Jean

I made that name up. I have no idea what her name was, but I remember it was one of those two-first-name deals. She was a secretary that would hang out in the garage during her smoke breaks. She liked to hang out with the boys and talk crap about the other people she worked with - in particular that secretary that I had to fix the file cabinets for. (For those of you reading them backwards, this is where you wonder “Who’s this other secretary he’s mentioning? What happened to the filing cabinets?!”)

She was a nice woman, but I really don’t have anything interesting to say about her. Just felt she should get a mention.

Dale

Dale was the dogcatcher and would often hang out in the garage. I liked Dale a lot. He was a really funny guy and was always fun to have around. He was middle-aged, tall and thin, bald on top and had glasses. He was always complaining about things but in a funny way.

Dale was going through a divorce at the time. The story Jim told me was that he had been dating this woman, who I think was younger than him, for a while and she would bug him about getting married. Then he finally got married to her and then soon after that she said she wasn’t happy any more and wanted a divorce. And of course wanted her half of everything. I imagine there’s another side to that story but that’s the only side I got to hear, and second-hand at that.

Speaking of divorce, I just finished this book by Donald Trump called Think Big and Kick Ass. I saw it in the store and the cover cracked me up. My friend saw me thumbing through it and got it for me for Christmas. It’s a quick read, and there’s not a whole lot of eye-opening advice in it, but some of the stories Trump tells make me laugh. The reason I bring it up is that he has a chapter called “I Love You, Sign This” all about the importance of getting a prenup. He just drills it into you. Here’s a quote:

In all honesty, it is not pretty. A prenuptial agreement is a horrible instrument. I met Melania, and we fell in love and decided to get married. I said, “Melania, you are so beautiful, I love you so much, and we’re going to have the greatest marriage ever. It’s going to be unbelievable. Listen, just in case it doesn’t work, sign on the dotted line.” It is not exactly the most romantic thing to do, but you really, really need it.

Advice that came much too late for poor Dale.

Dale was buddies with Jim & Shaky but he also knew that they were a little crazy. There was once that Dale asked me where Jim was and I thought Jim had left with the truck somewhere. Then Dale went off on how no one cares about Jim’s stories. Shaky and Mary Beth were there too. I just looked back and realize I had used the name Mary Jean but I like Mary Beth better so I’ll keep that one. After Dale and Mary Beth had left, Shaky was standing around and there came a sneeze from the other room, where they keep the road signs and equipment. Shaky said “f*** you” and I realized that Jim had been in the other room taking a nap the whole time. He never mentioned anything about that incident, and he certainly kept telling his stories, so I think he really was sleeping through it. I felt bad that he might have heard that though, and guilty that I had mistakenly told Dale he was gone.

Dale considered himself a dogcatcher. According to him, he was only supposed to be dealing with dogs but they’d have him handle cats, raccoons, and so on. If that’s true, I think he had a reasonable complaint. I can imagine there’s different types of training that would go into handling other types of animals. The summer I was there, he had a small truck with the words “Animal Control Specialist” on the side. Jim said when that vehicle had been painted, the people had deliberately put that slogan on the side to annoy him.

I had to take a day off for some reason, so I came in on a Saturday to make up for it. I was in charge of washing the trucks and some of the cop cars that day. I showed up to work and one of the garage doors had police “Do Not Cross” tape all across it. The door was shut but it’s set back a couple feet from the edge of the building so there was a little space between the tape and the door. And in that space there was a little cage with a cat in it. I was told the cat had rabies so it makes sense they’d want to warn people - but I think the cops overdid the tape just to make it look funny and sort of pick fun at Dale.

Dale wanted to treat me to a fun day once so he asked the captain if I could come along with him on a trip he had to make to an animal shelter in a nearby city. He didn’t need my help at all, and the captain probably knew that, but he let me go. Dale needed to deliver some dead cats to the shelter. I’m a little fuzzy on the details but I want to say the cats were in a bucket. Perhaps it was just a garbage bag. Regardless, off we went with the cats in the back.

It was a beautiful day and I was glad to be away from the normal routine with Jim & Shaky. It honestly was the most fun day I had on that job, and it was really cool of Dale to do that for me. We stopped at a Dunkin Donuts along the way and Dale bought me a donut. That was quite a treat too because I never used to go to Dunkin Donuts.

