It's My TV….It's My Peanut Butter

No, I’m not about to do a Musikalischer Mittwoch about “American Pie”  (I can more or less promise that won’t ever happen–I don’t hate the song, but it’s been eye-rollingly over-done in my corner of the Universe).

I’m talking about how my favorite radio station totally killed music.

The country station I listen to (the one that plays old shit and does not mock my less-than-secret love of Hee-Haw) decided to become the 24/7 Christmas station for the area starting the day after Thanksgiving.  I would applaud this but for two things:

1) They said this will run through 26 December.  Um.  Yeah.  No.  Twelve days of Christmas, yo (and more than that if you’re smart and milk both Roman Catholic/Protestant AND Orthodox)

and (this is the important one)

2) I haven’t heard a Christmas song yet.  Or any other song.

This station was always a bit heavy on the advertisements in the mornings.  That’s to be expected for any station, so I’m annoyed, but forigiving. But since the alleged Christmas rotation started, I have heard about nothing but collision repair, vinyl siding and the price of brisket for a grocery chain whose nearest store is 30 minutes from me.

I knew the Christmas music thing was going to be a bad gimmick, but I didn’t think it would be this awful.  How can I mock the craptastic renditions of “Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer” if I never get to HEAR them?!?!

I love my family dearly, but they might drive me to beat my head against the wall soon if they don’t stop interrupting me.

The over-all interruption of having them back in the house for a visit is one thing–this is a welcome interruption.

It’s all the little things that come in between.  The worst being Mom’s habit of telling me to do one thing, then interrupting me before I can do it.  Prime example from this afternoon.  I have been home all of 10 minutes….

Mom: “Go take this laundry up to the linen closet.”

Me: “Okay.”

Half-way up the stairs…..

Mom [yelling from the laundry] : “Cammy!”

Me [paused on the stairs] “Yeah?”

Mom [still yelling from the laundry room] :”Come here!”

Me: [attempting to continue up the stairs] “I’m just going to finish putting this stuff up.”

Mom: I want to show you where I put the carpet cleaner!

Me:  I’ll be down in a minute.

Mom:  It will only take a second!

So, I give in, go back down the stairs, stuff still in my arms.  Mom proceeds to show me every detail of how she arranged the shelves in the laundry room.  During this 10 minute presentation, I have put the stack of towels and sheets on top of the drier.

Mom:  ”I thought you were going to put those away.”

Me [rolling eyes]: I was trying to.

Mom:  Well, you don’t have to have an attitude about it!

For the record, it took me four (4), yes FOUR (4) attempts before I made it up the stairs without being called back for something else.  And that final time, I essentially played stealth and when she called me, I pretended not to hear.

I’m SO looking forward to the men in white coats coming to take me to a nice padded cell.

In case you missed my whining, and the fact that I haven’t posted on time (again), I’ll tell you that this has been a helluva last two weeks.  I’ve been working long days, on weekends, and generally busting my ass.

This level of sustained activity involved in something I’m not really keen on doing requires a certain level of musical stimulus to maintain my sanity and my energy level.  ”Zeit für Optimisten” by Silbermond has been in my playlist rotation fairly heavily.

If you like fast paced, solid rock music, you will be able to enjoy this song without knowing German.  Musically, I won’t say this is my favorite Silbermond song (I think that would go to “Symphonie”), but it’s got the right tempo to offer a pick me up when Excel spreadsheets are bogging me down.  There’s also the note of, not quite anger, but definitely something less than happy lurking under the upbeat sound, which mirrors my level of frustration just about perfectly.

If you DO know some German, the lyrics complete the package to make this a perfect addition to the job-dragging-me-down playlist.  ”es ist ‘ne schlechte Zeit für Optimisten” repeats the chorus….literally?  ”It’s a bad time for Optimists.”

Ain’t.  It.  Just.

And rather than offer empty hope about improvement for the Optimists, the song takes the bull by the horns suggesting “Also lasst sie uns ein wenig unterstützen / Wer will schon gern alleine sein?” That is, we should help the optimists….who wants to be alone?  That’s right.  Instead of bench warming it with the pessimists (me), we ought to be out there finding a way to make things a little better for those lonely optimists.

A nice sentiment, really.

