Thursday, July 15, 2004

Kicking Ass & Taking Names I feel really aggressive today, and I think I would love to get in a physical confrontation with someone. Sometimes fighting is just enjoyable, especially when you do so without any anger or malice. My friends and I used to wrestle and grapple quite a bit for fun, often times not stopping until we were bloodied or out of breath from exhaustion. Unfortunately, none of those friends live in North East Ohio and I don’t really have anyone that I would be comfortable sparring. With the exception of friendly fisticuffs, I a rarely, if ever, inclined to fight. Not because I think I am above anger or violence (my moral compass is definitely not that strong), I just have zero desire to get arrested or face a law suit. Sometimes, however, I do fee that an old fashioned fist fight settles things in a much more sophisticated and gentlemanly manner than all of the trash talking and underhand tactics that people use more prevalently today. I can think of a handful of times when throwing a few punches would have settled a situation in a much more efficient and a much less vicious fashion. I never understood people that said fighting was “for the weak minded”, or that “only morons fight”. People insult and argue over their differences in opinion all the time, and while throwing a punch doesn’t make you right and the other guy wrong, rarely do peoples opinions change when they vehemently dislike each other. I guess what I am trying to say is that, if you know that both parties will feel better after taking a swing at each other, by all means, go ahead. Does this post make any sense? Probably not. But neither do all of those anime characters that constantly flash the peace sign.

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Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Passing Gas On my way home from work tonight the radio station a commercial caught my interest. Ohio Edison, the gas company that I am forced to get service from, had a commercial explaining why there service was superior to other gas companies. My initial reaction was "wow, other gas companies must really suck, because Ohio Edison has the worst customer service out of any company ever". Between November and February my gas utility bill often exceeded $200. I live alone in a small two bed room town home, I sure as hell know I don't use two hundred dollars worth of gas. After studying my first astronomical bill I discovered that the gas company doesn't read the gas meter, they estimate how much gas you have used. In other words, they rape you like a prison bitch. I attempted calling the phone company's customer service line five or six hundred times to get them to fix my bill, but the I always got the same message: "We are sorry, all of our agents are busy. Please try your call again at a later time". This was always followed by a prompt disconnection, obviously they are way too busy chatting on phone sex lines to answer the pointless questions of a disturbed customer. Finally, I became so fed up with them that I called the gas leak line, which brings me back to the commercial I heard on the radio today. The commercial stated that the automated system that you use to report leaks is much more sophisticated than a customer service agent and it allows them to quickly and efficiently estimate the situation. Obviously by "sophisticated" they mean "AI equivillent to Teddy Roxbin" and by "quickly" and "efficiently" they mean "the opposite of quickly and efficiently". I called and reported a leakage on a Monday and I didn't receive a phone call until the following Thursday! I guess they were hoping that I was a smoker and the whole situation would just work itself out in a quick, efficient manner. Anyway, I really don't understand why the gas company had a commercial, it isn't as though people choose to use Ohio Edison, it is just the only gas company available in my area. It is kind of like letting the Sheriffs department creating a commercial to remind everyone that they arrest people. It is fucked up to waste money on a commercial that explains something that everyone already knows.

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Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Office Spaced-Out This has been circulating my office as of late and I thought it was humorous enough to post so…. COMPANY POLICY TO ALL EMPLOYEES: As a result of the reduction of money budgeted for department areas, we are forced to cut down on our number of personnel. Under this plan, older employees will be asked to take early retirement, thus permitting the retention of younger people who represent our future. Therefore, a program to phase out older personnel by the end of the current fiscal year, via retirement, will be placed into effect immediately. This program will be known as SLAP. (Sever Late-Age Personnel). Employees who are SLAPPED will be given the opportunity to look for jobs outside the company. SLAPPED employees can request a review of their employment records before actual retirement takes place. This review phase of the program is called SCREW (Survey of Capabilities of Retired Early Workers). All employees who have been SLAPPED and SCREWED may file an appeal with upper management. This appeal is called SHAFT(Study by Higher Authority Following Termination). Under the terms of the new policy, an employee may be SLAPPED once, SCREWED twice, but may be SHAFTED as many times as the company deems appropriate. If an employee follows the above procedure, he/she will be entitled to get HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel's Early Severance) or CLAP (Combined Lump-sum Assistance Payment). As HERPES and CLAP are considered benefit plans, an employee who has received HERPES or CLAP will no longer be SLAPPED or SCREWED by the company. Management wishes to assure the younger employees who remain on board that the company will continue its policy of training employees through our Special High Intensity Training (SHIT). We take pride in the amount of SHIT our employees receive. We have given our employees more SHIT than any company in this area. If any employee feels they do not receive enough SHIT on the job, see your immediate supervisor. Your supervisor is specially trained to make sure you receive all the SHIT you can stand. And, once again, thanks for all your years of service with us. THE MANAGEMENT

