God, I'm Lazy...

I'm ashamed of myself.

For watching A Knight's Tale on TBS (subtitle: "Historical Fiction for Idiots") today. I remember watching this piece of shit in college with my ex-girlfriend and thinking it somehow entertaining. What the hell was I thinking?

The fake English accents, the 20th century idioms, the gratuitous male ass-shots and all the other totally inappropriate Hollywood crapness should have tipped me off. I mean, what's Medieval drama without a little Queen in the background? (No, not the reigning monarch entrusted by God with the salvation and protection of a nation. I mean, the Freddie Mercury glam rock variety. Obviously.)

It's like a train wreck, really. You can't help but watch in shock and horror.

That, and the fact that I can't find the remote.

Bleeargh!

We're all conformists. It's just a question of, "To what degree do we conform?"

(Yes, I know I'm paraphrasing Ron White. Shut up.)

The next time some dude goes all Avril Lavigne on you about hating conformity, I recommend you do this:

RICH WHITE YUPPIE ASSHOLE: I'm an individual, with individual thoughts, and individual clothes, and individual...individualicity! Bleaargh!!"

YOU: No you're not. And here's why.

Where do you live?

RICH WHITE YUPPIE ASSHOLE: In a house. Where the fuck else would I live, conformist?

YOU: "You mean like, a shed, or a lean-to with broken windows, or something?"

RICH WHITE YUPPIE ASSHOLE: No stupid, a house. A house house.

YOU: Oh, right. And that's somewhere, like, down by the railroad tracks, or by the mine shaft, or down the street from the abandoned hospital?

RICH WHITE YUPPIE ASSHOLE: "Fuck no! I live in Sterling. Conformist!"

YOU: "Oh. Well, uh...Nice Nine Inch Nails shirt you got there."

RICH WHITE YUPPIE ASSHOLE: "It's a symbol of my individualness, fag. Bleargh!"


It won't get you anywhere, but you'll have a good laugh at the goth-wannabe poser in front of you. I highly recommend it.

(I'm so sorry. I'm not creative.)

Goodbye, Farewell, Amen

What's Playing in my Head: "Goodbye, Goodbye" by Oingo Boingo

What's Also Playing in my Head: "Theme from M*A*S*H" (Suicide Is Painless) by Johnny Mandel

Quote of the Day: "Hate your job? There's a support group for that. It's called everybody and they meet at a bar." - Drew Carey

No, I'm not dying. Yes, this is my last day at Current Workplace.

Leaving a job is always sort of weird. In a way, it's like graduating high school, because you're exchanging phone numbers, and saying goodbye-take care-see-you-soons with a lot of people you probably will never see again. Plus, you're cruising because all your work is pretty much done - there's nothing for you to be worried about there, because you won't be there on Monday (or whenever the next day is after you quit. YMMV). It's like going to an All-Night Grad Party, just without the drinking and the wild, unprotected sex behind the school dumpster out back.

Anyway.

I've left three jobs before this, and I'm proud to say that I've never been fired from one of them. I've always left on my own to do something better and on top of that, I've always left on a good note. Which means I've sadly never known the pleasure of calling my boss a random string of four-letter words, mixed with seven- and eight-letter words (use your imagination) on my way out the door. But such is life.

It's a strange feeling, sitting at a desk that's been emptied of all semblance of humanity, that once used to be yours. Waiting for someone else to take your place. The times I've left jobs before, I've always wanted to grab a Sharpie (TM) and draw "Brian Wuz Here" or some such stupid shit on the bottom of the desk, like I was in high school again. Mostly to scare the hell out of the poor dude sitting there later on when he's dropped a pen or something. But of course I didn't, because I'm a cheap conformist bastard.

I think the worst part of leaving a job has to be the long walk back to the supply closet to return all the office supplies you've collected over the years. Because it's at that moment you realize that you're walking away, and things will never be the same. Plus, you'll never have that sweet red stapler again.

No, wait, the worst part of leaving a job is actually the Long Walk of Shame (TM) through the office to say your final goodbyes to everyone. That sucks. For the most part, there's a lot of phonyness in the whole thing and it's like, if I have a good relationship with you, I'm not going to say goodbye 'cause I'll see you again soon. And if I don't...I don't really need to say anything, do I?

No, wait, the worst part of leaving a job is really getting walked to the door by security at the end of the day, stripped of your ID badge, parking pass, and anything else of value, just so the company can make sure you're not stealing their shit. It's humiliating, really. Sort of a "Goodbye, good luck, and fuck you" from your former employers.

Can you tell I've done this before?

