Tuesday, April 26, 2005

You're too old, let go

Can somebody explain to me why people just don't let go of a certain era - particularly the 80's? Knotter and I spotted Uncle Rico's (of Napolean Dynamite fame) twin at Fazoli's. From the mustache to the jean jacket and sleeveless t-shirt, the only thing lacking was a tupperware set. At my current place of employment I know/have seen at least six of this alive and thriving breed. The best by far was the guy I passed on Monday. He had bleached black jeans, cowboy boots, fake leather jacket, dangling earring and feathered mullet. I'm positive that Levi's dumped their bleached jean line at the beginning of the 90's when the torn jean line was up and running, so I KNOW this guy was a true 80's throwback.

Thinking about it, not much good came out of that era. The music was horrible. Likewise for the hair. Even the cars lacked class (the exception being the 1983 Mercedes Benz Turbo Diesel 300 SD). All it did was produce a bunch of middle aged men in denial, who think that they look as cool now as they did then. Bleached jeans and sleeveless t-shirts may have been cool at one time, but that time is long gone. It's gonna be a sad day when thrift stores run out of 80's garb, and the George Michaels wannabe's have to move to the 90's.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Thoughts and afterthoughts on my first paintball experience

Thoughts...

From what I've heard about paintball, there's a lot of running and ducking but is the 20-minute stretch routine being performed by woMEN R Us really necessary? These chicks (if they're deserving of that title) were even running laps around the paintball area. If I learned anything in gym in elementary school, I've learned the following about the obese: 1) they're always the last ones to finish the required two laps around the field AND they always come in dragging their feet, huffing and puffing 2) they're always the first ones out in dodgeball 3) they're always the first ones caught in tag and 4) they're always the first ones found in hide-n-seek. With that being said, we noticed a rather chunky female figure stretching with the rest of the Wal-Mart/Waffle House regulars, and if the past is any indication of the future, I KNOW she can't be much of help to her team. Not to my surprise, she was later being walked off the field.


Why did I pay $50 to obtain welts on my body? I couldn't help but think how I used to run from my mom (with belt, cord, jump rope, broom, shoe, etc. in hand) to avoid welts, yet here I was running for the flag, in the middle of the course, while being the main target of seven more than eager old farts. I guess all those whoopings paid off after all seeing that they helped me develop a tolerance for that stinging sensation that comes with being whipped or in this case, whacked by a paintball. Granted, the pain of a paintball doesn't even compare to being spanked by a somewhat angry mother who just had to chase you around the house for five minutes.

The hierarchy of paintballin':

Rec Ballers - Play every once in a while and just want to pop their friends with some fast-moving paint.

Amateurs - Own their gear, look down on the Rec Ballers, disrupt the Rec Ballers' games and are of no use whatsoever in the "President" game! And no, we didn't have any Amateurs on our team. Pros - Exhibit A: woMen R Us. Not only do they own their gear, but it's paid for by sponsors. They also have some hard nosed coaches. At one point, I could hear their coach yelling out instructions like a drill sergeant. Let's see if I get this straight (no pun intended), these particular woMEN probably don't like men, yet they act like men and to top it all off, they are taking orders from a man. Completely off the subject, but it is my blog.

Afterthoughts...

Shane counted 52 welts on his body. I'm sure at least half of those came from the last game when he went Rambo and tried to take on everyone by himself. Getting shot for a cause is one thing (i.e. going for the flag), but to go out and purposely get shot for no reason is just plain smart. He wasn't alone for long as Knotter proceeded to join him. What I want to know is where was this go-all-out spirit in Knotter earlier in the day when our team could've used a little support in trying to capture the flag? Of course, I took my liberty in making sure that each of them were amply covered in paint.

I did learn a few things from my paintball experience. The same people who play paintball on a regular basis are also the same people who are hardcore indoor go-cart participants. This is the one "sport" in which being short actually has it's advantages. Don't mess with woMEN who play paintball professionally. Don't ever play the "President" game again. And stretch, stretch, stretch because it pays dividends (just ask the oversized marshmallow girl).

Sunday, April 10, 2005

From laundromats to restaurants

Why are laundromats so dingy? I asked myself this question while passing one near the DU campus. Has there ever been a well-lit laundromat? I've only been to the laundromat a few times in my life and they all have the same set up - washers, dryers, a few chairs, vending machines, an arcade if you're lucky and burned out light bulbs. Laundromats are a crime scene waiting to happen. Just like you can expect the same crowd at a Wal-Mart no matter what part of town you live in, you can also expect the same crowd at the laundromat - 70 year-old man with a basket full of whitey tighties, single mother with 10 kids under 11 running around and a few college students.

Speaking of crowds, how is it that you can set up a store, restaurant, mall, etc. and expect to see the same type of people to work or shop there? Here are a few examples.

The aforementioned Wal-Mart: families of 20, senior citizens, pregnant cashiers (at least two), 90 year-old greeter and an obese security cruising around in a bogged down golf cart.


Starbucks: Non-English speaking people of Arab, African or Asian descent, overstressed students trying to make people think that they're studying when all their doing is rubbing their heads trying to figure out why thought they were smart enough to tackle such complex subjects such as reading and college algebra, a handful of frompy chicks showing too much gut, an occasional hippy or two and of course, the geeks with their wi-fi enabled laptops who just want free internet access.

