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Showing posts from January, 2013

Classic card of the week

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Tim Wallach, 1991 Score, "The Franchise" Guys, here are some words pulled out of a hat at random. Tell me what you think. Solid Unspectacular goes about his job rock of stability blue-collar grinds it out doesn't mind getting dirty I have a confession to make -- I put those words into the hat, and they were the only words in the hat. Also, there was no hat. Those words come from a baseball card, and describe a popular African American baseball player named Showtime "2 Legit" Johnson, who does a backflip every time he makes an unspectacular play. J/k they describe Tim Wallach. Solid and unspectacular, SOLD. Tell me more RIGHT NOW. Tim simply goes about his job for the Expos day in and day out. Wow, amazing stuff. Tim Wallach does his job the exact opposite way most people do. For example, I did not go to work today because I feared I would do something spectacular there. (I didn't go yesterday either because I forgot.) He provides a roc

Life lesson: You can’t run from who you really are

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I run with a fanny pack. There’s really no other way to put it—I’ve tried to manufacture other names to call it like “runner’s belt” or “awesome pouch” but it’s a fanny pack. I wear it backwards and underneath my shirt so as not to draw attention to it and bring shame on my family. I need it to hold my iPhone and other things like a note that reads, “If you find me passed out on the side of the road, tell the world this is an ‘awesome pouch.’” I wore my fanny pack while running the PF Chang’s half-marathon recently in Tempe. In an effort to not have to check any bags, I was forced to put other things into my fanny pack, namely my car keys and driver’s license. The latter item was not for identification purposes should something happen, but specifically so that I had the proper credentials to acquire the post race free beer. After I finished, I happily arrived at a spot on the field to wait for my mom and father-in-law. That feeling of relief and satisfaction was immediately replace

Spam email of the week

Subject: Su amigo ................RUN YOUR CAR ON WATER......................... quiere recomendarle "GREMI DE LLIBRETERS DE VELL DE CATALUNYA" Before I go tossing jugs of water into my gas tank (note: TOO LATE), maybe we should check who this is from first. From: ................RUN YOUR CAR ON WATER......................... [simplewaterfuelxxx@gmail.com] If I didn't know any better, I would say that someone is strongly suggesting I consider running my car on water. Whoever you are, you can stop -- you had me at absurd amount of needless periods and the curious combination of Spanish and English. Hola {my work email address}! Is there anything more personable than the greeting, "Hello EMAIL ADDRESS!"? It makes me feel as though the person/robot sending me the email really knows I have email. Maybe they also know my mother's maiden name and the first girl I kissed? They also know I drive a car so it's entirely possible they know all of my inner

The weekend project: earning our stripes

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My in-laws and brother-in-law are in the Valley for an extended visit, and at the dinner table recently my wife casually mentioned how she’d like to utilize their availability to help rearrange our daughter’s bedroom. After we all agreed to undertake the project, the details of the plan were revealed, and they were considerably less casual than the original mention. “I was thinking maybe we could change her room a bit” turned into “Here are the blueprints CANCEL ALL PLANS.” My wife has spent the better part of our daughter’s existence acquiring items for this very project—items I have been asked to find storage space for throughout the years, to the point we have no room for food. The delay in starting has been the result of several factors, including the need to await the arrival of other men more adept than me at doing stuff. Also, my wife had not yet prepared herself for our daughter moving from a crib to a bed. I vastly underestimated the emotional strain of such an advancement,

Spam of the week

When we talk about spam, which is what I do -- seriously, that is what I am doing right now -- we must remember that it does not limit itself to email. Spam will creep into everything if we let it, and we let it all the time because no one really knows what spam is or why it exists or how it can be stopped. For example, many of us have experienced the pure joy of having something show up on our Facebook timeline like, "Mike Kenny watched a video - 'You won't BELIEVE what this girl can do with a banana!'" and the screenshot of the video is a pair of butt cheeks. This is an exciting thing to have happen when your Facebook friends include people who don't necessarily understand spam and who are also your mom . Another great place to get spam is LinkedIn, which is a site I use solely for accepting LinkedIn connection requests. This week's spam comes courtesy of my sister, who actually uses LinkedIn for networking and for her job, a job that is, from what I c

