A speech about me?

Surely the title jests? Nope.

School has started back up and I already have an assignment for one of my classes. The one I'm going to share is from my speech class. We had to write a two minute maximum speech to read in front of the class, and this is mine. I timed it to 1:25 in an uninterrupted somewhat speedy recital, so I should fit neatly within that two minute marker.

And just so we're clear, the :rimshot: denotes an actual rimshot that I will be playing at that point in my speech. Oh yeah, I'm going all out.


When some of you look at me, I’m sure that what you may see is a shiftless guy in his early 20’s, coasting through life and is only in this class because it’s a pre-req for the AA he wants. Well, you’d be wrong. I’m in my late 20’s. :rimshot:

I’m not any of those other things either, but the joke wouldn’t work otherwise.

I’m 28, I like to read, watch TV, and write. I even came in first place in the poetry division for LitFest back in May. I play video games but not nearly as much as I used to, and I play guitar. I also like to watch anime and read manga. Not the kind some of you may be thinking of, just so we’re clear. That’s not really important, but it’s important to me.

I work at Red Lion in Kennewick as a dish washer, and though I hate my job sometimes, it has taught me some valuable lessons. One of those lessons I even thought up myself; everything is a mess, it’s just a matter of how organized it is. If you saw the place after I’ve been gone a couple days then you’d know what I mean.

Okay seriously though, I don’t like to take much seriously. I’m perfectly capable of doing so, but I feel that if humor can legitimately be found in a serious situation then it shouldn’t be ignored. It shouldn’t be unceremoniously trotted about either, but if you’ve been through enough crap in your life you’ll eventually learn the correct timing for such a thing. And a well placed rimshot, literal or otherwise, doesn’t hurt.


I like what I've got there, so all that's left now is to let my natural showmanship shine through and deliver one hell of a performance. It should be great!

note: If I should bomb, let's all pretend this never happened.

Wrong numbers are funny things

I have to warn those of you who are averse to swearing and practically non-existent grammar because the following blog post contains both, and will not be edited. I've got to preserve this for posterity after all.

When I was at work today I received a phone call from an unknown number. I answered just to be sure it wasn't somebody I knew, and it wasn't. The caller asked for 'B', and I informed her she had the wrong phone number. When I didn't hear a response I hung up. I thought nothing more of it and went back to cleaning.

Not wanting to listen to the radio anymore, I used a small set of speakers we have at work and hooked them up to my iPhone to listen to Pandora (I'll need to do a separate post about that bit of nonsense). About 20 minutes in, the song that was on started to skip. I chalked it up to the wifi acting up, but when I went to look at the artist currently playing, I saw the following:

Unknown number: So now ur fuckin that ugly fat bitch... Fuck u Brian, ur a bitch in my eyes now. Live ur life without me now, forget u ever even knew me Brian... I hope ur happy now, and getting whatever the fuck i didnt give u. I dislike u so much and wish i would have never even knew u. U have broken me so bad, and i hope ur happy for that u mutherfucker.

Now, I can only assume this young lady is upset. About what exactly, I don't know, but it obviously has something to do with Brian. Maybe even the previously mentioned 'B'. Possibly. I replied of course:

Me: Uh, this isn't Brian. Sorry he made you so mad, but you might want to get the number right next time.

I had a feeling this wouldn't be enough to persuade her I wasn't the Brian she was looking for, or to stop texting me. I was correct.

Upset girl: Oh i got the number right bitch... I know u guys are fuckin, he puts it out there that this is his phone too... I know u'll relay this to him sence guys are together now. I hope he brakes u the way he has done me everyone of his other gurls. I hope u guys have a good life of hell together.

Well now, whatever this Brian hath wrought upon this poor girl must have been a real doozy. I didn't want her to continue to waste her energy on somebody that didn't deserve it however, so I called the number and left a nice message that went something like this, though it's not verbatim.

Me again: Hey, this is the guy who's number you keep texting. Like I said before, I'm not Brian and I don't know who he is. I'm sorry that he's given you so much grief. But hey, life can be like that sometimes and you really shouldn't let it get you down. Please though, stop texting me. I mean, I've got a pretty high limit anyway, but like I said, I'm not Brian. Laters.

Just to be absolutely sure, I took the following picture and texted that to her.



















The phone call and the picture seemed to be enough, because I got another text a few minutes later.