Of course, being a pessimist I could suggest that the other option for Optimist loneliness is to convert them to pessimism.  Clearly Silbermond has more optimism than me.  And that’s good, because they give me rockin’ songs that make me momentarily think I should abandon my pessimism if I want to see things improve.

Once again, for the daring samplers out there, a legal version is up on YouTube.  The video is a couple of years old.  Don’t ask me about the TV-headed people.  I didn’t get it when the song came out and I still don’t get it, though I am amused by the guy on the crapper and the kid on the mini four wheeler.

Okay, so most of this, other than one item, doesn’t really have to do with Trader Joe’s itself.  They aren’t the problem.

It’s the rest of humanity that’s trying to drive me ’round the twist.

To set the scene, our Trader Joe’s is relatively new (a few weeks/month) so it’s novelty item around here.  I figured after a few weeks, though, that would have given way to some sanity so that I could venture over (it’s about 35 minutes from me–fine if I have a list of particular items I want to get there, but not at all suited to my regular grocery shopping) and pick up a few things (namely, tea tree oil soap–I like theirs and it’s way cheaper than anywhere else I can get it around here).  My assumptions, however, proved incorrect. The place was frakkin’ packed.  Here we begin our story.

1) Dear People My Parents’ Age–you are part of the problem.  There were an inordinate number of people who were at or slightly above my parents’ age who were clogs in the arteries of the Trade Joe’s aisles.  These people are not old, slow or senile enough for my to be patient with.  Just because they are more financially secure than a lot of us, does not give them the right to stand there in everyone’s way, staring confusedly at the hummus I’m trying to get to, trying to figure out what it is, then sniffing, and complaining about all the people.  Seriously?  GET OUT OF MY WAY.  If your generation hadn’t completely bought into the Wal-Mart-and-hot-dogs culture of mass-discounts, there would be a lot more Trader-Joe’s style grocery stores with organic soy-everything and excellent beer selections and this one wouldn’t be so crowded.  Go back to your SUVs and let me get my damned hummus.

2) Parents of small children, now is not the time to have little Joey be “helpful.”  When I say this store was packed, I mean, beyond belief packed (I was trying to keep an eye out for the maximum occupancy sign because I wasn’t sure the fire marshal wasn’t going to be involved).  The checkout lines were snaking into the shopping aisles and you had to queue up to get down the aisles with the canned goods (the entire canned-good-aisle journey took me 15 minutes).  So, with this in mind….why would you think it’s a good idea to let your 3 year old “help” push the shopping buggy RIGHT UP THE MIDDLE OF AN AISLE?  And then, when the little bastard falls down, why would you take 5 minutes coaxing him to get up and keep pushing, rather than picking him up, plopping him in the seat and getting the HELL out of everyone’s way?  First of all, this place was crowded enough that it was bordering on dangerous to have toddlers walking along–the potential for people to step on them was unbelievable.  Second, it takes more room out of the already premium floor space for you to walk alongside a cart while your kid careens it into everything.  It was really only slightly less annoying for the host of other parents who were holding the hands of the only-recently-mobile and walking them around the store behind mom, rather than picking them up.  Same issue of the kid being down at trampling level in a crowded area and with taking up more space with the kid beside you and your hip kicked out as you’re bent down to keep his/her hand.  I can’t complain at the toddler speed, though–no one moved quickly in that store.

3) Mommy Club BFFs?  This is not the place to have you girls day out.  Please do not bring your girls day out to the crazy-ass grocery store.  It is annoying as fuck to try and maneuver around when you two asshats are walking side by side down the aisle (where everyone else had had the sense to try and organize themselves into semi-orderly bi-directional traffic), chit-chatting about Taylor’s soccer practice.  These offenders also tended to be the ones who thought it was okay to lean their elbows down on the cart with the ass stuck way out behind them, again, taking up way more room in the store, and making them less maneuverable with their buggies.  A subset of this group were the women who were chattering on the cell phone while leaning on the buggies.  And because I was behind two such women for so long, I can assure that the calls were not at all of the “hey-should-I-pick-up-those-organic-sweet-potato-chips”? variety.  Oh no.  It was more of Taylor’s soccer practice and McKenzie’s cheerleader camp.