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Monday, July 12, 2004

Wallowing in Suck-land The first thing that sucked this morning was waking up, but that was to be expected. Because I set my air conditioning unit at absolute zero my room was frosty and my bed was toasty. Six o’clock flashed unappealingly, and rolling over and smashing snooze was very inviting. However, I over came, washed my face, dressed, brushed my teeth, and drove off to the gym. The gym was the second thing that sucked this morning. It was surprisingly empty, its only patrons were three middle aged men and the guy that works the desk. Usually I like when the gym is pretty empty, because I can work out without having to work sets in with other people, however, today I think I was being stalked by the middle aged men…all three of them. It seems that every time I began using a piece of equipment one of these men wanted to work in with me. For the most part it wasn’t too bad, just a slight inconvenience. Two instances, however, really got under my skin. One of the guys wanted to work in with me on the preacher curl bench. This is usually a nuisance because you have to re-rack the weights so frequently, but it is never dangerous; unless you don’t tighten the clips enough. The guy didn’t tighten his sides clip enough and three reps into my set the weights slid off of the left side of the bar, wrenching my right arm downward. The plates crashed onto the floor barely missing my feet. The guy didn’t even apologize; he just said “be careful”. I wanted to shove the bar up his ass, but I had a feeling he may enjoy it. The second incident really wasn’t an incident at all, the guy just got on my nerves. He was working in with me on triceps cable pull downs and he kept saying, “C’mon, you can do more than that!” I guess that because we were pulling down even amounts of weight he inferred that I was being lazy. The truth of the matter is I was doing the exercise correctly while he was using his back, legs and shoulders to assist him. But I didn’t tell him that because I am polite and keep my mouth shut at the gym…also, I thought it would be really funny if he accidentally tore a rotator cuff. The third thing that sucked this morning really, really sucked. I got my hair cut. Until 9:10 this morning I had a mound of brown wavy hair, it was thick and incredible. I went to an unfamiliar barber, because my former is no longer in the area, and asked him for a trim. I shouldn’t have been so vague. My hair is now nearly short enough to appear in Marine commercials. I know it will grow back but I am still bummed out about its short-ness. The fourth and final sucky aspect of today is that it is Mondays. That means I have five full days of work to look forward to…hurrah. At least I get paid on Thursday.

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Saturday, July 3, 2004

A Little Fish in a Big Pond A good story can overwhelm your emotions. It can make you burst out in laughter or make you tremble in fear. A good story can make you shed tears of sorrow or make you shed tears of joy. All the story needs is a connection, a thin single thread that ties you to it. I found that connection in my new favorite movie, Big Fish. Simply put, Big Fish is beautiful. Every aspect of this film is perfect. The acting is superb. The photography and colors throughout the movie are breathtaking. And the story, well the story is beautiful. As I watched the movie I was reminded of my grandfather, who was such a great story teller. While he didn't color his stories quite as much as Edward Bloom, he always seemed a little larger than life. This connection was so severe and profound that by the end of the movie I was moved to tears. If you haven't seen Big Fish yet than you are probably thinking "wow, HC is turning into a real woman, I wonder if all the pink has gone to his head?" However, if you have seen this movie I am sure you at least recognize its brilliance and beauty. The whole story telling aspect of Big Fish got my mind churning and I think I have a pretty good idea for a new RPG. It has been a long while since I developed one, and I know that if I create this one it will have to be done correctly. Hopefully I will have something concrete in the next day or so.

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Friday, July 2, 2004

'Cause Pink is Where It is At I thought I would mess around with my "myO" layout today for shits and giggles. Quite some time ago I had the brilliant idea to take incredible vintage comics and replace the quote bubbles with vulgar, obscene, and perhaps slightly derogatory remarks (I am going to try and switch up comic strips about once a week). However, I realized that I needed a color to tie the entire site together; a color that emphasized my personality. Obviously pink is the most masculine color in the entire world, so my decision was a no brainier. As of late, things have been fairly normal in the Land of Charlie. All of the Oompa Loompas have been doing their chores, so I didn't have to drown any underneath the chocolate waterfall this week. However, I am getting sick and tired of them requesting dental. We live in a Candy Land for heaven's sake, don't they realize what it would cost me? Reality, however, is not nearly as entertaining as the Land of Charlie. Work is kicking my ass right now and I am really worried about my return to school in the fall. Lately I have been very, very lethargic and I skipped going to the gym three days this week in favor of extra sleep. I rarely skip the gym. I am sure the thoughts of thousands of pretty girls will get me motivated for the upcoming semester. Well, thats about all I think I will write today.

