A Slight Delay

One thing life should teach everyone, sooner rather than later, is never to say, “Now I’ve seen everything.” I was reminded of this when I made the mistake of answering a question posed to me during an everyday conversation. I was asked if I’d ever read Rhonda Byrne’s insipid and insidious The Secret (the insipid and insidious part wasn’t part of my interrogator’s question, merely my own editorializing).

I answered that I hadn’t, but that I’d once been subjected to the movie, because someone at my last place of employment apparently thought it was so deep and insightful, we should all be subjected to it. Normally, I would never take the movie over the book; this is one time I gladly made an exception. Hell, it’s bad enough I’ll never get those 90 minutes of my life back.

You would think that I’d just told Billy Graham that I thought the Bible was crap. (more…)

I think I’m ready for Pamplona now. The city, in the northeast of Spain, is the annual host to the San Fermín festival, known to the rest of us mainly for the running of the bulls. Never mind that I normally root for the bulls; it’s time.

And what, you might ask, qualifies me for this feat? Agility? A spry physique? Monumental derring-do? Not so much. I live and work in New Jersey, and I’m a commuter. ‘Nuff said. (more…)

It’s now five years to the day since President Bush unilaterally declared an end to the Crusade War On Terror  Fight Against Global Extremism Glorious Struggle Against Islamofascism War in Iraq, which was meant to find Osama Bin Laden democratize the Middle East bring peace, prosperity, and democracy to Iraq  wait a minute. What in the hell are we doing there again? The names, faces, and rationales have shifted as if in a sandstorm, or have become lost in the fog of war; each promise, and each benchmark, has been broken, rationalized, and ultimately replaced, with the administration fervently hoping each time that nobody remembers the rationales of days gone by. (more…)

A recent article on MSN.com tells of the rise of self-service checkouts and kiosks. If you listen to the marketing people–and somebody’s got to be listening to them, given that everything from gas stations to doctors’ offices now offers self-service–this improves service, speeds transactions, builds brand loyalty, and saves money.

Oh, really? In no particular order, let’s take this point-by-point. (more…)

The promotions make it sound so enticing: motion pictures and events on demand, high picture quality, a variety of channels, and service that rivals cable. Then there’s the tagline: “Friends don’t let friends subscribe to cable.” Let’s just say that after having their service for nearly a year now, I know why so few of my friends and family have DirecTV. The channel selection’s not what it’s cracked up to be, picture quality is merely passable, and the service… well, I’ll let one story stand in for the several I could tell about the nail-biting experience that is DirecTV.
(more…)

Checked my Yahoo account today, and thought for a minute I was reading some descendent of Lewis Carroll, or maybe Hugo Ball. Spam seems to be Yahoo’s bread and butter, judging by the amount of it that clogs my inbox every time I log in, but lately it’s taken on an almost poetic, musique concrete quality. The Ali Zapatas and Zenobia Q Titmouses of the world have given us some real gems, reprinted here as poetry (n.b. the typos are theirs, not mine):

pricrot Tort Radmid
Priant Alpher bato spire
Horth Guitchop Botather
(more…)

Those who think that Sam Walton’s spawn needs to be taken down a peg or two will no doubt be heartened by the news of a recent court ruling stating that Georgia native Charles Smith should be allowed to continue selling his Wal-Qaeda and Walocaust T-shirts. Rather than arguing on good taste, Smith had the sense to argue his case on First Amendment grounds; luckily for him, the judge agreed. The irony here is that Smith—whose sales at the time the ruling was handed down had barely broken 60 shirts—has gone, in a couple days time, from relative nobody to minor celebrity. Had Wal-Mart ignored him, it’s likely he would have remained in obscurity. As it is, they’ve given him his fifteen minutes of fame while simultaneously reinforcing a reputation for heavy-handedness.

Not that they needed Smith’s help, mind you. The company is also taking a beating in the news and the blogosphere this week over its countersuit against Deborah Shank (the backstory, if you’re not already familiar, is available here and here). While I will grant that the company technically had a contract, and the law, on its side, I’d also assert that just because something is legal doesn’t make it right. (more…)

Another letter, sent after the one below:

Mr. Wetauba,
 
It is with great and sincere regret that I read this missive on the loss of  your dear client. It is with further regret, however, that I must decline your generous offer.
 
Even a cursory inquiry, you see, would reveal that my credit is somewhat less than Sterling. It is, in fact–in the going financial parlance–something closer to “rust.” The road to this unfortunate set of circumstances is long, circuitous, and probably dull to the uninitiated. Therefore, I will lay it out in detail. Someone of your financial experience and acumen, I’m confident, cannot but be impressed. (more…)

I use Hotmail, the filtering on which is generally halfway decent. That’s a good thing, usually, but one side effect is that I don’t get those Nigerian letters anymore. If you’ve ever taken a class, or read a book, on creative writing, you know that they’re big on “writing prompts,” ranging from traditional exercises to things that could almost pass for Zen koans; those letters were great writing prompts. Here’s a reply that I wrote to one of them:

Mr. Oko,

I’m so sorry, but I’ve been burned so many times in the past giving to lost causes. I sent something to the order of seventy-five thousand dollars for hunger relief in Ethiopia, and they kept starving. Same with the Biafrans, back when aid to Biafra was all the rage. I’ve given to the Rotarians, the Moose Lodge (only to find out that the closest they get to a moose is the one over the fireplace; and here I thought they were helping those poor animals. The bastards). Even donated a substantial sum of money for a friend’s breast augmentation, because I knew it would make him happy… he changed his mind after others had also chipped in no small fortune for the hormones and the rest of the surgery. You can imagine our disillusion. (more…)

I really don’t like Saint Patrick’s Day. There, I said it, I feel better.

And I’m Irish. Which is probably one reason I don’t like Saint Patrick’s Day. Maybe it’s the hundreds of people wearing shirts, buttons, badges, hats, glasses, lounge pants and scarves that say, “Kiss me, I’m Irish!” Maybe it’s the green ice cream, pancakes, beer, et cetera. Or maybe it’s the fact that every third person you see uses the day as an excuse to get ridiculously drunk, ‘cause, you know, it’s the “Irish” thing to do.

On second thought, maybe it’s the fact that people insist on asking why I’m not “dressed” for the holiday, why I’m not piss-drunk, and why I turn my nose up at any foodstuffs that have been dyed the same color as the Incredible Hulk. I’m not the politically correct type, but it sticks in my craw that a bunch of people have reduced Irishness to a bunch of tired stereotypes.

So I’ll chill at home, put on the Dubliners and the Pogues loud enough to wake the dead, read some Yeats, and have myself a nice pint of Guinness… the proper kind that looks like 10W40, thank you very much. And if anyone asks me why I’m not wearing green, why my stout is that lovely brown, or if I would please turn down If I Should Fall from Grace with God, I will tell them, in no uncertain terms, to kiss my Irish ass.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.