I was talking to my mom about that recently and she told me that I had said the cats smelled really bad. I don’t remember it smelling bad, but that certainly sounds reasonable so I’ll go with her recollection of my earlier recollection on this one. When we got to the shelter, he had to put the cats in some big barrel with formaldehyde or some such chemicals in it.

The next summer, I got a job at a Burger King right down the street. So one day I decided I’d walk over during my lunch break and see how everyone was doing. When I got there, Dale was hanging out in the other room by himself. I said hi and asked where Jim & Shaky were. They were out doing work or lunch or something. But the way Dale looked at me, he obviously didn’t remember who the heck I was. That felt a little weird. It was just a year ago and I saw him all the time.

I asked Dale how the street painting was going this summer and he said they were all done. I was shocked. This was late June or early July and the summer I worked there they hadn’t finished it by the time I left at the end of August. I asked about the guy they got to work for them this summer and Dale said he was working out well. He was retarded but a good kid. I feel bad for saying this but I have to be honest… that stung a little. I’m sure it was a combination of better weather and the equipment actually working that allowed them to get the roads done that quickly, but… it didn’t change the fact that a retarded person could do my job better than me.

I told Dale to say hi to Jim and Shaky for me and that was the last I saw of any of them. And with that… I’m finally done with this story. If you actually read through the whole thing, I hope you found it worthwhile.

My first job, part 4

May 18th, 2008

To catch up on the story, refer to parts one, two, and three.

Before I get back to Jim, I sneezed the other day and remembered something funny about Shaky. Whenever someone sneezed, instead of saying “bless you” he’d say “f*** you”. But he’d say it with the same tone of voice as if he was saying “bless you” so you’d start to say “thank you” before it even sunk in what he had just said.

Back to Jim and his stories… There were certain topics Jim knew a lot about, or at least knew enough to make it sound like he knew a lot about. It’s almost like he had seen a History Channel special on those topics, but the History Channel wasn’t around back then so I can’t accuse him of that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had learned about them back in high school but had repeated the stories so much it was still fresh in his mind.

Here’s just some of the stories he’d tell. I know there were more but this is all I can remember at the moment:

  • Civil War. In particular, Lincoln, Grant, and Sherman’s march to the sea.
  • FDR’s fireside chat. How he got on the radio and calmed everyone by saying “I want to talk for a few minutes with the people of the United States about banking”. (I looked up the speech online here. It’s hard to believe that the president once used to talk to the American people like they were intelligent adults, and that our leaders’ speeches weren’t just a series of sound bites.)
  • Some ship that sunk. I don’t remember which ship it was - I should, considering he told me about it multiple times. But I remember that during that summer, I was watching Jeopardy one night and it was one of the questions on the show. I was like “Hey I know that!! Jim talks about it all the time!”.
  • Hitler.

I wish I could remember the rest, but maybe I blocked it from my memory. He’d also tell personal stories, about Shaky or others he had worked with. He told a story about some retirement celebration the cops were having, and how a call came in for some theft so they all jumped into their cars drunk and drove around the city aimlessly even though they had no information to go on to identify the person. I don’t have a hard time believing that story at all.

Somehow Jim would always steer the conversation towards one of these topics. We’d be talking about something completely unrelated and I’d think there’s no way he could end up launching into one of these stories I’ve heard multiple times before… but somehow he’d find some link to the Civil War in what we were talking about.

I brought my lunch every day and would eat it by myself in the garage while I read a book. It was the best part of the day. Jim and Shaky would both go out to lunch - separately of course, since they hated each other. I was always welcome to go with Jim but I established early on that I bring my lunch every day so I dodged that one and got to have some time to myself.

But every morning, I would go to breakfast with Jim. They were entitled to a morning break, which I think is supposed to be 15 minutes, but Jim would use it to go to a diner down the street and have breakfast. Since he came right to work from the corn fields, he must have skipped breakfast along with the shower and change of clothes. Occasionally I would eat something too but usually I had some cereal before work and would just sit there watching him eat. And smoke of course. We’d get the same waitress every day. She was a very friendly woman who I’m sure felt sorry for me. She’d give Jim his menu and coffee and every day Jim would open up the menu and look at it, and then when she came back to take his order, he’d say “I think I’ll have the pancakes”. Every day. The guy must have had some sort of memory disorder. I mean every day he would act as if he didn’t know what he was going to have and then order the same thing.