4) Multi-cart marauders: Embrace the puzzle and learn to fit it in one.  Oddly enough, this set coincided more than I would have expected with the group of late-20-somethings with those speed-bump toddlers.  I know the carts at Trader Joe’s aren’t huge, but a young family of 3 really shouldn’t have to have two of them to do their shopping, especially since Mommy and Daddy definitely weren’t splitting up the list to divide and conquer the store.  Ooooooh no.  They moved as one mass unit, with Joey pushing the cart, Daddy walking alongside and Mommy and her buggy leading the way.  And every time Mommy picks something up off the shelf, she turns to ask Daddy if they should get some of this (because Mommy likes to buck the assumption that if you’re all about everything organic and soy and not using plastic bags that you also realize that women’s lib happened).  It was like watching a God damned car wreck.  Except there weren’t cars.  Only shopping buggies that were each only half full (meaning, HELLO, why did you need TWO?)

5) Trader Joe’s, I love you but your timing sucks.  The ONLY thing I can fault Trader Joe’s with was their use of stock people.  I saw nothing on the shelves or in the freezer cases that looked low, and yet at one point there were no less than 5 stock people crowding the floor with dollies full of bins….and at least two of those people were going from the floor BACK to the stock area…with a full load.  The place was crawling with staff moving shit on dollies.  And while this would normally be nice and a sign of good service, this was soooo poorly timed.  There was really no need for that many people to be on the floor at once.  After the third time I had to stop and let 0ne of them past, I was a little miffed that as the customer I was constantly having to yield here.  And in the wine section a guy was adding more to a stacked floor display and I just wanted to tell him “Dude, there is a mountain of wine there.  Do NOT add to it, we’re already having trouble moving around.  Just take your dolly of shit and go wait in the break room until the mountain dwindles some.”

All that said, I made it out alive, with some things that made me happy (my soap, some beer, hummus….).  And I know that on occasion I will go back for things I can’t get elsewhere.  I just hope to fuck that the idiots are cleared out by then because one more visit like that and I’m going to wind up non-verbal, in a corner, rocking back and forth.

*note: FRAK!  AUTO PUBLISH DIDN’T WORK.  WTF?!?!

I will not blog about work, I will not blog about work….WTF, I’ll blog about work!

In keeping with my usual habit of refraining from talking about the job I have to hold down for the sake of bills and such, this will be highly general.

Of course, you don’t need to know many particulars to understand the frustration involved, but here’s the run down:

I am working on a very important project (which isn’t saying much…in a world of MBAs–which, incidentally, stands for Massively Big Assholes–every potential for a dollar is like the cure for cancer….which would actually make them the most happy as they could totally charge for that…..).  It’s highly visible, yadda, yadda, yadda.  The whole world of my employer knows it’s huge, and apparently those of us stuck working on said project are allowed to ask for anything and everything we deem necessary, probably including ponies (but not including time off or a bigger paycheck).

Sweet.  So, I need certain information for said project.  I don’t have it, and I am not the best person to access it, and it’s essential and has all manner of muckity-muck people concerned until I get it.  So, on orders of muckity mucks, I had to A) write a report on what I knew about the data I needed B)identify who would be the best people to get this data and C) a go-forward plan for making sure that data stays updated and at my adorable fingertips.

Aye-aye, captain!

So, I do some research, write a very concise report in the form of a two page outline stating what the data should be, what I’ve found so far and what else I needed.  I also wrote up an action plan for who the best source was AND….I even made suggestions on where said source could start the inquiry to complete this whole picture and provide me with the awesomeness I’m seeking.  In reality, the source I tagged OUGHT to have all the information already, but that assumes the source was taking care of its actual job, which, pffffffffffft.  Ya.  Richtig.

Anyhow.  This little report got sent to the responsible source….and cc’d to muckity mucks….several weeks ago.

I have LITERALLY sent an e-mail asking for an update every. single. week.  since. then.

And if you guessed that I haven’t had jack shit back….you’d be almost right.  A couple of weeks ago I had a whole message of excuses (none of which held water….they were all issues either answered in my little summary report, or which they could have asked me for because it was intuitively obvious from the mere fact that I wrote the summary that I had the information they needed to get started doing this job).  Other than that, I’ve had nothing.  The muckity-mucks I’d CC’d got some messages promising information the next day….we’re not going to talk about how many weeks ago that “next day” was.  So, I wrote something no one bothered to read AND, I’m still without data that really should have been an easy pull for someone.