Calmer girl: Ok, Im Wrong... I Got The Numbers Mixed Up. Im So Sorry and Am So Embarrassed. Please Forgive Me About All This? It Wont Happen Again... Sorry

Apparently she was sorry enough to capitalize all but one of the words. It was an honest mistake, and I replied as such.

Me: It's okay. I hope you get the bastard good if he is cheating on you though. Have a nice day :)

Her: U too! Sorry about that once again.

Obviously I won't share the number, but I also won't share the name of the poor girl who felt the need to so vocally (textually?) lash out at whoever this asshole Brian is, or 'B' as his friends and loved ones like to call him. If only all wrong numbers could be this hilarious.

Jobs past come to haunt me...

If you've worked retail, I feel it's only right that I warn you the following blog may dredge up long buried memories of idiots gnawing away at your sanity and IQ points with their never ending need of stuff.

My first retail job was at Best Buy, but I didn't really have any problems there. Hastings is where the real problems with working retail started to crop up, and to this day I still remember some of the more... fascinating idiots and instances.

The more readily remembered problems come from when I had to work in the book section of the store. Now, I love books. I don't read them as much as I should, but a lot of people don't either apparently. Despite this, they seem to have passing knowledge of books that may or may not have existed. It was common for somebody to ask for a book, but give only the barest of details:

"Do you have a book?" (I don't know, do we?) "It has a dog in it, but I think the dog dies... maybe not. But the family is really sad because of something with the dog... but it might have been a cat. So can you tell me where it is?"

I enjoy being helpful, I really do, but when I'm given an impossible task and then a dirty look/comment when I can't deliver (through no fault of my own), I want to get off the ride. There were a couple times when I had to work books that I would take off my name tag, sit down in a chair and read a book. At least I was lucky to be trusted enough to not be checked up on.

Yet as bad as the book section could be, it doesn't hold a candle to working the register. After all, not everybody will go over to books, but they all will go to the register if they're buying something. I have plenty of stories to tell about stupid customers berating me for asking to check their ID when they pay with their debit card, or getting angry when I wouldn't help them cheat the buy two get one free system.

No. They pale in comparison to the contingent promotions we had to suffer through. Y'know, the "If this doesn't happen, the customer gets this" kind of thing. The Hastings version was if the worker at the register didn't ask the customer if they wanted to buy a Snickers, they would get one for free. The promotion details were in plain sight at the register so it was hard to miss, and when something free is on the line it doesn't get missed.

Conceptually, it's easy to remember to ask a customer if they'd like to buy a Snickers, but it doesn't hold up in practice. Especially after five hours of it. It would be so damn frustrating to not miss a beat for hours, only to forget to ask an obnoxious jerk who rubs it in your face. For instance, a soccer mom who poked me in the chest and laughed, calling me incompetent as she did so. Is it any wonder that I can come off as bitter? There were so many times I wished I could fire back at them, like so:

"Look, I'm exhausted. I've been at this for about seven hours now, and I'm here another two. So you have essentially outsmarted a practically non-responsive lump of clay. Good job. Here's your #$@&ing Snickers." And then I throw it at them. Or better yet, smash the Snickers and drop it in their bag. The promotion says nothing of the condition their candy will be in after all.

There were a few shining spots where I was able to reverse my mistake. A teenage girl got all snotty and excited when I forgot to ask the question, to which I replied. "Well, I actually have until the transaction is over, and it's not. So would you like to buy a Snickers?" I'd never seen a smile wither into a frown that fast before or since. It made my day.

What I've written here is just the tip of an iceberg that extends far into the frigid depths of the hell known as unrewarding customer service in a retail environment. For all the crap I put up with, I had friends there and they helped to make it pretty enjoyable. Maybe I'll talk about them some time for a happy blog post.

Inception

Makes me want to be the best writer I can be.

I'll put more here when I get around to it.

You and Your Waylon Jennings: Live!

Below is a video of me reciting my winning poem at the LitFest awards ceremony. Either because mine was the shortest of all the winning entries, or because none of the other poetry winners wanted to, I was the only one to read that night. I wanted to say a lot more, but I didn't really know how much time I had up there. So naturally, I said the one thing that I felt mattered the most: I wrote it for a friend, and not to win.




It still amazes me that I won, and it's renewed my sense of confidence that I can be successful as a writer. I hope to do a lot of writing for my summer vacation, and I plan on submitting my stuff to different publications as well. Though I am planning to keep my expectations realistic, I think I have a pretty good chance of getting something published.