He’d have a big stack of pancakes and shovel them into his mouth. He’d chew, and talk, with his mouth open which I don’t have to tell you was pretty disgusting. It was during one of these breakfast sessions that he was talking to me about his son, who was studying mechanical engineering at RIT. That’s where I was going to start in the fall, and also the major I was going into. (I didn’t switch to computer science until after my first year.) His son apparently played basketball but couldn’t get on the RIT team, or was on the team but didn’t get to play much… or something. I don’t remember and it’s not important. But during this conversation, he said “You know about those black guys, right?” (pause in which I didn’t respond) “They’re liars.” *DING* You’ve finally reached the point in the story that explains why I don’t care that I’m trashing Jim online.

I was a little surprised and confused by that statement. Surprised because it was so blatantly racist, and confused because that wasn’t even a racial stereotype that I had heard associated with black men. I mean is it too much to ask that if you’re going to be racist you at least propagate the right stereotypes? He might as well have said “You know about those black guys right? They never know how to use the triple word score in Scrabble to its best effect!”

After my initial shock wore off, I stood up from the table and said “I won’t sit here while you spew such racist crap out of your mouth!!” Then I started toward the door. But towards the back of the room I heard a sound that made me pause. I turned around, and saw a little blonde girl in pigtails and a red dress… slowly… clapping. Soon others joined her and the place erupted in cheers. A black busboy smiled at me and gave a wink as if to say “you’re alright, white boy”. As tears welled up in my eyes, I turned and walked out the door, my head held high.

At least that’s how it will play when someday a movie is made of my life story. But it’s very possible I just said “uh huh” and let him keep talking. I had to work the rest of the summer with this guy!

That’s about all I have to say about Jim. But in honor of Jim, I’m going to keep talking your ear off for yet another post. You thought I was done didn’t you? Now you’re getting a hint of what it was like for me. In the next (and hopefully final) installment, I’ll tell you about Dale the dogcatcher.

My first job, part 3

April 20th, 2008

In part one I wrote about Shaky and promised I would write about Jim in part two. In part two, I reneged on that promise. Now it’s been hyped so much that I couldn’t possibly live up to the expectations, much like the Matrix sequels. But keep in mind that this blog is free.

Jim

I’ll start with the basic description: middle-aged, wore glasses, strong but overweight. In addition to working for the traffic department, he also grew corn. That meant he’d often pick corn in the morning, then come to work without showering or changing clothes. He’d be all sweaty and sometimes still have little bits of husk in his arm hairs. Do I need to say that he smelled? No I don’t, do I? I mean it goes without saying. But I feel I need to say it anyway. He smelled. Wait, that means I just said it twice which is definitely overkill for something that I said should go without saying. Sorry for insulting your intelligence.

I explained before that much of this summer involved me sitting around not doing anything. So that meant sitting next to Jim in the garage and listening to him talk. Sometimes Shaky would be around too, but other times he’d go off somewhere in the truck - probably so he didn’t have to be around Jim.

While Jim talked, he smoked. He wouldn’t exactly blow the smoke in my face but he wouldn’t make any effort to blow it in an opposite direction either. I would try to time my breaths to coincide with when there was less smoke around me. When it got too much for me, I’d turn my head to try to get a little fresher air. In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t just say that the smoke bothered me and ask to sit across the room or something. But I was eighteen and this was my first job and I wasn’t very assertive.

Jim would tell the same stories over & over & over again. And he would tell the stories in the exact same way. I mean EXACT. Pauses, laughs, everything. For example, he’d be telling some story about a conversation he had with someone once years ago and say “So he said to me… What was it?.. Oh yes!…” He would pretend to forget what the guy said and then remember and then laugh about it as if he was just remembering even though he must have told me that story six times, and told it the SAME WAY each time!

The first time he started to repeat a story that he had told me before, I said “oh yeah, you told me about that”. But then he went ahead and told me anyway! Then to my confusion he just continued to repeat stories as if he hadn’t told me them. I didn’t know what to do. It seemed inconceivable to me that he could not remember telling me these stories so I didn’t want to pretend like I hadn’t heard it before. I pictured him suddenly saying “hey wait a minute, I told you this before” and then I’d look like the idiot. But I didn’t want to just keep saying “yeah you told me this” because he was going to tell me anyway and I didn’t want to make it sound like I wanted him to shut up. So I ended up expressing as little feedback as possible other than nods and such. Some of you may be laughing at this point because, as I realize, it’s not exactly my personality to give a lot of emotional expression anyway. I’ve been told I can be hard to read. But trust me, I brought it to a new level that summer.