So, my blood pressure?  Kinda been on the uphill side of things.  Gonna have to eliminate salt to try and balance out the impact of the stress of being ignored.  I might also need to consider investing in a punching back to eliminate the potential for me being brought up on assault charges.

Is it really so difficult to at least acknowledge a request with a “We’re working on it?”  When someone asks you for an estimated date when you could have a finished or even mostly finished product (that’s right–this whole time?  My actual question has been “Please let me know when you think you might have an initial draft of the info.”), is it really so hard to say, “I think I might be able to get you something by next Tuesday, and I’ll let you know if that changes”?  Seriously, that’s all I needed!

WTF, yo.  Just, WTF!

So, I’m preparing for yet another jaunt on a plane in the near future, and I am daily growing more pissed at the airline charges for checked bags.   I’m trying to save on checking a bag (and on the amount of luggage I’m toting around Texas).  I have to pack for 2 days at a conference where I’ll be donning professional attire and at least one day of which I will probably be sitting for a photo, followed by 2 additional days in the sweltering heat of S. Texas (including at least 6 hours in a house with no AC).

First problem:  business suit.  I could try a garment bag, but I hate those damned things and it’s just going to get crunched in the overhead bin anyhow.  It’s still going to get wrinkled in my other carry on, but at least then I’ll have room for everything else.  Because I’ve yet to encounter a garment bag that held much of anything more than 2-3 items on hangers and a pack of gum without it taking up as much space as my full sized suitcase.  I’m sure one of you is going to rave and tell wonderous stories about your luggage, but for me, these bags are always either too big or too small.

Second problem: Cosmetics.  I’m a homely critter.  The only chance I have of looking decent enough to pass muster at this conference is via chemical intervention.  Even when I have things in the appropriate under 3 oz. container size, the number of containers necessary renders that 1 quart bag useless.  Primer, lip gloss, mascara, shampoo, conditioner, make up remover, moisturizer, gel, perfume.  And that’s not even the real basics like deodorant, toothpaste, the topical meds for my knee and contact solution.  I don’t care how small the container is, you just can’t get that much in a 1 quart bag.

If I weren’t worried about how I come off in my attempts to network at this meeting, I’d chuck the suit and the cosmetics and laugh all the way down the jetway.  Instead, I’m shaking my fist at the airlines (and at the TSA….stupid 1quart arbitrary bullshit).  Ah well, time to google to see the hotel has an iron to press the business attire, and if there’s a drug store within walking distance–I might save some space and buy contact solution there….

Stupid damn airlines.

Apologies for the lack of a Friday post.  Bigger apologies if you couldn’t reach the site.  I spent about 4 hours on Friday evening trying to get connected to the site so I could post my entry, but alas, the Internet Overlords (or at least the web hosting overlords) were against me (and if they were against you between the hours of 8 and midnight, please leave a comment–I’m still trying to narrow down the reasons for the issue).  So, I’m going to try to post this back-dated (don’t want to take the top spot from Kristy).

Coincidentally, I was going to blog about another technical difficulty which tried to ruin my Friday:  my car wouldn’t (and still won’t) start.  She drove just fine Monday, and cranked with no issue Tuesday (before I opted to drive my Mom’s car instead since it hasn’t been out of the garage in a while).

I hate not being able to fix things myself, unfortunately the time it would take me to work on the car and figure out the problem, well, I just don’t have it.  I can narrow down all the obvious stuff (the battery is fine as are the connections to the battery, she’s not leaking any fluids and nothing looks obviously disconnected under the hood) and her fuses appear to be okay.  She attempts to turn over when I crank it, but just never does.  There are some other things I could work on checking (spark plugs and connectors, the starter itself….), but again it goes back to time and lack of familiarity–while my conceptual knowledge of the operation of my car is enough to keep me from feeling totally embarrassed, the hands-on part makes me feel utterly ridiculous.  I mean, I know the role of the starter and basically how it operates, but I’ll be damned if I could actually pop the hood of a car and point to it with an certainty.

So, since I have two other vehicles that need driving, I’m very lucky.  I’ll be waiting until my next Friday off work to call up the tow service connected to my repair shop of choice.  And when it turns out to be some easy-peasy fix, I’ll try to assuage my feelings of inadequacy and stupidity by reminding myself that the cost will be worth it for the time and frustration I save.