At the end of the day, I'm glad that I'm leaving Current Workplace for a better job in a town I like a lot. But I'm also just as glad that I was there in the first place, mostly because I've gotten the chance to do things and see things I wouldn't have otherwise. Better or worse, I've made some good friends at CW, and that's the stuff that doesn't change. I'm going to try to remember that on my way out the door.

Now where's that red stapler...I brought it from home...

Dude, I've Got These Sweet Floor Seats...Fifty Bucks, Bro...

Don't buy from scalpers. Repeat, don't buy from scalpers.

Jesus, you'd think people would get this by now. Read on:

Ticket Trouble at the John Paul Jones Arena
Reported by David Douglas
Wednesday, September 20, 2006

All over tickets bought online could cause concert goers to be turned away at the John Paul Jones Arena this weekend.

If you go online to get seats to a concert there is a "right way" and what ticketers might call "the wrong way." Because if you buy tickets from a reseller you might get a deal that is not music to your ears.

Rachel Charron and her friend had two tickets to see Kenny Chesney. “I had one ticket that I sold because she wanted to upgrade. We upgraded to fourth row seats. From then you go to eBay, you buy tickets, you go to the show, there was never any question about it," said Charron.

No question, that is, until Charron and her friend arrived at the door.

"They scanned them and asked how we had purchased them and my friend said she got them on eBay. And they said since they were sold on eBay for more than face value of the tickets that all the tickets that had been purchased that way had been cancelled," stated Charron.

Link

There is a reason why you shouldn't buy from ticket brokers, whether it be for sports or concerts. Actually, there are a lot of reasons. One, they charge obscene prices, partly to cover their costs, but mostly to make a buck. Two, they don't control tickets for the venue, so if they job you, you're screwed. Three, if you didn't buy from the team/ticket vendor, oops, sorry, you didn't buy from us, so we can't help you. Four, scalpers can sell you bogus tickets and you'll never know it until you get to the gate and your tickets get rejected (especially these days, when everything's bar-coded).

I don't have much sympathy for people who get screwed like this. It sounds like the particular situation in this story ended well, but a lot don't. And in the end, there's no one else to blame but yourself if you do do it.

Don't buy from scalpers. End of story.

No Title...Too...Lazy...

What's Playing in my Head: "Frank Sinatra", by Cake

Quote of the Day: "I love to go down to the schoolyard and watch all the little children jump up and down and run around yelling and screaming. They don't know I'm only using blanks." - Emo Phillips

Okay, so it's been a week and a half now, which means that we're about halfway through this little experiment. I will say that so far things are going well, which means that I'm having fun writing this thing.

The fact that I have a blog, though, is a pretty dismal statement for our society. If I can write all kinds of crap on a daily basis that when you get right down to it nobody cares about, who can't? Soon, just about everyone who isn't over the age of 90 or physically unable to move their fingers will either have a blog, or have had one (before giving it up in inglorious failure). All in pursuit of that elusive 15 minutes (or 15 seconds) of fame.

Pretty soon, even my girlfriend's five-year-old daughter will have one:

GF: How was school, honey?
D: I dunno, mommy. You can read 'bout it in my blog.
GF: Your blog?
D: Yes. It's at rulesaredumb-dot-blogspot-dot-com.
GF: ...

I think the reason why I'm having fun doing this so far is that I take this basically as a daily journal, an opportunity for the demon monkeys in my head to have their message heard (Patton Oswalt quote, folks), rather than writing content. I think once bloggers start thinking of themselves as some sort of new-age internet columnists providing content (there's that vague word again), they're doomed. Because so very few bloggers actually succeed at getting recognized as legitimate, rather than as just some dorf sitting in his underwear ranting on the Internet.

Anyway, for the few reading this, thanks. I should be good for another week, at least.

New DCLugi Video Out

If you don't know Dave Coyne, click here. Then watch this:



I think I might stop laughing sometime this week...

Um, Yeah...So About That Whole Gambling Thing...

Somehow, I don't think a simple "My bad" would do here...

Casino built where gambling is illegal
September 20, 2006

ST. IGNACE, Mich. Gambling is the only thing missing from a new Indian casino in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, mistakenly built in an area where gambling is illegal.

The $36 million Kewadin Shores Casino and Hotel opened in June and has restaurants, a lounge and an indoor pool, overlooking Lake Huron's Horseshoe Bay north of the Mackinac Bridge.

But its 29,000-square-foot casino with 800 slot machines and 26 gambling tables has been unable to operate because the U.S. government says part of the casino was built on land where Indian gambling is not allowed.

Members of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians are debating who was responsible for the mistake, with the tribe's current and former chairmen blaming each other, The Detroit News reported Wednesday.