The trickiest part was when he’d ask me a question, like if he said “and do you know what FDR did after that?”. I would know what he did since I’d heard the story a bunch of times. I could answer the question and pretend that I was really smart - and yeah I did that a couple of times - but usually I’d play dumb and pretend that he hadn’t told me that story already. Either that or I’d just do my emotionless stare and wait a little and he’d continue anyway.

He’d bore me so much with his stories that I’d have to yawn, but I didn’t want to be rude yawning all the time so I also developed the technique that summer of yawning with my mouth closed. I think I got pretty good at it. To yawn with your mouth closed is a very delicate operation. The yawn’s going to happen, the question is how to direct the energy. I would have to grit my teeth hard, not allow my jaw to separate, and breathe in through my nose. This required concentration to make sure my jaw didn’t waver and my cheeks didn’t look too strained with the effort of biting down. I don’t think I could pull this off today. I tried sitting here just now and I’m sure it wouldn’t fool anyone, but I was much better at it that summer. At least he never seemed to notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

You need a lot of oxygen to offset the yawn. A quick intake of breath along with the nostril flaring that would result is a dead giveaway. So you also have to try to control those - get the oxygen you need but not in too quick of a breath and try not to flare the nostrils too much. I think those cues, along with the little bit of jaw wavering that sometimes was just impossible to avoid, was what an observant person would have noticed but I’m still proud of my accomplishment.

Sometimes the yawn is just too big and you have to separate your jaw a little and have your mouth open a slight bit, enough to breathe in but keep your lips and jaw still. When all else fails, you can of course try to cover your mouth so I would utilize that. But that’s for amateurs. There’s only so many times you can have an itch on your upper lip that needs to be scratched.

Are you getting the picture now of what much of my summer consisted of? I would sit there trying to look expressionless while masking my yawns and timing my breaths to avoid cigarette smoke. Which is really hard when you have to take in a deep breath for a yawn.

I told you in part one that this was going to be a really long post which is why I kept avoiding it. I spent a little more time on the yawn than I planned to and therefore this has already become a long post and I still have more to talk about. I’ll continue in yet another post.

My first job, part 2

March 24th, 2008

In part one, I talked about Shaky. I promised I’d talk about Jim next but before I get to that, I think I should talk about what we actually did at this job. So yeah I lied, get over it.

This was a summer job for me, and the main task in the summer was to repaint the roads: lines, left-turn arrow, etc. They had a little vehicle that would spray the hot, quick-drying paint and inject little glass beads into the paint as it sprayed it. The beads are what make it reflective at night. Jim would drive that painter thingie to lay down the lines, and when it came to making the symbols, it had a paint wand that you’d use with a stencil.

I wasn’t doing the actual painting so the ways I would help out would be:

1. I would sometimes follow behind Jim in a pickup truck with a little flashing light on top. (More often Shaky would drive, but sometimes I’d luck out and be the one driving.) The painter thingie was small and we didn’t want someone to not see it and crash into it. Plus he moved slowly while painting the lines so if I wasn’t behind him with the truck people might do all sorts of crazy stuff to try to get around him. Not the safest situation so we follow behind with the truck. Also the truck would have the stencils and stuff in it. That was probably the coolest part of my job which tells you just how uncool my job was. But it’s the only time in my life that I’ve been able to legally run red lights. I had to be behind him no matter what, so if the light turned red while he was in the intersection, I was going through a red light. I got to do that once with the police captain following right behind me and not often you can do that right?

2. Get the stencils off the back of the truck and lay them down in the road. Then, Jim would use the paint wand and fill it in with paint while I shook a little canister of glass beads over it. As Shaky pointed out to Jim once, this was doing nothing because the glass beads need to be injected into the paint as it’s coming out. Even if I’m doing it immediately after he sprays the paint, the paint has cooled enough by then that the beads won’t stay in the paint. But there was a problem with the wand where it wouldn’t inject the beads, and that’s what I was getting paid to do, so that’s what I did. I’ve had comparable situations in my software development career. But now when my proverbial glass beads get blown away by the wind, I’m sitting in air conditioning.

