Pelican Cautions

I'm a big fan of Pelican cases. We use them to ship stuff all over the country for work. I just ordered a new batch and they came with these warning tags.  It never occurred to me that I could use them to ship children. Thanks for the tip, Pelican!

Large Soda

On Friday, the GF and I went to the KFC / Taco Bell drive-thru.  I placed our order and asked for a large Diet Pepsi.  The guy on the other end asked if we wanted to upgrade that to their new "jug" size which is a half gallon.  I said yes without actually allocating the brain cycles to realize what I had just bought.  I occured to me as I pulled up to the window that that's the size of milk container, not a tasty snack to go with Tacos.

It didn't quite register until he handed me this, and I took it with two hands.

This soda container is so obnoxiously big, they built a handle into the rim.  It has a spout on it that is probably intended for pouring because it's hard to come by straws big enough.  I don't think it's meant for in-vehicle consumption, because it's not like it will fit in the cupholder.  It might be entertaining to watch a driver try to drink out of the this spout -- especially if there are speed bumps around.  And as long as I am far away or ensconced behind a protective barrier.

64 fluid ounces is a lot of beverage. If you have trouble wrapping your head around that, this may help you grasp the size. 

Here it is next to some sauce packets and a Caramel Apple Empanada:

Here it is next to a non-empanada-ed apple:

And here it is next to an Apple iPod:

Knowing that this monstrosity exists kind of apalls me, but at they same time, it just makes me so happy with its sheer absurdity.

Fun with shadows and a monopod

Memorable Political Names

If nothing else, the current WA state primary ballot is good for a chuckle.  Take a look at the Senate race:

I'm tempted to vote for Goodspaceguy just because it would be awesome to hear about Senator Goodspaceguy on CSPAN.

Too bad about Mike The Mover, though.  He probably thought he would have the most unusual name on the ballot.  Senator Mike The Mover still has a neat ring to it, though.

The lamest gypsy curse ever

Saturday at Fred Meyer, I stood in line behind one person. I had 20 5' tomato stakes, 4 tomato cages, and a spook of twine to purchase.  The woman in front of me was attempting to purchase an outdoor furniture set and table umbrella. It was a display model, on sale, and she had been all over town. With the special pricing, the cashier had a to call for multiple manger overrides.  Then the customer pays with three different gift cards (which required yet another manager override) and cash. She fished out exact change  from her purse, and dropped some of it, to wrap up her purchase.

It took a long time.

The customer and cashier apologized to me for the delay.  I said it was okay because I knew it would happen.  Regardless of the line I choose, it's the wrong line.  Her troubles were probably because I got in line behind her.

And that's the curse I live under.  No matter what line I choose at Home Depot, Fred Meyer, Costco, QFC, Safeway, or any other store, I choose the slowest line.  I can choose the shortest line, or the fastest moving line, or the most efficient cashier, or any other scenario, and that line will instantly become the slowest one at the store.

It used to bother me.  Eventually, I accepted it.  I know that any line I get in will be the worst choice, so I don't even try to pick a quick one anymore. I just sigh and pull out my phone because I'll have plenty of time to read through my Twitter stream.

The GF has gotten used to me making her choose the line when we go to a store.  Occasionally, I'll pick the line, the curse kicks in, and she is able to redirect us the a better one.  As long as I'm not the one picking the line, we're fine.  Otherwise, we're spending the night in the store.

I'm not sure what I did to earn this lamest gypsy curse ever.   Did I annoy some long dead gypsy relative?  Look at someone funny in 1994? Did I take it as a disad so I could spend the points on some other stat?

I'd investigate it further, but I'm guessing there's a line.

Anti-Warning

My local grocery store is doing some remodeling.  The ripped up old flooring and you can see the brush strokes from the original adhesive. Thus, they posted this sign on the floor:

Product Title Syntax

When I was in college, if I was feeling flush, I'd spring for some Tuna Helper.  Not only that, I'd buy the tuna, too.  And the milk.  I had the whole Daddy Warbucks thing going on some days.

Eventually I moved up to the Hamburger helper.  I still enjoy that tasty, fatty, sometimes gelatinous mass it turns to in the fridge.  But I've been wondering about the name.

You add hamburger to make Hamburger Helper.

You add chicken to make Chicken Helper.