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Monday, June 21, 2004

Spelling “B” I just got done speaking to one of my customers on the telephone. At the end of the conversation she asked for my name, and I gave it to her. It didn’t really bother me that she needed me to reiterate my name. Sure, I announced it at the beginning of our conversation, but it was a long and boring phone call, I am sure it just slipped her mind. Anyway, I politely said, “my name is Charlie.” My customer, who had an accent straight out of the movie Deliverance, replied “Chahhwwllie? Did yah say yer name is Chahhwwllie?” This startled me a bit, because she spat my name like she could not believe anyone would ever, ever name their child Charlie. I managed to mask my disbelief and answered, “yes m’am, my name is Charlie”. “Could joo spell tha fer me?” Could I spell Charlie? Could I spell Charlie? My name isn’t Goronovitch, or Estafar, my name is freaking Charlie. It is not a hard name to spell, and even if you get it wrong it isn’t like I’m going to call back and give her a pop quiz on the phonetics of my fucking name. Since I am at work and she is a customer I was obligated to fulfill her request. The following dialogue ensued. “C-H-A-R-L-I-E” “C-H-A-I-L-E?” “No, Charlie. “C-H-A-R-L-I-E” “C-H-A-R-I-L-E?” “No you stupid, inbred bitch!! My name is Charlie. Die! Die and burn in eternal hellfire for all eternity you stupid cunt! There is no way God would ever let you into Heaven because your sheer idiocy would make it unbearable for the other occupants!” Okay, I didn’t really say that I just took an editorial liberty, but I assure you, it was what I was thinking. I really just spelled my name again. “C-H-A-R-L-I-E”. “Ohhh, Charlie! I had an uncle named Carlos once.” That was honestly the last thing she said before she hung up the phone. “I had an uncle named Carlos once.” Well I had a dog named Willie, but that has absolutely nothing to do with our fucking conversation. Was she trying to impress me with her vast knowledge of the Spanish dialect by pointing out that Charlie’s equivalent is Carlos? That would be a difficult feat considering it just took me five minutes to teach her how to spell “Charlie”. And then she just hung up the phone without even the simplest apology, or thank, acknowledging my help and the free spelling lesson. It was at that moment I realized I do not possess the patience to teach spelling in West Virginia (note: if you live outside of the US, or beneath a rock in the US, you may not know that West Virginia is home to over ten million people that are all at least first cousins with one another). Anyway, enough pointless ranting, I feel very unproductive today. I think I will spend the next hour or so messing around with my layout.

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Saturday, June 19, 2004

Just to Post I decided to post on the OB today. Nothing profound, funny or even rational; just some good ole’ fashion responses. After I finished I had a strange feeling, almost like a stray cat visiting someone’s house for a bowl of cream and then streaking into the night without so much as a thank you. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t feel that I am ungrateful to Adam, James, and the host of other people that make the site fun and enjoyable. Quite often in the past I have posted or written comments on how it is cool that there is a forum that I can discuss anything I want in a rational manner (and most things in an irrational manner). I think I just have this feeling because I used to live here…well not really. But I did spend a considerable amount of time on the boards, and on myO, shoot, I have been a member for over a tenth of my life. I guess I just used to feel like the old dog that was always around, languidly playing and barking in its own home. I liked being the old, faithful dog, but life catches up and time seems to pull with a greater current as I float further down stream. I know this seems to be a gripe filled, lamenting post, but it isn’t. I equally enjoy my stray like status, my ability to come and go yet still be remembered. My only real problem is that I feel like a cat. And I fucking hate cats.