That would happen on a good day when the equipment would work. There seemed to be a lot of rain that summer, and we couldn’t paint the roads in the rain. So on those days we’d sit inside and do nothing. Then a nice day would come along so we’d go out to paint the roads and right away something would happen with the painter thingie where it wasn’t, like, painting. Then Jim would get underneath it and monkey around and finally we’d have to just go back inside, where he’d “fix” it. Then on the next nice day, we’d repeat those steps over again.

I discovered my first week on the job that there would be a lot of downtime. So I brought in a book to read. Jim would sit there and read the paper so it made sense to me that I could read a book. But the captain saw me reading and didn’t like it because it looked like they were paying me to do nothing. Which they were. But if I was sitting there and literally doing nothing, it somehow wasn’t as bad. And apparently reading the newspaper is more acceptable than reading a book. I didn’t understand the logic then either but I did what I was told and kept the book closed until my lunch break, when I could sit there and read for an hour, then put it away.

Even though that makes no sense to me, I don’t fault the captain too much. He was a good guy and I think he was a little exasperated by these lazy morons he had to work with in the traffic department. He would sometimes try to find other random tasks for me to do. For example, there was some secretary that I got the impression liked to complain a lot. She was complaining about some drawers in the filing cabinet sticking and being hard to open. So I was given a hammer and a chunk of wax and was told to fix her cabinets. The captain was killing two birds with one stone: It was giving me something to do, and it was getting her off his back because someone was addressing her complaint.

That was a pretty futile effort. I’d grease up the rails with the wax but that didn’t do much. So then I’d bang away at the drawer to - I don’t know - make it skinnier or something? I’m not Mr. Fixit and I couldn’t do a better job today. She was sitting right in front of me and it was embarrassing sitting on the floor in a quiet office banging away at these drawers. I convinced myself they were somewhat better but really they were just banged up now and still didn’t open smoothly.

A less futile task they’d have me do sometimes would be to wash the police cars. I’d actually drive a police car. OK it was only for the 5 seconds it would take to pull it out of the parking spot and in front of the garage - never on the street - but technically I drove police cars! The sheriff pulled in once with his new car that he had just gotten that week and wanted it washed. So I set about washing it while he stood there chatting with Jim & Shaky. He didn’t say anything to me but Jim told me afterwards that I took a long time to wash the car. I washed it like I usually would wash a car but must be they expected something fast so he could get back on the road.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’ll summarize. I had a job that required little effort, and what little I did have to do was pointless or I was inept at.

Another example of my ineptitude: The process by which they would drive sign posts into the ground was a lot simpler than I would have pictured. They made a little hole and lined up the post, with one person holding onto it to steady it, then took this heavy thing with two handles that went over the top of the post (which Google says is called a “manual post driver”, go figure) and pulled it up and down, pounding it into the ground. I found an image of a post driver like the one we used.
Post Driver

They had me try it once. At the age of eighteen my strength showed early promise of a career in software development. Not only was the post not making much progress, it was going in crooked. Shaky was the one to note that it was going to be crooked if they had me continue so they had to finish it themselves while I assisted by holding onto the post. If you think that should have been an easy task, you are overestimating my competence. A sharp edge on the post sliced into my thumb when he drove down on it. It was such a clean cut I just felt a little bit of a sting and didn’t realize I had been cut. It wasn’t a big deal, just needed to slap a band-aid on it. But a couple days later, they asked why I still had the band-aid on my thumb. I said I tried to take it off but it just started bleeding again, to which Shaky said “he’s a bleeder”. For the record, I don’t think I have blood clotting problems.

Next post I’ll talk about Jim, like I promised.

My first job, part 1

March 5th, 2008

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a long time, but I knew it would be such a long post that I kept putting it off. I want to tell you about my first job. I think you’ll find it amusing. I swear what I’m about to tell you is all true.

That should get you hooked. Nothing intrigues people more than telling them it’s a TRUE STORY.

Faithful readers may have noticed that I don’t talk about work here. This is because none of you would be interested in software stories. As far as the bad things, there’s absolutely nothing bad to say about my job. Ahem. And also, it’s not a good idea to trash where you work or even where you previously worked. It can all come back to bite you. Plus I’m a nice guy. I wouldn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.