You add tuna to make Tuna Helper.

It all makes sense, right?  Well then what do you add to make this?

Clients from Hell

I need someone that can take everything in here (client points to head with both hands), and put it on the internet.

-- Client speaking to a freelancer

Lately, this has become one of my daily stops on the Internet when I make my rounds to ensure the 'net is still funcitoning the way it should.

Clients from Hell  is a collection of short, funny anecdotes from graphic designers, web designers, application developers, and other freelancers where they tell their favorite stories of dealing with challenging customers.  There's usually only two or three new stories a day so it's easy to keep up on.

It's interesting in ways beyond a customers-sometimes-do-stupid-things way.  I'm often on the other side of the conversation, playing the role of the client.  What I find fascinating in the whole thing is that it demonstrates a few key facts.

1. Designers are under appreciated.  While software has made it possible for anyone to throw up a quick website or toss together a logo, it still requires a professional to use that software to create something that's actually good.
2. Customers don't speak the same language as designers.  On some of the stories, it struck me that the freelancer was at fault.  Customers are likely outsourcing this stuff because it is out of their realm of expertise, and the customers, in all likely hood don't know how to communicate what they want or need from the freelancer.  And some freelancers don't ask the right questions or have the patience for the answers the customers might give.
3. A good contract is essential.  Given the way customers try to get out of paying, having clear terms is a critical issue that can prevent issues down the road.
4. Some people are just plain wacky.

Check it out.  It's worth a visit. If you deal with the public, you'll recognize many of the people in the stories.  If instead, you are a client of these service providers, it may give you some ideas on how you can work more effectively with your service providers.

CSI: Seattle Center

The GF and I checked out the Seattle Center in December and stumbled on a grisly scene. The Christmas Village in the Center House was the scene of ... a murder!

One person killed and another injured and hauled away to the hospital in a wheel barrow.

The police began questioning their suspects, and, as they usually do, went right to the Iceman.

After getting into an extended argument about profiling, the police finally realized he hadn't done it, because another victim was killed while they were interviewing the Iceman.

It was the boy's father.

The boy's father didn't suffer much. Probably because his BAC was .24

The carnage continued, with the boy's aunt next on the list.  She was brought down in the street, outside of where she worked.

The police were stumped at first, until they go the initial reports from the Medical Examiner's office.  The reports described the wound.  With that information, police quickly identified the murder weapon.

After doing some electronic research, the discovered that the boy and his father had been targeted for some time.  Two weeks earlier, someone broke into their home, stole all their eggs, and left a threatening note on the refrigerator.  Police, finally taking the complaint seriously, went back to the break in to look for fingerprints.  The found the window had already been replaced.

Local business leaders called on the police to handle the matter as discreetly as possible so as not to chase away tourists.

While the police tried to figure out who had been harrassing the family, then turned to their next normal suspect -- the Artist.  He wasn't like everyone else; he always looked at things differently, and the police "knew" how weird and dangerous they could be.

Then they began to learn the whole story.  The Artist would never hurt the boy.  Afterall, he was the boy's father! Yes, he took the eggs, but he needed them for his new piece and show.  He suggested they check out the boy's mother.  Lately she hadn't been happy with the way things went several years ago.  She was having second thoughts about putting the boy up for adoption.  She told the Artist she knew the courts would never give him back to her because of her job.  The boy never knew who she was, or that the Artist was his father.  They kept the secret from the boy -- the secret that the Artist met the mother at her place of business -- the brothel!

When police got there, she was already gone.  They tried to stop the trains before she could leave town.

But they were too late. The train was already gone.

They radioed ahead to the next town, and the local Sherriff stopped and personally searched the train.  She was no where to be found.  How had she escaped?  While the police searched the ground, she took to the air, off to reign terror on another town.

Laundry and space

It was time to wash the bedding in my apartment.  Now, I probably don't do that as often as polite society would dictate, but 1) I probably spend more time on Hilton's sheets than on my own, and 2) I am a guy.

But it was time.  So yesterday I stripped the bed, pulled the pillows from their cases, yanked off the mattress pad, and pulled the comforters from their duvets.  Since I have such a small washing machine, the only way to thoroughly wash the linens is to first soak them in OxyClean (RIP, Billy Mays).  And it's not like I have a laundry sink or soaking facility, so into the bath tub they went.