Link

My favorite part of the story is this:

"Payment knew about the problem before I left office and has had 2 1/2 years to work it out," former Chairman Bernard Bouschor said. "It wasn't me. It was a nice try by him to blame me, but I don't accept any responsibility for his screw-up."

Spoken like a true politician. Maybe the next step will be to have a WWE-style throwdown between Bouschor and Payment.

And does anyone find it odd that a Native American tribe leader who monumentally screwed up a business deal goes by the name "Payment"? Or is that just me?

Brian's Driving Adventures #2 ½: What Goes Around...

What's Playing in my Head: "You Want It All", by Silvertide

Quote of the Day: "An optimist says, 'The drink is half full.' A pessimist says, 'The drink is half full, but I might have bowel cancer.' " - Bruce McCullough, "The Kids In The Hall"

Sometimes I can't help but smile. Even in DC traffic.

So I'm driving home from work last night, as I tend to do, and I'm coming into Tyson's Corner. (Tyson's Corner, for those of you who aren't from the DC area, is Olde English for "Place of a Thousand Traffic Jams") You'll remember from Brian's Driving Adventures #2 the general scenario of Jackass #453 using a right-hand turn lane to pass someone. Here's my funky drawing to illustrate:


Why I was suprised that this happened again is beyond me. Maybe I believed in this vague notion of the faintest glimmer of goodness in people, I don't know. Whatever.

So I'm driving behind a brand-new Cadillac STS, which is riding the bumper of a Mercedes S-Class going down Route 7. (Northern Virginia? The hell you say...) All of a sudden, Caddy Boy darts into the turn lane. Now this just happens to be the turn lane for the regional library, so at this point I'm thinking, "You're going to a library at 9:30 at night? WTF?"

Soon enough, though, I figure out what he's doing. Which is good for me, because I know how long that turn lane is - specifically, that is, a lot shorter than you'd think. Caddy Boy, however, didn't.

My exact thought at that moment: "This is going to be a shame."

The Benz, for its part, wasn't taking any crap from this douchebag, and kept on rolling. So did I. Which left Caddy Boy running out of real estate and slamming the brakes, going full-on into the gravel at the end of the turn lane. As I rolled on by and watched this dope stewing in the humiliation he deserved, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, a lesson was learned well.

That's when I saw a middle finger shoot up from the Caddy.

Got to love Northern Virginia. In the end, though, all I can say is this: if you were the driver of the Benz, rock on.

And if you're Caddy Boy, I hope you don't choke too much on that gravel dust.

Feeling Kinda Uncreative

What's Playing in my Head: "Layla", by Derek & The Dominos (Not the beginning part everyone knows, the one starting with the piano bridge at 3min. 11sec., you know, the part that's in that scene in GoodFellas)

Quote of the Day: "You don't need a million dollars to do nothing, man. Just take a look at my cousin, he's broke, don't do shit." - Lawrence, "Office Space"

Today is just one of those days, the kind where it's hard to get started on basically anything. So I'll make this quick.

Word is getting around the current job scene on my impending departure; it's a surprise to some people, so naturally this leads to the usual stop-in-the-hall-oh-you're-leaving-where-are-you-going-gee-we're-going-to-miss-you sort of conversations. I always feel a little weird about those; there's only so much you can say about leaving, and when you've already told your boss, your boss' boss, your friends, family, family friends, and friends of family friends, it winds up feeling like you're some PR guy, repeating the same pre-formatted statements and public comments like you're talking to reporters.

What would be really cool is if people came up with some new stuff to ask me when they find out I'm leaving. For example:

A: Hey man, I heard you're leaving us.
ME: Yeah, end of this week. It's been fun, but this is a great opportunity that I just couldn't turn down.
A: That's cool. So, yeah, are you planning on dancing George Jefferson-style on your boss' desk before you go?

Or maybe:

A: Hey man, I heard you're leaving us.
ME: Yeah, end of this week. It's been fun, but this is a great opportunity that I just couldn't turn down.
A: Wow, yeah, okay. Hey, by the way, do you fully expect your enemies' flesh to melt away in columns of burning hellfire, Raiders of the Lost Ark-style?

Mix it up a bit, that's all I'm saying. That would be cool.

Better Late Than Never...

A day late and a dollar short, but I noticed over the weekend that I got some love from Waldo Jaquith and Cvilleblogs.com. Now I'm part of a blogging community. Sorry, the blogging community in Cowtown. I'll have to try to rein in my antisocial behavior just a tad.

(Which is my little way of saying thanks.)