But I’m going to break that rule here. Somehow I don’t think this is going to affect my career. And the only people that I’ll be saying bad stuff about, I don’t really care if they find out. You’ll see why. Hint: Listen for a *DING*.

So on with it already.

I didn’t have a job until I graduated from high school. That summer I got a job with the traffic department of a small upstate NY city. A summer thing, until I started college in the fall. It mostly involved doing things like painting lines on the road, fixing street signs, that sort of thing. I’ll get into that later.

The “department” was located in the garage off of the police station and consisted of two people (plus me): Jim and Shaky.

Shaky

Shaky’s real name was Gordon but everyone called him Shaky. Keep in mind: I’m not making fun of him. It really is what he went by.

Shaky was called that because he had some sort of disorder that caused him to get into shaking fits. Nothing extreme, like rolling on the ground, but his hands and face would start shaking. He was older and just putting in his last couple years so he could retire. He was tall and skinny, with glasses. He didn’t have any teeth. You got used to seeing him that way and then halfway through the summer when he got dentures it looked so odd to see a full set of teeth in his mouth.

Shaky was foul-mouthed and liked to complain about things, but he was pretty good-natured if that makes any sense. He always liked me. He hated Jim but the feeling was mutual. Whenever I was alone with one, he would always complain about the other.

Probably the best way to give you an impression of Shaky is to give a couple of examples. Every day when lunchtime came, he would leave to grab lunch somewhere. I don’t know where he went: a diner or maybe home. Before he left he’d yell out “Time for beans, bitch!”. It was just something he’d yell to no one in particular - whoever was in the room.

Eventually his daily exclamation was shortened to just “Beans, bitch!”. Then by the end of summer he’d just yell “Bitch!”. Sometimes he’d stretch it out “Biiiiiitch!” If you were to ask me to shorten “Time for beans, bitch!” to its core essence, I would say “beans”. The point is you’re going to lunch (beans). Some might say “time” I suppose, as in the point of the exclamation is to draw attention to the time. But we’d all be wrong because apparently “bitch” is the key word there.

I think Shaky really liked that word because another time, he had to put up one of those “Do Not Enter” signs. You know, the ones with the red circle with the white bar in the middle? Here I’ll show you:

Do Not Enter

Well Shaky told me that it looked like something should go in that white bar. He suggested putting in big bold letters “BITCH”. Since we had a room full of street signs, and extra letters to stick on them, he could have done that. But he wasn’t quite that crazy.

Shaky’s brother visited the garage once, and he was nothing like Shaky at all. He was clean and well-mannered and was some leader (searching online, looks like they don’t have priests and just have “elders”?) of the local Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall. Seemed like a nice guy. I was talking to my uncle that summer and turns out he knew those brothers growing up. They lived in the same neighborhood.

Shaky had a girlfriend named “Big Mama”. That’s what he always called her. I don’t mean just in talking about her, even to her face. She was “Big Mama”. I liked Big Mama. She was short and, as the name implies, a round woman. She was Puerto Rican and I don’t think she spoke much English. She seemed very shy so it was hard to tell if she didn’t speak a lot just because she couldn’t speak English or if she was just shy. Thinking back I don’t know if I heard her speak but I suppose I must have.

Big Mama would come by the garage once in a while and she’d always have the biggest, kindest smile. She was a lot younger than Shaky - maybe in her late 30’s. I didn’t quite get what the deal was there but they both seemed happy with each other. Big Mama was (also as the name implies) the mother to Shaky’s two boys. One boy was 9 and the other 14.

Jim would tell me that everyone thought the oldest boy wasn’t really Shaky’s but he was clueless about that. But the youngest, Jim was pretty sure was Shaky’s because it sort of looked like a young Puerto Rican version of Shaky. He did. I saw him come in a few times. The older one, not so much.

Shaky’s favorite way to waste time but make it seem like he was working was to take the truck out and cruise the streets, looking for obscured signs or signs that were damaged or whatnot. He’d tell his boss, who was a police captain, that he was going out to do that. You could tell the captain didn’t buy it for a minute but there wasn’t much to do that summer and I think everyone was just cutting Shaky some slack, waiting for him to retire. Sometimes he’d bring me out with him and if there was nothing for one guy to do there was double nothing for two guys. Once in a while he would find a branch and cut it down or fix some sign. I would just hang out and watch mostly. And collect the paycheck. Don’t forget the paycheck.