So, as I mentioned earlier this summer, I’m in the market for an MP3 player.  Despite my severe hesitation about Apple, on the recommendation of my brother, and a few of you gentle readers, I set aside my prejudices and the iPod Nano was in the running.

But, since I’m a patient and slow shopper when it comes to major purchases (and anything over $90 is still major in my book), several folks suggested that I hold off and wait for the NEW iPod release in September.  Okay.  Fair enough.  The iPod Nano was growing on me and taking the lead on the contenders, but if a new one was coming out, well, then, it only made sense to wait for the latest and greatest.

So, when the announcement of a big reveal from Apple slated for 1 Sept. started floating through geek-world, I actually paid attention.  For the first time in my life, I actually gave a damn about one of Apple’s look-at-me brouhahas.  Time to find out what I was almost certain I would buy.

Yeah.

No.

Seriously?  I waited for that?

It’s a frickin’ Sansa Clip+ with pretty pictures.  It lost the camera.  It has a smaller screen.  It holds NO appeal for me.  Honestly, the new iPod nano redesign is laughable.  I’m not interested in the accessibility features, I’m not sold on touch-screens, there’s no way to watch movies on this thing, I don’t care about the shake-to-change feature (which, incidentally, was also something available in a low-cost Sansa Shaker Mp3 player years ago).

I wouldn’t care much if I hadn’t let myself get excited thinking it would actually improve on the prior version.  I liked the form factor of the previous incarnation of the Nano.  Liked the camera.  Was hoping for more connectivity you’d find in the iPod touch, without the size.

The only upside of my waiting is that other manufacturers generally release in and around September based on the Apple release schedule.  Archos and Samsung both have offerings either already out or coming out very soon which are likely to win out now–they both have the features I’m looking for and price points lower than Apple.  I gave it a shot, but right now, unless last-year’s Nano goes on deep discount sale now that the new model is out, I just don’t think I’m likely to wind up an Apple customer this time.

I’m thinking that I just don’t fit their market demographic.

As Kristy established, in her field of study, it’s important to define terms.  The same goes for my field of law–we love to define, particularly within the context of a single document.  And, I’ll admit, I take sick pleasure in responding to the queries of co-workers with, “Well, that all depends on how you’re defining…..”

So, in the context of MTVMPB, let’s go over the term “give-a-damn-o-meter.”  You may pronouncie this either with the “o” shortened as in “Thermometer” or as a long “o” as in “o’clock.”  Whatever floats your boat and suits your purpose at the time.

As to what it is, the make up of the word gives you clues, but it also over-simplifies this complex concept.  At the heart of it is the fact that each one of has a finite amount of caring we can expend on things in a prescribed period of time.  Once depleted, we are unable to care or “give a damn” until the well is replenished.  When when depleted, clearly a physical measurement would be zero.  The Give-a-damn-o-meter reflects this in the same way your gas gage reflects the amount of fuel in your car.  When it’s pegged on “E” you’re in deep kimche.

But there’s more than this.  The amount of “give a damn” each of us is allotted is actually subdivided according to what it is being applied to.  For example, I have almost infinite amounts of give-a-damn for, say, Babylon 5.  This being the case, it’s rare to employ the Give-A-Damn-O–Meter for things we enjoy–when there’s so much to go around, it’s silly to bother keeping track.  However, the amount of give-a-damn I have for dealing with arrogant, know-it-all bastards who talk down to me and wear smug expressions?  Well, there are radio controlled cars with bigger tanks, I’ll say that much.  With so little distance between F and E on the Give-A-Damn-O-Meter in that case, it’s perfectly acceptable to note that “my give-a-damn-o-meter is almost pegged.”  To add complexity, when the Give-A-Damn-O-Meter is running low in relation to one thing, it can actually start to impact the amount of give a damn for other things.  That arrogant bastard?  Once an encounter with him sends my Give-A-Damn-O-Meter into decimal places, the amount of give a damn I have for other things, like dealing with paperwork or annoying grocery shoppers, is likewise decreased.  The full connection between various discrete Give-A-Damn-O-Meters had yet to be fully detailed, but the general observation of universal decrease is undeniable.

We at MTVMPB hope that we have made you more aware of your own Give-A-Damn-O-Meters and that you will utilized this important measure to communicate your amount of Give-A-Damn to others in your life….who may or may not give-a-damn themselves.