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Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Pizza Wars: Custies
" I think it's kicking in."
"You think?"
"Well, I'm not really sure," Peter said. "Should my arm be doing this?"
"Are you making your arm do that," asked Patty.
"I think so."
"Then it probably should be. Let me know when it starts acting independently of you."
"Is that an option?"
"With the amount you took? No, more of a certainty, but that's ok."
"Why is that OK exactly?"
"It ain't my arm."
"Oh fuck, oh fuck,oh fuck,oh fuck oh.....did you hear that?"
"What?"
"That!"
"What?!"
"That damnit! IF I could describe it beyond "that," believe me, I woulda by now."
"I have heard many things....most of them in my head, so I may have heard it, but without knowing what 'it'"is, I can hardly give a solid answer. What did it sound like?"
"Well, it sounded quite a lot like...a sound.
"Can you get more specific? Was it a loud sound, a scary sound, a voice?"
"IT was musical in nature I would have to say. There it is again!"
"I didn't hear anything dude. Can you tell me now what you heard?"
"It was musical...rhythmic. Kind of like 'knock, knock, knock.'"
"Knock, knock, knock? Like someone at the door?"
"We ordered pizza, didn't we?
"You think?"
"Well, I'm not really sure," Peter said. "Should my arm be doing this?"
"Are you making your arm do that," asked Patty.
"I think so."
"Then it probably should be. Let me know when it starts acting independently of you."
"Is that an option?"
"With the amount you took? No, more of a certainty, but that's ok."
"Why is that OK exactly?"
"It ain't my arm."
"Oh fuck, oh fuck,oh fuck,oh fuck oh.....did you hear that?"
"What?"
"That!"
"What?!"
"That damnit! IF I could describe it beyond "that," believe me, I woulda by now."
"I have heard many things....most of them in my head, so I may have heard it, but without knowing what 'it'"is, I can hardly give a solid answer. What did it sound like?"
"Well, it sounded quite a lot like...a sound.
"Can you get more specific? Was it a loud sound, a scary sound, a voice?"
"IT was musical in nature I would have to say. There it is again!"
"I didn't hear anything dude. Can you tell me now what you heard?"
"It was musical...rhythmic. Kind of like 'knock, knock, knock.'"
"Knock, knock, knock? Like someone at the door?"
"We ordered pizza, didn't we?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Pizza Wars: Happy Face Pizza
I like posting rough drafts for some reason
“Do you even have the slightest beginning of an idea where you are going?”
“Why do you insist on asking questions you know you don’t want to know the answer to?”
The rear window shattered as the Honda did its best to make the sharp turn ahead. Michael and Jonas were not exactly happy at this moment and were wondering why they took the job in the first place. A second shot rang out from the following car hitting the rear-view mirror and knocking it onto Jonas’s lap.
“OK, that was cool.” he said, joint dangling from his lips as he loaded the shotgun he brought with them. “Slow down a little bit.”
“You are not firing that in my car! Get the fucking nine or something.”
“What is the difference?”
“The fucking shot is going to ruin my fucking backseat so use the fucking pistol or get the fuck out.”
“Fine” Jonas said while simultaneously unleashing both barrels of the shotgun. While the backseat did get horribly ruined, so did the driver of the following car. Now Jonas was happy, but Michael was far from that state as the Honda came to a screeching stop. The driverless following car rushed past them out of control and slammed into a nearby trash dumpster.
“What the fuck?” It was the most Michael’s rage would allow him to get out at the moment.
“It worked.”
“So would the pistol. You ruined my car….again!”
“We really need to find this damn address already. The pizza’s getting cold.”
“Fine....ASSHOLE, but you are buying me a new backseat. What’s the fucking address again?”
The Honda drove past 35th street and into the safety of their delivery area. The street was pitch dark save for the car’s headlights and the huge yellow smiley face logo on the “Happy Face Pizza” roof sign.
The Pizza wars had gotten silly years ago; now they were deadly. Each delivery area had become a turf and each store a fiefdom. The managers were the generals who waged this war for the honor of each store’s owner. Below the manager were the cooks and the dishwashers. The cooks were the ones who had the most contact with the drivers and each driver had someone who rode “shotgun.” One had to serve as shotgun for two years before they could be a driver and then had to driver five years before they could move up to dishwasher. Very few ever made it that far.