New malls: High school chicks conversing with their friends with phrases such as "And I was like, Eeewwww!!!" and "Did you see what [insert rival's name] was wearing?!", group of playas (white, black, brown, yellow, red and everything in between) laughing at the one "funny" guy in their posse, curling over with one hand on their stomach and another covering their mouth, walking around with the waist of their pants being held up by their kneecaps because walking like a penguin is fun, uptight wannabe state trooper security guards heavily staring at the playas, 55 going on 20 year-old housewives with 10-lb diamond studded wedding rings and the 4'6" Asian or Mexican guy pushing around the trash cart.


Wang's Chinese, Joshua's Hebrew, Brotha's B-B-Q, Antonaupolis' Greek, Joe's Hamburgers, Tony's Italian and Abdul's Indian Restaurants: The crowds at these establishments may vary, but one thing does not - the people cooking the food. Go to the kitchens of any of these restaurants from Maine to California and you'll find that people responsible for cooking your food are Mexican. I've traversed many a mile across this great nation, and the one thing I can always be sure of is having a Mexican cook my food be it a Pilot Truck Stop or Morton's Steak House.

I realize that there are more examples, but time wouldn't permit me to list them all plus I'd probably miss a few anyway.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Short Man's Disease

Which stands for short, angry male. My last blog ended with me taking a shot at Stuie for jellyfishing. Well, this entire blog is dedicated to the little guy and his anger. Russ gets teased about getting angry and blurting stuff that makes you scratch your head and say, "Whoa, ease up there short stuff!" It has now been scientifically proven that he REALLY does suffer from Short Man's Disease.

The Stumeister submitted an application for Parker Water, and they ask him to take a psyche evaluation. The questionaire had questions like "Have you ever hit someone?" "When was the last time you hit someone?" "Do you get angry?" etc. The evaluation has about 100 questions, which apparently is too long since he stopped halfway through and turned it in incomplete. Well, that's what he should've done. He doesn't hear back from Parker Water and ends up talking to the guy who was pushing him to apply. The guy told Russ that the word was that he failed the psyche evaluation. In other words, Parker Water doesn't want someone who has the potential to go off on another employee and/or customer. Failing an exam I can understand, but how does one not pass a psyche evaluation?! Note to self: Do not tease Russ while he is handling a firearm, shovel, wrench, hammer, etc.

Seeing that I know a few short guys it would be interesting to take a poll and find out who has the most anger built up. Would it be Stuie? Lomax? Grant? Pablo? If I was a betting man, my money would be on Pablo. He's the sleeper of the bunch, but who else do you know dresses up in camo and brings binoculars to a track and field day? You could also make the case for Grant and Lomax (being former wrestlers). Feel free to weigh in on the matter.

Monday, April 04, 2005

My First Day

Mommy dropped me off at work today for my first day of working since my Zometool days (all five of them). I was hesitant to get off the bus, but she gave me a lollipop and assured me that everything will be "alright". There were a lot of people I didn't know, but they all treated me with kindness especially the little people assembling the circuit boards. They greeted me with a big smile and slight bow, and uttered an unknown language, which I figured to be of the Ancient Orient. They began to shower me with gifts until I told them that I too was human only with a taller lineage. I then met a guy of the same stature, who proceeded to show me the ways of the Company.

Okay, so that was a little stretch of the imagination. However, I figured it'd be easier to believe that than to believe that I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and made it to work IN Boulder by 8:15.15 minutes before my scheduled start time! I'm not so sure I was completely expected. I had a computer with no network connection and some other guy's login info. I was then scheduled for a training class, which was cancelled at the last minute. I returned to the office I was sharing with my manager and found out that I was being moved. I was then supposed to be given a tour by my manager, but I somehow was forgotten when I was moved. A technician gave me a tour and gave me a brief overview. I spent the rest of my time listening to the radio and reading procedures. Oh joy. First days are all the same.

I did learn a new term for Stuie syndrome (farting and having more than gas pass) called "jellyfishing". Stuie, if you're reading this, remember to warn the people around you that you're beginning to jellyfish and don't subject them to that horrendous stench.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Ode To The Benz

This poem was written after I sold the Benz on March 3, 2005, and thought it should be made public.

May 12, 2001 I was handed the key to The Benz
It appears now that we have reached our end
I scoffed when Dad brought you home two months prior
And almost four years later, you gave me but three blown out tires.

You had a uniqueness about you that no other car had
While newer cars around you will be nothing but a fad
The nine shades of blue and dull silver fender
Made other cars fear even the slightest fender bender.

I'll miss the air-ride seats and sweet, thumpin' system
The non-working sunroof and noisy engine
The gleam of the Mercedez symbol bling
And joy that only you, The Benz, could bring.

Other drivers will miss that heavy, black smoke
While pedestrians will rejoice that they'll no longer choke
Oh the thrill of having the turbo kick in at seventy
And to have passengers realize that they're not in a Bentley.

The memories are flooding my finite mind
Like the time we hit 110 on I-25
No other car could give me five moving violations
Yet bring a smile to my face as the cops issued their citations.

I'll miss you my good friend and partner in crime
And am thankful that I am selling you for more than a dime
You did not want to start when the weather got cold
Thus, to you, The Benz, I dedicate this ode.