I went about my day, and eventually went to bed.

Today I woke up and went to shower, only to discover a bunch of damp sheets already in the tub.  I thought, "Huh.  That's inconvenient."

My next thought was, "Guess I should skip the shower."

That seemed like a bad precedent.  Besides, I didn't think it was right that I had to wait in line to use my own bathroom, behind my sheets.  They take forever to get ready for the day.

While I considered the DSM IV ramifications of personifying my sheets like that, I thought, "Why don't I just do the laundry?"  Which brought me right back to the issue of there being a good 4 loads of laundry in the tub, and only 1 barely able to fit into the washing machine.

Finally, I came to the only logical solution. The laundry has been in contact with me in the past.  Now it was going to be in soapy water.  So was I while I showered.  So I shrugged, kicked the laundry to one end of the tub and took my shower. 


And for some reason, The GF was appalled when I mentioned it.

Back in my day Part 01: Bubbles

When the GF and I went to the Puyallup a few days ago, and sat down with our gyros, we did some people watching.

A little boy, maybe three years old, sat in his stroller with a bubble gun in his hand. He held the trigger and a continuous stream of small soap bubble floated out of the end and across the walkway. Some of them caught a light updraft and drifted higher; others clung to the ground and wrapped around people's feet. That boy filled the roadway with a thin curtain of bubbles while we finished our warm-up to food-on-a-stick. And really, a gyro is food-on-a-stick in spirit if not in fact.

Anyway, that boy kept his finger on the trigger and stared with mild interest and his soapy projectiles as people smiled and walked through this 4 feet of wonderland. They boy's face had that odd combination that said he was both fascinated and bored to tears at the same time.

But he didn't seem frustrated. And why is that?

It's because of people like this.




These people sell all manner of bubble wands, bubble guns, bubble flowers, and bubble accessories. Kids can effortless make the fair a wonderland.

What a ripoff.

Back in my day we had little plastic jars to make do with. Blowing bubbles isn't supposed to be a relaxing, magical experience. It's supposed to be frustrating. It's supposed to be struggle to get that bubble blown.

The short double ended wand is supposed to hurt your fingers when you hook it. You're supposed to spill soapy water on your shirt and struggle to make sure you get the right color bottle.

You're supposed to blow too hard and too light. You're supposed to fuss over just the right about of air, and how hard you blow through that sudsy ring. And that's if you're lucky enough to get just the right amount of soap on that tiny wand that is now threatening to remove all remaining circulation from your fingertip.

You're supposed to fight for every bubble and then finally get that perfect one only to have someone pop it right in front of you.

Then you try again.

It's an early childhood lesson for life. Bubbles are supposed to be hard, stressful, frustrating and painful.

Aren't they?

Amused and Apalled

Satire is best when your not sure at first if it is satire. But what if you are convinced it's satire and then -- just maybe -- it's actually real?

The GF sent me a link to this product:


Yes. That is the Snuggie for Dogs.

You may recall the original Snuggie. It dominated the night time airwaves a few months back. It's a blanket with sleeves. It's a great purchase for the person who can't figure out how to wear their robe backwards. I guess I can see the appeal, though. The commercials do make it sounds compelling.

But now someone may have actually made a blanket with sleeves for dogs.

When I started watching this, I thought it was a great satire of the commercial for the regular Snuggie. But now I'm not so sure. The order form and other links look legit.

I'm afraid -- so very afraid -- that this might actually be real.

Please, restore my faith in humanity and tell me this is fake. Or at least that he product bombed.

Because I don't know if I want to live in a world where the Snuggie for Dogs qualifies as a million dollar idea.

Time of day matters

Time of day is an important element in the context for our actions.

When the coffee shop barrista you've never met before tells you how much your order is and you hand her your hotel key:

AM: You are a harmless, uncaffeinated dorky guy who grabbed the wrong thing from his wallet.

PM: You are a creepy stalker guy extending an unwholesome invitation

(BTW, I was the AM guy. I don't want to meet the PM guy. Again.)

Is your bottled water safe?

CNN asks this important question:

Is your bottled water safe?

It's an issue I've considered carefully. And the answer is, "yes."

I was worried at first. It was packed tightly with other bottles and at the supermarket. Now, the QFC on Broadway on Capital Hill in Seattle is a challenging place. It is filled with entertaining people and daily shoplifting reports. There is a security guard in there every night.