There was only one position that was deadlier than the “shotgun rider” and that was the position of “couponer.” These were the poor souls who had to wander in neighborhoods in the light of day hanging fliers on people’s doors. This was quite possibly the most dangerous job in the world to be honest. “Shotgun Riders” from opposing companies would usually earn extra money taking bounties on other store’s coupons since they were technically employed by the driver and were not paid by the company.
Technically, the “couponer” is more of a group than a single person and the word "group" should be replaced with "street gang." The company would hire one couponer, but it was expected for that person to then hire a crew and pay them out of his earnings. There is always safety in numbers and the average couponer crew would consist of six to ten people: most days only six would return.
The average Pizza store really only employed ten people. Those ten would then hire people who worked for them and not the company. The owners both loved and hated this aspect of the business. They did not have to pay as many people which they liked, but it also meant that the loyalty of those people are to their employers and not the store. They also did not like the fact that it was common practice for drivers from opposing store to “hang out” together when not on the clock. They were usually friends and many had worked together at other stores before the war began and a few were even still roommates to this day.
The drivers saw nothing weird about being best friends for twelve hours a day and trying to kill each other for the other twelve. The only rule was that no business was ever handled when one of the people involved was off the clock. They were not fighting because they hated one another; they were fighting because it was their jobs and they would never make it personal. They actually enjoyed the concept of a “twelve hour a day war.” It was not uncommon for a funeral to be attended by the person who killed the deceased.
“Do you even have the slightest beginning of an idea where you are going?”
“Why do you insist on asking questions you know you don’t want to know the answer to?”
The rear window shattered as the Honda did its best to make the sharp turn ahead. Michael and Jonas were not exactly happy at this moment and were wondering why they took the job in the first place. A second shot rang out from the following car hitting the rear-view mirror and knocking it onto Jonas’s lap.
“OK, that was cool.” he said, joint dangling from his lips as he loaded the shotgun he brought with them. “Slow down a little bit.”
“You are not firing that in my car! Get the fucking nine or something.”
“What is the difference?”
“The fucking shot is going to ruin my fucking backseat so use the fucking pistol or get the fuck out.”
“Fine” Jonas said while simultaneously unleashing both barrels of the shotgun. While the backseat did get horribly ruined, so did the driver of the following car. Now Jonas was happy, but Michael was far from that state as the Honda came to a screeching stop. The driverless following car rushed past them out of control and slammed into a nearby trash dumpster.
“What the fuck?” It was the most Michael’s rage would allow him to get out at the moment.
“It worked.”
“So would the pistol. You ruined my car….again!”
“We really need to find this damn address already. The pizza’s getting cold.”
“Fine....ASSHOLE, but you are buying me a new backseat. What’s the fucking address again?”
The Honda drove past 35th street and into the safety of their delivery area. The street was pitch dark save for the car’s headlights and the huge yellow smiley face logo on the “Happy Face Pizza” roof sign.
The Pizza wars had gotten silly years ago; now they were deadly. Each delivery area had become a turf and each store a fiefdom. The managers were the generals who waged this war for the honor of each store’s owner. Below the manager were the cooks and the dishwashers. The cooks were the ones who had the most contact with the drivers and each driver had someone who rode “shotgun.” One had to serve as shotgun for two years before they could be a driver and then had to driver five years before they could move up to dishwasher. Very few ever made it that far.
There was only one position that was deadlier than the “shotgun rider” and that was the position of “couponer.” These were the poor souls who had to wander in neighborhoods in the light of day hanging fliers on people’s doors. This was quite possibly the most dangerous job in the world to be honest. “Shotgun Riders” from opposing companies would usually earn extra money taking bounties on other store’s coupons since they were technically employed by the driver and were not paid by the company.
Technically, the “couponer” is more of a group than a single person and the word "group" should be replaced with "street gang." The company would hire one couponer, but it was expected for that person to then hire a crew and pay them out of his earnings. There is always safety in numbers and the average couponer crew would consist of six to ten people: most days only six would return.
The average Pizza store really only employed ten people. Those ten would then hire people who worked for them and not the company. The owners both loved and hated this aspect of the business. They did not have to pay as many people which they liked, but it also meant that the loyalty of those people are to their employers and not the store. They also did not like the fact that it was common practice for drivers from opposing store to “hang out” together when not on the clock. They were usually friends and many had worked together at other stores before the war began and a few were even still roommates to this day.