But the vast majority of the time, it was just driving around aimlessly. I’d like going out with him in the truck because it gave me something to do besides sit in the garage listening to Jim. I’ll get to Jim later, but suffice to say he liked to talk.

Jim told me about how Shaky was arrested once for molesting a little girl. *DING* That sound means you just reached the part of the story that explains why I don’t care about talking about Shaky online. He allegedly touched her, you know, in ways he shouldn’t have. I know I just threw the whole mood of this piece out of whack, but I had to bring it up sometime.

Now Jim would exaggerate stories but I never got the impression he’d make things up out of whole cloth. So I can’t say if all of this really happened and I still feel a little bad about mentioning it without any proof other than Jim’s word to back it up. But then again, I haven’t given any last names or even the city this was taking place in. I’ll just say that personally, I never doubted that the basics of the story were true and take that for what it is.

Jim says the police helped Shaky out and got it dropped. That sounds iffy - how exactly would they have done that? I don’t know. But remember, the garage is right in the same building as the police station and they all knew Shaky. Again… just repeating the story I heard.

Well good thing I can’t think of anything else to say about Shaky because I don’t know how I would follow up that creepiness. Whenever I get around to my next post, I’ll talk about Jim. I’ll give you a hint about what it was like hanging out with Jim. I preferred the company of the (alleged) child molester.

All gay tonight

January 21st, 2008

Now the continuation of my award-winning* series of “All __ tonight” posts (see here and here).

In a previous post, I said:

I once walked into a gay bar with a fedora on my head and handcuffs hanging from my belt. But that’s for a different post.

I’ve left you all in suspence about that long enough, although I have a feeling some of you weren’t in suspence at all and were thinking “yep, that confirms my suspicions”.

I deliberately made that sound more shocking than it was. Some of you may have figured out my oh-so-clever puzzle: It was Halloween. I was dressed like a 1940’s style detective. I’ve used the detective costume a couple of times because it’s pretty easy to pull off with a couple of props.

I had a shirt & tie and a trenchcoat on, and had a badge, gun, handcuffs… you get the idea. Oh and the fedora. But that doesn’t explain the gay bar. I’m getting there.

I went to a Halloween party with a couple of friends and at the party, I met two of my friend’s friends, a woman and man, who are both gay. I’m avoiding using names here because I don’t know if they’re “out” and this is getting confusing. I’ll make up pseudonyms like they do on news shows. Just picture these people in silhouette and voices synthesized to get the full effect. I’ll start again…

I went to a Halloween party with my friends “Yakov” and “Dominique”. At the party, I met two of Dominique’s friends… uh.. “Maximus” and “Esmerelda”, who are both gay.

Later in the night, Dominique said Maximus and Esmerelda had left to go to a gay bar called RJ’s and we should go meet up with them there. Yakov & I were like “okay whatever”. I’ve never been to a gay bar before but I’ve been to couple of gay parties before. My friend Mike… I mean “Galileo”… met his future wife at one of them, in fact. Not my scene but it doesn’t bother me at all so I thought why not. Let’s see what a gay bar looks like.

It looked like a bar. There was a pool table. We played pool for a while, then left. No one even hit on me. Disappointing. Just because I’m not into guys doesn’t mean I don’t want to be found attractive. I told myself they must have just sensed that I wasn’t gay. Yeah that’s it.

I saw someone I used to work with at a previous job and nodded a hi to him from across the bar. I wasn’t surprised to see him there. I didn’t know if he was out, but I always assumed he was gay. But then I realized… oh no, now he probably thinks I’m gay! When we were deciding to go to this place, I was just thinking “I don’t have a problem with gay people so who cares”. I hadn’t thought “what if someone sees me and thinks I’m gay?”. I couldn’t very well go up to him and say “Hey how’s it going? Cool… cool… So hey funny how I’m NOT GAY yet I’m in a gay bar huh?? Funny funny stuff… Yeah, I’d LOOOOVE to get with those lesbians over there… because I’m… so… straight. OK, see ya!” If anything would scream that I’m gay that would be it. Oh well. I haven’t heard anything from my friends at that company so I think I’m “in the clear”.