Gas Wars: Episode II

As I mentioned on Friday, I went down to Cowtown for the UVA-Western Michigan game on Saturday (no comment). So naturally, I'm on 29 and do my usual gas price check for S&G's. For those of you playing along at home, here's what I saw just after 10 am on Saturday:

Wawa - $2.01
Exxon - $2.03

Needless to say, I was speechless. (Recall from Gas Wars: Episode I that the lowest price was at $2.07 just one week before)

So I'm rolling back into town late last night down Gasoline Alley...Guess what our fine fuelish friends are down to?

Exxon - $1.99
Wawa - $1.97

Boo-ya!

While everyone in Cowtown is freaking out about the insane cost of local gas, I'm rolling on unleaded at prices that even Wal-Mart can't match. And it's all thanks to this insane shooting war between the Macy's and Gimbel's of Gainesville.

I really don't know where we go from here, but I like the way the winds are blowing for now. Until we as a nation decide to go invade some other Middle East country (yo Iran, 'sup?), or one of these places gets tired of bleeding money in a futile attempt to spank the competition, I don't see why this can't keep going:

Wawa: Our gas is $1.95!
Exxon: Oh yeah? Ours is $1.90!
Wawa: Oh yeah? Ours is $1.75!
Exxon: $1.50!
Wawa: ONE DOLLAR! Plus a free Wawa burger, and we'll pay for your car wash at Exxon!
Exxon: We'll give it to you for FREE! Plus the burger and the car wash, and we'll pick the dead bugs off your windshield. BY HAND!

It's like that cartoon where Bugs Bunny keeps drawing a line and daring Yosemite Sam to step over it. Of course, we all know what happens in the end:



Suits me just fine. When gas is cheap, life is good.

Such a shame that I won't be doing the drive up 29 much anymore. Still, at these prices...

Night Fever

What's Playing in my Head: "Flying High Again", by Ozzy Osbourne

Quote of the Day: "I touched her hand...Her hand touched her boob...By the transitive property, I got some boob! Algebra's awesome!" - Steve Smith, "American Dad"

I think I've said on here before that I do a lot of driving. Way I figure it, at this point, I do about 18 hours of time behind the wheel every week - which means that either I really like driving, or I'm a slave to my car. (The answer, as always in life, lies in between)

The end result of all this is that I have a lot of time on my hands to think about random things, which is pretty easy given the way my brain is hard-wired. For example:

(*) God, the Skins suck. After getting manhandled worse than Paris Hilton at a swingers convention, I think it may be time to break out the brown paper bags (for Redskins fans, not for Paris - though they could only help in her case). Given the crap-fest we put on the field, there is no legitimate way we should have been trailing by 7 going into the 4th. It should have been more like 57-10. Someone shoot me.

(*) Sunday Night Football is pretty cool; Madden seems in his element with Al Michaels, at least as much as he did with Pat "Drinky-Drinky" Summerall back in the 80's and early 90's. I just wish it started at 4:15, not 8:15.

(*) Why is it that I'm always four years behind the rest of the world, musically speaking? Christ, I'm listening to Nine Days as if I'm on the cutting edge of the modern pop scene. And while I'm on the subject...

(*) Is it retarded for me to be just discovering how fucking incredible The White Stripes' "White Blood Cells" is? (Answer: Yes, Brian, it is. Now shut up before the rest of the world discovers how much of a social ponce you are)

(*) Meg White is uber-hot, what with her Winnie Cooper-esque features and fuck-you rock chick attitude. Though I can't tell if her rack is too big for my tastes or not. No matter. I'm not turning her down if I get the chance. (Yes, Brian. You are stoned.)

(*) Why is it that as a society we can transmit messages instantaneously to the farthest corners of the globe, make computer batteries the size of a thumbnail using viral nanotechnology and send futuristic satellites into outer-fucking-space, yet we can't program a grocery store card scanner to be able to tell the difference between Credit and Debit?

(*) One of the few things that will suck about moving to the Greater Cowtown Area is the lack of MASN, the cable network that carries the Washington Nationals (of which I am a fan). Somehow, Culpeper is good enough to carry a "network" (term used loosely) that has about all of 3 hours a day of original programming, but Albemarle isn't. Maybe once Comcast actually takes over the cable monopoly in town, we'll be able to see a baseball game that doesn't involve the Yankees or the Red Sox. (This is known as a hint, FOX Sports)

(*) My fantasy team blows. When you're down to starting Ben Roethlisberger and hoping that he'll actually play Monday night so you don't start Daunte Culpepper, you know you're desperate. Add one injured running back (ie, Clinton Portis) and one running back who generally sucks (ie, Reuben Droughns of the Browns) on your Can't Cut List and there's only one conclusion to be made: I should have remembered when the damned draft date was.

(*) Note To Self: Late-night driving is a shitty time to try to figure out what you're going to write for your blog post the next day. N.B.: It's also a bad time to make mental notes on said blog post.

God, I need a nap.