The drivers saw nothing weird about being best friends for twelve hours a day and trying to kill each other for the other twelve. The only rule was that no business was ever handled when one of the people involved was off the clock. They were not fighting because they hated one another; they were fighting because it was their jobs and they would never make it personal. They actually enjoyed the concept of a “twelve hour a day war.” It was not uncommon for a funeral to be attended by the person who killed the deceased.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
As This is the New Year
My decade of solitude is coming to a close. These last two years I have made even more solitary by stopping with most online communications as well for some odd reason, but I am trying to restart them now. I am sure I have lost Lemmings along the way as this place was not much of home for the wayward as of late. I am sorry for that. I am a selfish person who gets lost in himself sometimes to the detriment of those around me. June of 2008 through August of 2009 has been pretty rough and stressful as well with work and the economy and everything else....my wit was more mean than insightful as a result.
On the bright side, as 40 looms off in the distance, I am not fearful, but rather excited. I feel this decade of solitude has helped me find myself a bit better and be more secure in who I am and I hope that will allow me to fully enjoy my 40's in a way I could not my 20's. When one considers the ride that was my 20's, ups and downs, well, we can only get really psyched for the 40's adventure to come.
Happy New Year
On the bright side, as 40 looms off in the distance, I am not fearful, but rather excited. I feel this decade of solitude has helped me find myself a bit better and be more secure in who I am and I hope that will allow me to fully enjoy my 40's in a way I could not my 20's. When one considers the ride that was my 20's, ups and downs, well, we can only get really psyched for the 40's adventure to come.
Happy New Year
Friday, September 18, 2009
First "It's Friday" in a While
Today (tick)
Sucks (tock)
It (tick)
Is (tock)
Taking (tick)
Far (tock)
Too (tick)
Long (tock)
To (tick)
Finish (tock)
(tick)
Sucks (tock)
It (tick)
Is (tock)
Taking (tick)
Far (tock)
Too (tick)
Long (tock)
To (tick)
Finish (tock)
(tick)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Let's Discuss Wasted Medical Money
As many of you know, I work for a doctor, so I am biased in this debate, but I have an example of something that just happened today that pretty clearly shows where the waste is in medicine.
We were sent a certified letter last week, but it came at lunch and we missed it. They tried to deliver it two more times, but those were at lunch as well and we missed those. Finally today, at lunch, I went to the Post Office to pick up this letter. It was sent to us by an insurance company that I am not comfortable naming, but I can say the letter was hardly worthy of a regular stamp let alone a certified letter. It was, in essence, general policy news. This is the third time this particular insurance company has sent us what amounts to "SPAM" as certified mail.
How many doctors do you think were on that mailing list and how much does it cost to mail a letter certified?
We were sent a certified letter last week, but it came at lunch and we missed it. They tried to deliver it two more times, but those were at lunch as well and we missed those. Finally today, at lunch, I went to the Post Office to pick up this letter. It was sent to us by an insurance company that I am not comfortable naming, but I can say the letter was hardly worthy of a regular stamp let alone a certified letter. It was, in essence, general policy news. This is the third time this particular insurance company has sent us what amounts to "SPAM" as certified mail.
How many doctors do you think were on that mailing list and how much does it cost to mail a letter certified?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Oragnizations I am Thinking of Starting
The Hydrophobic Surfer's Club
The Dyslexic Atheist Dog Catcher's Association
Celibate Stalkers of Blow Up Dolls
The "Extremely Loud" Anti-Noise Pollution Shouting Society
A Jockey Club for Water Polo
A Suicide Prevention Hot-line employing only Nihilists
The Official "We Need a Thirty-Seven and one half cent piece" Petition Signer's Union
Ribbons for Ribbon Awareness
The "Are You Mad" Party
The "Quite Actually" Party
A "Vegan meets Carnivore" Dating Service
And, most importantly of all:
The Official "Organization to end the Organizing of People Officially" Organization
The Dyslexic Atheist Dog Catcher's Association
Celibate Stalkers of Blow Up Dolls
The "Extremely Loud" Anti-Noise Pollution Shouting Society
A Jockey Club for Water Polo
A Suicide Prevention Hot-line employing only Nihilists
The Official "We Need a Thirty-Seven and one half cent piece" Petition Signer's Union
Ribbons for Ribbon Awareness
The "Are You Mad" Party
The "Quite Actually" Party
A "Vegan meets Carnivore" Dating Service
And, most importantly of all:
The Official "Organization to end the Organizing of People Officially" Organization
Friday, September 11, 2009
A Theme for the Day
Like everyone else and everywhere else, I too would like you to pause for a moment and think about all the ways the world changed on that day. I am sure you have already many times, but once more can't hurt.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
A Conversation
I don't understand it at all he said. I can't see beyond the tip of my nose in this instance.