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Wednesday, June 16, 2004

’Cause Twelve Times Two is Twenty-four So I am twenty-four. Hurray for me. However, I couldn’t think of that many random thoughts so here are twelve. 1. Michael Jackson previously paid twenty million dollars in settlement during his prior molestation charge. Hey Mike, for six million I’ll claim that I dressed up like you and molested whoever you want me to have molested. 2. Jennifer Lopez married Mark Anthony, which is really odd considering Anthony is gay. Maybe Jenny from the block’s real name is Johnny with a cock. 3. C-Listers Ali Landry and Mario Lopez (Saved by the Bell’s jeri-curl riddled AC Slater) filed for divorce. Obviously no one cares. 4. So many OBers have been dying their hair that I decided to jump onto the bandwagon and give it a go. Unfortunately I knew my bosses would disapprove so I colored the “hair down there”. Yes, I now give a whole new meaning to the term blue-balled. 5. I think that the Jelly-Belly Corporation killed Ronald Regan in an attempt to boost sales. 6. Britney Spears canceled her summer tour after blowing out her knee during a video shoot with Snoop Dogg. I am sure your imaginations are more than powerful enough to put two and two together in this scenario. 7. The Pistons defeated the Lakers in the NBA tournament. Upset by his shoddy performance, Kobe Bryant immediately went home and slept with a twelve year old girl. 8. On Thursday the September 11th committee will discuss whether or not it would have been possible for jet fighters to shoot down the hijacked airplanes as a last means of defense. On Friday they are going to discuss whether or not it would have been possible for Superman to fly fast enough to cause the world to spin backwards thereby causing us to move backwards in time to before September 11th. 9. John Kerry raised $100 million in the past three months, raising his campaign total to $140 million. How much money does $140 million equate to? Well, if you are Michael Jackson it means that you can afford to molest at least seven little boys. 10. Recently there has been quite a bit of skepticism over the female sex patch. First there was the pill, now the patch, are women trying to avoid becoming pregnant or are they trying to quit smoking. Y’know what I am waiting for? I am waiting for the gum, that will be the greatest pregnancy deterrent ever. 11. Alanis Morissette is engaged. To a guy. Yeah, I was surprised as well. 12. One more year and I will be a quarter of a century old. Fortunately my brain is still only six.

