Stupid things about October 31

I think the worst Halloween decoration ever is the garbage bag that looks like a pumpkin. You know, it’s just a regular trashbag, but it’s all orange and has a jack-o’-lantern face on the side. Big deal. I’ve never heard anyone say, “Man, look at that guy’s garbage. He really likes Halloween.”

The Business of business

I have this stamp at work that says “Posted” on it. If certain items of a work-related nature have been posted, then you stamp “Posted” on them. Pretty simple, I guess. In theory, the reasons for using said stamp are as follows: (a) to save time from having to write the word “Posted” onto things, (b) create some sort of uniformity, and (c) to validate the purchase of the stamp in question.

I’m not sure how the “Posted” stamp is an appropriate use of company money and time when I spend fifteen minutes looking for it everyday because it always falls off my desk where I can’t see it, or I forget to put the toppy thing back on it and it dries all out.

Once again, I prove myself to be a lame-o

I know my “cool-ness” is dwindling away. I can’t pass for twenty-something anymore. I’m definitely thirty-something now. Dang it.

I was walking through Circuit City the other day with a buddy of mine, and I didn’t know who a number of the “Hot New Artists” were that were featured in their “New CD” section. Strike one.

I don’t even shop at the cool mall stores much anymore. Most of my crummy clothes come from Target. I think I would feel ridiculous if I walked into an Abercrombie and Fitch. And what’s worse, I don’t even know if Abercrombie and Fitch is still cool. Strike two.

But the worst is that the other day, I was flipping through the channels on TV and some song came on I really liked, and I thought to myself, “Awesome. It’s good to know that I still like the stuff on MTV,” and then a few seconds later, I realized I was tuned into VH1. Strike Three.

Tongue and Beek

One of the advantages of having an all male office is that we now have two men’s restrooms. You would think that we might designate one a “Number One” bathroom and one a “Number Two” bathroom, but our office never had that discussion. Really, it’s more as if each worker has determined in his own mind which bathroom is his favorite, and proceeds to use that particular one when necessary.

I, on the other hand, have had a hard time choosing. The bathrooms are identicial, except for the artwork. The first bathroom, which has a painting by someone name Greg Van Beek, is closer to my office by like four steps, so I probably use that one a little more often. But sometimes, I like the second bathroom, which has an equally boring painting by someone named Nancy Tongue, because I don’t want to show favoritism. I don’t know if that’s crazy or not, but that’s how I roll. I would hate to have Nancy Tongue make a surprise appearance at our office and get really offended because I’ve only been using the Greg Van Beek bathroom, or vice versa.

Red Dragon

I have a decent job. In truth, it’s a pretty good job. I have been lucky enough to be blessed with a great opportunity at a growing company, and have found myself in a position that I actually manage a handful of other employees. Regrettably, my cheapness and casual fondness for Dave Ramsey may be compromising my authority.

Here’s the dilemma: all of my underlings – er, employees – have much nicer vehicles than mine. I drive a stinkin’ 2001 Ford Escort with no air conditioning. Good ol' Red Dragon, as I like to call it. Dave (Ramsey) is forcing me to not buy something nicer, which in theory is all well and good, but it doesn’t help me at work when my employees are snickering at me when I come in to the office all hot and sweaty. No good at all. I just have this feeling that one day, I’ll have a conversation like this:

Me: “Hey Greg, I need you to complete this special project for me. As your superior, I have the authority and responsibility to make sure you complete this task.”
Greg: “Um, sorry Ryan. Can’t do. Your car sucks, and I’ve lost all respect for you.”
Me: “Um, okay.”

Darn you, Dave Ramsey.

Not in my mid to upper twenties anymore....

I can tell that I am getting older. Not just by the increasing number of grey hairs, but by my general surliness as well. And my choice of cereal.

I was in the breakfast aisle at Kroger the other day, looking for my current favorite cereal: Raisin Nut Bran. It’s really good, I recommend you try it sometime. Anyway, I looked up and down the shelves like three or four times and couldn’t find it (maybe a sign that my eyesight is getting bad too?), so I asked the worker lady to help me.

“Do you guys still sell Raisin Nut Bran?” I asked the lady.
“Hmm… which one is that?” I would have thought that the name itself would be enough clue, but evidently not.
“It’s the one with bran flakes and raisins and nuts in it.” I was a bit grouchy already. “The box is kind of yellow, or brown.”
“I don’t know, let me see…” so the lady starts to try to help me, but of course she’s worthless. “I see Grape Nuts and All-Bran,” she tells me, but that makes me even more upset. Finally, after about twenty seconds of looking with her, I get all mad and just go, “baaaah” and make this really old man-ish sound and wave my hand and walk away in disgust. Something I probably wouldn’t have done five years ago, but whatever.

I went and found Brandi in some other aisle and told her, “They don’t sell Raisin Nut Bran anymore. I hate this place. It’s run by communists.” Of course, she goes back and finds the Raisin Nut Bran in like three seconds, but that’s not the point….

The first of many posts

Hey.

As I was driving home from work yesterday, I was scanning through the radio stations looking for something that I could find at least half-way enjoyable. I stopped it on that song "Walking in Memphis" by that guy who's name I can't remember right now, and I thought to myself, "yeah, this song is okay. I'll listen to it."

Fast forward two minutes, and I've got the windows down, and I am singing "Walking in Memphis" pretty loudly to myself, now thoroughly enjoying the song and acting as if -- dang, it -- these lyrics mean something to me. I've got some real gusto going on, and I'm belting this song out as if this song was my life's calling.

I don't understand how that happens. I wouldn't want to be walking in Memphis today. I'm a pretty lazy guy, and too much walking makes me irritable, especially on days like today when I'm wearing flip-flops and not my good sneakers. And plus, I've never been to Memphis. Well, once, David Rebello and I drove through Memphis on our way to Little Rock, where we met a friend of mine at a Waffle House, but that's beside the point....