What are you talking about she wondered.
I am talking about the vast empty before me
WHat empty
My life
An empty is only empty so long as you lack anything to fill it with
I lack
DO you dream
Yes
About what
Color
Any particular color?
No, just of the concept pf color; devoid of application.
The concept of color?
Yes
Can you explain?
Basically, it is the difference between a red toy wagon and just a toy wagon to a blind person- the difference knowing the color of the object would make is the essence of color. The emotional baggage we assign to it.
If you dream, she said, you never lack and the void is only vacant so long as you wish it to be. And, to be frank, a wish of an empty void is still a wish that fills it.
So you are saying the void is never empty?
No, just that it appears empty because we assign insignificance to what fills it at the time. To some boredom is to be avoided as a sign of sloth, while to others it is embraced as a sign of completion. Your life is nothing more than the sum of your perceptions.
What about the perceptions of others?
They should only matter to those others.
But that is selfish.
Why? Are they in your head at night, battling with your ego and conscious to help you close your eyes and sleep just one more time? Are you in their head to have access to their perceptions or are you guess as to what they are? What if yo guessed wrong? You spend your life trying to live up to the ideals of another, but you misunderstand their ideals and, as a result, waste your life and fail to them. Selfish is merely to place one self first and you should. You are the only person who is going to be there for you 24 hours a day, 365 days a year for your entire life.
I was taught it was more noble to place others first.
You were taught that by OTHERS who meant themselves. "Self-sacrifice" is the battle cry of the greedy from way behind the lines of combat.
Yeah..well, thanks for the bag. I gotta go and you should consider smoking less.
You too man, she said.
What are you talking about she wondered.
I am talking about the vast empty before me
WHat empty
My life
An empty is only empty so long as you lack anything to fill it with
I lack
DO you dream
Yes
About what
Color
Any particular color?
No, just of the concept pf color; devoid of application.
The concept of color?
Yes
Can you explain?
Basically, it is the difference between a red toy wagon and just a toy wagon to a blind person- the difference knowing the color of the object would make is the essence of color. The emotional baggage we assign to it.
If you dream, she said, you never lack and the void is only vacant so long as you wish it to be. And, to be frank, a wish of an empty void is still a wish that fills it.
So you are saying the void is never empty?
No, just that it appears empty because we assign insignificance to what fills it at the time. To some boredom is to be avoided as a sign of sloth, while to others it is embraced as a sign of completion. Your life is nothing more than the sum of your perceptions.
What about the perceptions of others?
They should only matter to those others.
But that is selfish.
Why? Are they in your head at night, battling with your ego and conscious to help you close your eyes and sleep just one more time? Are you in their head to have access to their perceptions or are you guess as to what they are? What if yo guessed wrong? You spend your life trying to live up to the ideals of another, but you misunderstand their ideals and, as a result, waste your life and fail to them. Selfish is merely to place one self first and you should. You are the only person who is going to be there for you 24 hours a day, 365 days a year for your entire life.
I was taught it was more noble to place others first.
You were taught that by OTHERS who meant themselves. "Self-sacrifice" is the battle cry of the greedy from way behind the lines of combat.
Yeah..well, thanks for the bag. I gotta go and you should consider smoking less.
You too man, she said.
Some Venom in My Politics
Amazing to me to be condemned for not subscribing to a preset point of view. I cannot believe that, in political discourse today, it is considered an unforgivable sin, almost on par with treason, to look at every issue on their own rather than to wait for some party head to tell me where I stand on the issue. That my disagreement with the President on one issue is equated with my hatred of him in the eyes of some, as if "blind faith" is the epitome of love or something.
Where does this come from" I can hear you screaming at me through your monitors. "You cannot be speaking of me" and I am not. I am not even talking about the professionals whose job it is to play these games. No, I am talking about the rank and file nobody who joined a political party to help them feel some of the power they think life owes them or something. I am talking about those fools who view American politics through the prism of a sports fan- as long as my side wins so be it.