So I brought it home. It was risky, but we made it back.

Now it is sitting on the shelf in my refrigerator with 2" of space around it. It's not too far back so that it would freeze. It's not too far forward that it might fall off the shelf.

So I can say, without a doubt, that yes. My bottled water is safe. No harm shall come to it.

Thanks for checking, CNN.

Decline of newspapers

This past year we saw the Seattle PI shut down the press. Denver's Rocky Mountain news also shut down. I commented on some of those issues here.

As the summer approaches we see the continuing impact of the disappearance of newspapers.

Today I saw Alton Brown's Good Eats episode, "Tender is the Pork." Alton is of course, awesome. He is also nuts. But still awesome. Regardless, he grilled a pork tenderloin over charcoal. He used a chimney starter. And how did he get that chimney starter going?

Newspaper.

When I was a kid I got my mother a parakeet for her birthday one year. (The cat got a big kick out of that.) What lined the bottom of the cage?

Newspaper.

In 1998, I moved from Boise to Seattle. I boxed up my clothes, disassembled my electronics, and wrapped up my dishes (mainly Travel Lodge and Best Western glasses) in what else?

Newspaper.

Forget journalism.

Without newspaper, what else are we are going to use when we have to burn something, clean up animal waste, or keep other stuff from breaking?

We must stop reading news online and go back to the newspaper just so we have something we can use to line our boxes and refuse containers.

What choice do we have?

A moment of gratitude

Earlier this week I was speaking with one of my employees. We discussed travel over the past couple of years. I mentioned that while others have made the trip, I haven't had to send him to Montreal or Toronto.

"Thank you for not making me go to Canada," he said.

And that is now my new favorite bumper sticker slogan.

(My apologies to my Canadian readers.)

Thoughts on Yogurt

The other night, my GF commented on how good her yogurt was with honey. I said that made perfect sense.

"After all," I said, "Honey and yogurt are both made by bees....if cows are bees."

Maybe I shouldn't have suspended Sleep Mode.

Not Always Right

On The Futility Of Signs
Pizza/Arcade Combo | Flagstaff, AZ, USA

(One customer complains about a game that is not giving tickets. Upon looking at the game, I discover that a fuse is blown. I place several “Out of Order” stickers over the coin slot and refund the customer. Two minutes later another customer approaches.)

Customer: “I just put a coin in this game and won tickets but none came out.”

Me: “I placed an ‘Out of Order’ sticker on the coin slot. Is it not on there anymore?”

Customer: “You mean these? They were in the way so I removed them. Can I get a refund?”

One of my favorite blogs is Not Always Right. It's a collection of stupid customer stories submitted by salespeople, customer service reps, tech support, waiters, and other service industry employees. They send in their favorite (or most miserable) customer stories.

And they are hysterical.

If you work with the pubic now, or have worked with them in in past, you will have a special appreciation for these tales.

Some of these stories may stretch credulity, but I've spent enough time in customer service that little surprises me.

They usually post three new ones each day. It's worth a visit.

Warning signs in National Parks

I love the signs the put up in parks reminding people not to be complete idiots.

Here's one from Mt. Rainier:
Here's one from Yellowstone that I posted once before. It still makes me laugh. Hold on to your hat, kid.

Pins

One of the advantages of being a guy is easily finding clothes that fit off the rack. My GF is still shocked that I can walk in to a store, locate my size, make my purchase and walk out before she has even begun to decode the random numbers that seem to apply to the sizes on women's clothes.

I am not a fan of the straight pins, however. Men's dress shirts often come with a seemingly random number of straight pins in them. I always seem to find all but one. That last one might surprise me in the washing machine, or it might surprise me in the back. Regardless, is it alway lurking there.

If I do manage to find it quickly, it's not done. It will jump out of my hand and hide in the carpet. Then it will wait. And plan it's next attack.

So I was thrilled when I got home with my latest haul of Eddie Bauer dress shirts last week. Instead of the stunningly simple, lightweight, and sinister straight pins, my shirts were held together with these new fangled paper clips.

Fancy, huh? They were easy to remove, hard to miss, and they didn't even try to sting me. I think these clips might actually like me.

Unless they're planning a late night choking.