If you give a mouse a cookie...

...it’s going to want a glass of milk. If you give it a glass of milk, it’s going to ask for a straw. If you give it a straw, it’s going to be much too big, and that little mouse will surely asphyxiate on the sharp red plastic instrument of death you gave it to drink the milk to wash down the cookie you gave it.

Soon enough the mouse’s family will learn about what transpired and they will file a wrongful death lawsuit. Because the mouse you so heartlessly killed has such a huge family, they have many connections and hire some of the best attorneys they can get. The initial legal proceedings will seem to drag on forever, and no matter how you beg and plead, the judge will refuse to throw out the case simply because “they’re mice!”

When the trial proper finally does start, it will not only be a major financial drain, but it will be an emotional one as well. The long nights staying up with your defense attorneys (who are frankly no match for the legal team representing the deceased mouse’s family) makes your wife feel neglected even though you’ve explained to her time and again that this is all necessary if she doesn’t want her husband going to prison for killing a mouse.

A few months into the trial however, you and your wife have decided on a trial separation (y’know, just to give each other some space (which you already had because of the lawsuit)). With the added stress of your wife having left you, the trial begins to eat away at your sanity.

Every day you have to fight to ignore all of the furious squeaking coming from all of the mice in the gallery, all there with the hope that you be found guilty. When it finally comes time for you to take the stand, you can’t believe what you are seeing: mice damn near everywhere, and all of them hate you (except for maybe Terrence, because he’s always had it in for Steve (the mouse you killed) but he has to act like he’s angry so he doesn’t arouse the suspicion of his family).

Just as you are about to snap under all of the pressure and sheer lunacy of what has consumed your life over the past 11 months, Steve (the mouse you apparently didn’t kill) storms into the courtroom and demands they set you free, as all along it was Terrence that tried to kill him. Terrence denies it, but he is arrested on the spot and you are allowed to go free.

Months pass.

Your wife has come back, and things are essentially back to normal. Unfortunately, Terrence has escaped from prison, and you are first on his list of things to do… IN!

By giving animals rights, this kind of situation is to be expected. So, given all of this information, would you still give a mouse a cookie?


I wrote all of this for my Intro to Ethics class. We have readings assigned every day and we have to write at least a page about what we read. The page is called a ticket, and if I don't have a ticket I can't be in class that day. This particular reading was about how silly it was to give animals rights. So I decided to be funny with it.

Also, at the end of every ticket we have to ask a question that pertains to the reading, which is why it's there at the end there.

Being fiscally (ir)responsible

For years, about 10 or so, the family television has served us well. It's a great television with a fairly decent sized screen and nice picture. A couple months ago however, it started to malfunction. The top of the screen began folding over on top of itself. Think of the TV screen as a slinky. When it's compressed, the picture is fine and whole. If you take the topmost coils and fold it in front of it, they'll be spaced apart and showing whatever is on that part of the screen. Not only that, it was getting worse.

The original plan was to move my parents TV upstairs when they got a new one, or the problem with the old one became too much and they'd have to replace it. But I was given permission to buy a new one altogether. Me? Buy a television? Of course I've fantasized about owning such an electronic staple, but I never actually have. Since I was given the go ahead... well, let me explain that I don't pay rent in money, but in work. I really can't afford rent, so it would be a slap in the face to drop money I don't have on something I don't need (see how the 'don't need' wasn't italicized?). But, anyway.

I was given the go ahead to buy a TV so I started researching, and I decided that the TV I wanted would be 37"-40", 1080p and a Sony, LG or Sharp. Next was deciding where, but that was taken care of Monday night when I saw two options at Costco. One was a Philips 47" 1080p 60Mhz LCD, and the other a Sony 40" 1080p 120Mhz LCD and both were the same price. The Philips was bigger, but the Sony had double the refresh rate and looked bigger. I called my uncle Mike for advice and he asked about the refresh rate. I forgot the refresh rate for the Sony and assumed it too was 60, so I'm glad the call got me to take a close look at both. The Sony has a much clearer, less pixelized picture, so that's what I went with.

So, I present the unboxing pictures I took of my awesome new TV. One that I plan on having for a very, very long time, because I don't like dropping huge amounts of money on any one thing. By the way, the pictures were taken using my cell, and I have no idea how to properly arrange pictures on here.

ps. Love the TV, but I hate the way Blogger handles pictures.