A couple of weeks later, I was at a stoplight right by this bar and I looked over at the sign. Wait a minute. That sign doesn’t say RJ’s. It looks like it says… Nasty D’s?? I went to a gay bar called NASTY D’s??!!

I found out the story later. It used to be RJ’s and it changed to Nasty D’s at some point, but some people hate the name so they still call it RJ’s. I don’t blame them. What a horrible name. I was okay going to a gay bar but if Dominique (us friends call her “Dom”) had told me that she wanted to go to a gay bar called Nasty D’s, there’s no way in hell I would have gone. Gay people having drinks are one thing, but I don’t want gay people getting nasty on me.

Now when I pass by that bar I think of that song by Janet Jackson. “No my first name ain’t baby. It’s Janet. Miss Jackson if you’re nasty!! Nastyyyyy nasty boys…”

* It’s not award-winning

Pajamas in public

December 28th, 2007

I don’t wear pajamas to bed, just boxers. But I have a pair of pajama pants that I’ll change into sometimes when I get home. Today I was about to put my shoes on to leave when I realized I still had my pajama pants on. “That would have been embarrassing”, I thought. Then I thought about how many times I’ve seen people out in their pajamas and thought “I’ve been meaning to do another post for a while now, this is as good a topic as any”. Nevermind that I have a whole list of topics I’ve accumulated that for some reason I never feel like writing. Trust me, some of them are gold. I think I’ll save those for when I get a big book deal.

It was probably a couple of years ago when I first started seeing this. That’s right, not even in college do I remember seeing someone wear pajamas outside of the dorms. I did a double-take, thinking “Is that girl wearing pajamas? What a slob! Or wait, maybe she’s just Bohemian. Better not look at her any more so she doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing that I notice.” (I do that when I see someone that clearly wants to stand out from the crowd. I try to annoy them by acting as if they’re no different than anybody else around me. Giant mohawk? Hmmph I hadn’t noticed.)

But then to my horror I started seeing more and more pajamas. What the hell was going on here? Since when did people start leaving the house with pajamas on?

Most of the time, people do it when they’re going about daily chores but there was even once I saw two 20-something girls come into a restaurant (Aja Noodle) and sit down and have dinner, both with pajamas on.

I still held onto my sanity by assuring myself that the people that did that must just be dimwits or stoners. I mean how much effort does it take to:

  1. Pull down your pajama bottoms.
  2. Pull on a pair of jeans.
  3. Zip up said jeans.

Too many steps for you? OK, how about sweatpants. That way you can skip step 3 and that also solves the case where all you own are low-rise, super-tight, and uncomfortable jeans. I’m not asking you to do your hair. Leave that messy if you want. Just take that ounce of effort needed to present yourself to the world please.

But my world was rocked when one day I said something about it to the girl I had started dating and she admitted that she would leave the house with pajamas on too. She’s intelligent and isn’t a stoner so I have to abandon that theory.

Not only would I not wear pajamas outside because of looking like a slob, I also wouldn’t do it because why would you want to go to bed in something you were wearing out? I’m not a germaphobe by any means, but it just seems gross to me that you’d potentially brush up against stuff: doors, counters, the car, or possibly the bottoms would touch snow or something, and then you just hop in bed. Maybe it’s because I’m almost naked when I go to bed that it seems gross to me.

My ex-girlfriend didn’t get why I’d think that was gross but she was a doctor and, like apparently a lot of doctors do (at least residents & medical students), she’d just wear her scrubs around after leaving the hospital. So if you don’t have a problem wearing the thing you were wearing all day as you were seeing patients and looking inside people and stuff, I suppose pajamas won’t phase you. She is an OB/GYN doctor so I would tell her that she had vagina germs all over her. I wouldn’t want to touch her until she changed out of them - and preferably took a shower in case any vagina germs hopped onto her skin too. When I’d see her plop down on the couch with her scrubs on, I’d think ewww how many babies did she deliver today?

Of course I realize I was being a little unreasonable - it’s not like she had juices all over her - but that’s basically what I was envisioning. She said it didn’t quite work that way but who are you going to believe, a doctor or me? I thought so.

So in summary, if you’re Hugh Hefner you can wear pajamas outside. Otherwise you just look silly.