I voted for Obama! I voted for Kerry! I protested Bush. I wrote numerous articles on the subject. My feelings are more than clear for anyone to look at. They are to the right of this very piece, under the label "Blog Critics: My Page." I challenge anyone to read my complaints about Bush, and compare them to what I complain about Obama, and you tell me who is being partisan and who is being consistent here. "Wishy-washy" my ass- I am getting into more political fights under Obama than I ever did under Bush.
I said it before and I will say it again: somehow the right found the value of protest at the exact same moment the left found loyalty to the office of the President and each forgot what it was like on the other side. The only thing they have in common, besides a need to place party over country at every turn, is an overwhelming hatred for those of us in the middle- the mirror that reflects their hypocrisy back at them. They condemn the moderates because they see in us what they saw in themselves under Bush and the sight of it scares them to their core: that they actually became what they hated most.
Where does this come from" I can hear you screaming at me through your monitors. "You cannot be speaking of me" and I am not. I am not even talking about the professionals whose job it is to play these games. No, I am talking about the rank and file nobody who joined a political party to help them feel some of the power they think life owes them or something. I am talking about those fools who view American politics through the prism of a sports fan- as long as my side wins so be it.
I voted for Obama! I voted for Kerry! I protested Bush. I wrote numerous articles on the subject. My feelings are more than clear for anyone to look at. They are to the right of this very piece, under the label "Blog Critics: My Page." I challenge anyone to read my complaints about Bush, and compare them to what I complain about Obama, and you tell me who is being partisan and who is being consistent here. "Wishy-washy" my ass- I am getting into more political fights under Obama than I ever did under Bush.
I said it before and I will say it again: somehow the right found the value of protest at the exact same moment the left found loyalty to the office of the President and each forgot what it was like on the other side. The only thing they have in common, besides a need to place party over country at every turn, is an overwhelming hatred for those of us in the middle- the mirror that reflects their hypocrisy back at them. They condemn the moderates because they see in us what they saw in themselves under Bush and the sight of it scares them to their core: that they actually became what they hated most.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Stanley Schwartzenburg, attorney to the Horror movie slashers
As the Jury adjured for the day to deliberate the fate of one Eugene Kommerif, Stanley Schwartzenburg, attorney to the Horror movie slashers, accompanied his client to the holding cell. Normally the accused would be transported back to the prison for the weekend, but the bailiffs didn't foresee the Jury taking more than two, maybe three minutes to decide his guilt. The hardest part of the night for that Jury would be in deciding if the evening's dinner was worth procrastinating announcing the verdict, but the bailiffs already knew that answer: it wasn't. It was Friday and they had a blog to rush home and read.
Once Eugene was secured in his cell, the bailiffs left him alone with Stanley one final time before Stanley had to rush out and sell the rights. There were a few holes in the story however that he knew any prospective buyers would need answers to, so he took this moment to do one final interview with his client.
Now really," Stanley began, "why did you wear that George Bush mask anyway?”
“I was making a statement.”
“What was that statement?”
“It was open to interpretation.”
"And the eggbeater, spatula, and misshapen large novelty paper clip..."
"were part of that statement..."
"That was open to interpretation?"
"Exactly." Eugene smiled and leaned back in his chair.
"Are you crazy?"
"To say 'yes' is a clear sign the answer is no, but to say 'no' does not mean the answer is yes. If I am crazy, wouldn't I think of myself as sane and you as crazy? If that were the case, then an answer of 'yes' would be a clear sign of rational thought..."
"What does my confusion confirm?" Stanley asked.
Eugene thought for a moment, smiled, and said "that you were paying attention."
Once Eugene was secured in his cell, the bailiffs left him alone with Stanley one final time before Stanley had to rush out and sell the rights. There were a few holes in the story however that he knew any prospective buyers would need answers to, so he took this moment to do one final interview with his client.
Now really," Stanley began, "why did you wear that George Bush mask anyway?”
“I was making a statement.”
“What was that statement?”
“It was open to interpretation.”
"And the eggbeater, spatula, and misshapen large novelty paper clip..."
"were part of that statement..."
"That was open to interpretation?"
"Exactly." Eugene smiled and leaned back in his chair.
"Are you crazy?"
"To say 'yes' is a clear sign the answer is no, but to say 'no' does not mean the answer is yes. If I am crazy, wouldn't I think of myself as sane and you as crazy? If that were the case, then an answer of 'yes' would be a clear sign of rational thought..."
"What does my confusion confirm?" Stanley asked.
Eugene thought for a moment, smiled, and said "that you were paying attention."
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