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Wednesday, June 9, 2004

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South What? Holiday Road Part 3 Thursday afternoon my family and I drove north to Key Largo. The trip was considerably shorter than we anticipated because there was very little traffic, but the scenery was not any less magnificent. Fishing boats clustered both the Atlantic and the bay and several dirigibles (what a cool word, “dirigible”) dotted the crystal blue sky. When we entered the hotel complex we were halted by a security guard at a tiny gate. He handed us a parking pass and ushered us forward. The area looked very impressive, surrounded by lush green foliage and a crystal clear sea. We received our room key, grabbed our luggage, and wondered up to condo expecting luxury. It was a shit hole. Not only was the furniture old and dilapidated (for Mitch), but the room was filthy. Grease and grime coated the entire kitchenette. The furniture and the toilet seats were badly stained and pieces of food were crusted to the top of the dining room table. Obviously my entire family was dissatisfied with the room, but when my mom discovered a patch of dried blood in the bathroom she freaked. My mom is regularly a mega-bitch (think Kyle’s mom from South Park yet exponentially more overbearing), but this disgusting room turned her into a super, duper King Kamehameha biatch. Fortunately, my dad volunteered (like he had a choice) to go down to the manager and get our room changed. A few minutes later he returned with a key to a different room. Unfortunately this room was even filthier than the previous one. I looked at my mother and thought her head was going to explode. She glared at my sister and me and told us to remain in the room while she and my father went and tried to get their deposit back for the room. She stormed out of the room, tugging my father behind, leaving my sister and I behind to wallow in a mold, dingy, grimy, dilapidated room. Although we couldn’t sit down in the room (for fear of catching the bubonic plague) my sister and I were glad that we were not on the receiving side of my mother’s wrath. So we stood in the room for twenty minutes, watching a kid faint during a spelling bee on ESPN and waiting for our parents to return. My father returned looking tired and haggard, like a war veteran that has been scarred by memories too horrible to forget yet too terrible to discuss. My mother was obviously a casualty of her own pouting. Although she had obviously won the war (since my dad was quickly ushering us out of the condo) she was still fuming over the fact that she had to fight the battle. In the car we decided that since we were no longer constrained by prior bookings we would spend one night in Key West and one night in South Beach. We found a nicer, cleaner hotel a few miles down the road. It was surrounded by a marina that was dotted with small cabana bars and restaurants. My folks and my sister took a poolside seat at a cabana and I wandered off looking for a place to register for another snorkeling trip. Right off the coast of Key Largo there is a large state park with a huge living coral reef. Since summer is the off season in the Keys I had my pick of dozens of tours. Obviously I chose the company that had the prettiest crew (yes Ellie, they were non-ugly women). After shamelessly flirting with Karen and Kelly (and making sure that at least one of them would be sailing out on the morning trip) I booked the trip, joined up with my family, and had a relaxing dinner. The next morning I found both Kelly and Karen manning the small catamaran. They were getting the snorkeling gear ready for the trip and listening to Captain Cock (which wasn’t really his name, but I didn’t feel like paying attention to him) bark out instructions. With the exception of my family, there were only three other passengers on the trip. I spent most of the time talking to Kelly, who was actually along to snorkel on this trip, not to work. When we arrived at the spot my sister and I swam off together and explored the reef. Although we were not blessed with the large schools of fish that we saw during our evening tour in Key West, Key Largo had a much more impressive system of coral reefs and a wider variety of fish. I dove a bit to check out some of the more intricate coral and to get closer views of the fish that blend in with the reef. After a few dives, I realized that my sister had swum off with my father and I was relatively alone, at least I thought I was alone. I peered down at a grass bed and saw a bikini clad figure zip beneath me. Kelly surfaced, grinning, holding a bright yellow sled (there was a more technical name for it but I was paying to much attention to Kelly’s figure to remember it). Over the next hour we played around on the sled a bit, taking turns chasing various fish around and sharing it to follow a few Sting Ray that were scared off the sea floor due to our commotion. Because I was with Kelly, El-Captain Cock did not whistle me away from stronger currents or coral beds that were signed and protected. Unfortunately there was a very odd little man that was also a passenger on the trip. He kept swimming beneath us while we were treading, despite that our dive spot (which was the size of several football fields) was relatively empty. I figured that he was just some pervert that had a thing for Kelly and just ignored him. When the dive ended Kelly and I made our way back to the ship. The odd little troll-man, who was covered in thick grey body fur, followed us slowly. Upon boarding the boat I headed to the head and used the restroom. When I opened the door, the little furry man was standing stark naked in the entrance way. He looked at me and said “I need to change” which struck me as an odd thing to say (not as odd as him being naked, but odd none the less) considering that you usually want privacy to change so people don’t see you naked. So I squeezed by him in the narrow entry way, trying very hard not to allow his twig and berries to brush against me. When we docked I was sorry to say goodbye to Kelly and Karen, but I was a bit relieved to escape troll man. My family and I showered off, grabbed a bite to eat, and then drove towards South Beach. We arrived at a lush hotel in South Beach at around one in the afternoon. The hotel was uber posh, sporting the type of hotel rooms that I thought were reserved for the wealthy or people of celebrity status. After we finished unloading our luggage my whole family decided to go sit on the beach. It was nice to return to a traditional sand beach, even if there was very little surf. Large, expensive boats were docked right off shore blaring odd techno music that I guess is popular among the super rich, trendy SoBe natives. After an hour or so I began to grow restless so I decided to stroll down the beach. Strolling down the beach, I noticed that quite a few girls were sunbathing topless. I also noticed that quite a few of them were very, very attractive. Of course I oogled them a bit, although I swear I tried not to. That night we wandered down Lincoln Street, which houses quite a few trendy stores and a multitude of Starbucks. The street was littered with beautiful people (of course my beauty overwhelmed them all) and I instantly realized that I could never, ever live in Miami. After several recommendations from locals, we settled on Aura, a trendy Italian restaurant. Although the food was not memorable, my waitress was. Her name was Veronica, she was from Lake Como Italy, and she was absolutely gorgeous. I struck up several conversations with her during the three hours we were dining and I was captivated by her wonderful Italian accent. I began to think that I may be able to move to South Beach after all. My forced departure from Veronica nearly brought me to tears, but I didn’t cry, I am too much of a man to cry. Okay, I cried, but only for a moment. We continued down the strip and stopped at a Starbucks for coffee. At a table outside of the Starbucks I noticed the Godfather of all gay men. The guy was a massive hulk of muscle, and during the twenty minutes that we occupied a table inside Starbucks at least one thousand huge, muscular gay men stopped to give him a hug and a kiss. How do I know they were gay? Well the impeccable fashion sense was a clue, but the lip locked greeting kisses were a dead give away. That was when I realized that most of these good looking men that were walking up and down Lincoln Street were probably gay. Maybe I had a chance with Veronica after all…alright, I didn’t have a chance in hell with Veronica, but a man can dream can’t he? Later that night my sister and I went to some club that was supposed to be really trendy. There was a bouncer that was picking and choosing who got in. I guess my sister is as good looking as my friends tell me (before I punch them in the jaw), because we were instantly allowed access into the club. It was, well, for lack of a better word, feh. I am not a big clubber. Anyway, the following day we went home, which brings my tale to an end. If you read this whole post, thanks. If not, what the fuck is wrong with you?

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