The pointless process of processing pointlessness

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We are living in the information age. This is obvious. We can discover what is happening in real time if we know where to look, and even if we don’t know where to look, chances are we will discover it soon enough anyway. Then after much reflection on the matter we can come to the ultimate realization that we don’t really care. Process it and spit it out. Modernism! For me personally, the way I find out about things has completely changed over the past few years. For example, I don’t really find out about anything directly anymore. Instead I will go on Twitter and read 20 jokes about something that happened, and I must deduce via context what has happened. If I cannot manage to uncover all the necessary details in my mind, I must a) scroll further down on Twitter for the original news from a viable news source (my ratio of people I follow on Twitter who make jokes about the news to those who report actual news is like 25-1), or b) Google it. Having to resort to option B is the modern

Spam email of the week

Subject: Your help is needed! WELL GET OUT OF THE WAY IMMA COMIN' THROUGH CA No: CA2011014394, Court No: CR 2011117965 Ooooh, this seems pretty legit. It has a case number and a "court number" and everything. I better pay very close attention to this federal matter. MY COUNTRY NEEDS ME. I, Irina Sidlauskas, US citizen, the victim in above mentioned case need help… Am I supposed to know the above mentioned case off the top of the dome? Wait, case number CA2011014394? Sidlauskas versus Johnson Pharmaceuticals? They done my girl WRONG, how can I help? My situation is pretty bad: You can't just put a frowny face on legal documents like this, fyi. You have to spell it out. 1. I do not have a car, even if I would have it - I am just afraid to drive, because I am very dizzy. It's hard to believe there was a time in my life -- as early as two minutes ago -- when I was unaware that Irina Sidlauskas, person I do not know and non-car owner, was too dizzy to

Searching for the place of no returns

One of my first post-college jobs was at a healthcare products company, which was as awesome as it sounds. In the back corner of the warehouse was the Returns Dept., which may have been the most depressing place I have ever witnessed first-hand. It wasn’t even manned on a day-to-day basis—even though I personally processed 873 returns daily—because everyone was afraid of it. Returns just went there and that was that—no other action was taken. It was a black hole of despair from which not even a desire for profit could emerge. I have frequently thought about returns, because I am weird. It fascinates me that we live in a society where returning stuff ALL THE TIME is normal and acceptable. “Oh I bought this with my own free will but I am an idiot and don’t want it anymore, so I think I’ll return it for a full refund,” is something I just do not grasp. Why do consumers have all the power? Have you ever seen consumers? Have you been to Walmart? They have no idea what they’re doing. That

Spam email of the week

Subject: CHARITY PROJECT. LET HELP A SOUL If I am ever able to earn enough money from this free blog making fun of dumb and pointless emails, I am going to become a philanthropist and create a charity named "CHARITY PROJECT. LET HELP A SOUL," which will be an ironic nod to all of the terrible emails that allowed me to donate this money in the first place. Also, my charity will be targeted specifically at dying wealthy widows from foreign countries with no trustworthy family/friends who -- because they are dying -- cannot help the poor themselves. Judging from the amount of emails I receive of this nature, this has obviously become a terrible epidemic that needs to be addressed. At first I will just raise awareness with a series of televised music concerts, but after everyone is aware, sh*t's going DOWN. Dear Beloved one, I will like you to read this mail showing some sign of concern to it. Trust me, I am very concerned ... about how I can illuminate the pointlessnes

Let us go forth and be positive, fellow Internet users

As the person responsible for handling online content here at this newspaper, it’s become clearer and clearer how much of a double-edged sword the comments section can be. On one hand, if one does not allow the readers a voice, they cease to be part of the conversation, and you are telling stories in a vacuum. On the other hand, the comments section very, very, very often devolves into the lowest possible form of human discourse. If there is any confusion with regards to the latter, feel free to visit any comment thread that has ever existed. There is so much vitriol out there that many popular news and entertainment sites have disallowed comments. We’ve come quite a long ways from what Thomas Edison envisioned when he created comment threads—that people could read something online and respond, “I enjoyed this because …” or “I disagree with this because {rational thought}.” I doubt he foresaw CAPS LOCK and the ability to produce a sexually explicit emoticon. We will not forgo comme