Lord, I Need A Vacation.

In exactly one week from this very moment, the Lovely Mrs. G. and I will be high, high, up in the sky, as we make our way from the chilly Midwest to (hopefully) sunny Florida.

That’s right, suckers. While you’re chained to your cubicle, we'll be here:

Let your jealousy shine, people!

Besides rubbing it in, I thought I’d point out that we’ll be somewhere warm for the mere fact that I’m currently freezing here in Frosty Iowa. 7 above zero? No thanks. “Give me sunny and 73 or give me death”; I think that must’ve been what Nathan Hale really meant to say.

I am sooooooo jazzed for vacation right now -- you wouldn’t believe how much. I’ve spent the last 3 days stuck in my nerdy Windows Vista class, pretending to be as enthralled with new & improved System Restore options as all of my classmates are. In between, I’ve been back and forth to my desk, trying to keep up with my usual overwhelming level of work. Just because you step out of the scene for a while doesn’t mean that the world doesn’t stop revolving, you know.

Which frightens me a little bit for the 18th – the day I come back from our trip. How many e-mails will be waiting for me in my in-box? (I’m currently running at about 80 – 100 a day.) How many projects will people be clamoring to have done now, Now, NOW!? How many gray hairs will be added to the heads of my co-workers from trying to cover for me?

You know what, though? In the end, it really doesn’t matter. Because the Lovely Mrs. G. and I are going to have the time of our lives, and I’m not going to worry about this place at all. Out of sight, out of mind.

And when I get back, we’ll deal with one thing at a time. Besides, it’ll be Christmas week, so hopefully everyone will be full of good cheer and Chex Mix.

And maybe it’ll be warmer than 7 above. Or is that asking for too much?

Deliver Me From Nerdville

I’ve been in training classes all week – the Official Microsoft(r) Windows(r) Vista(r) Prelaunch Seminars(tm) (accept no substitutions!). Yeah, they’re about as exciting as they sound. Someone kick me to make sure I’m still awake, will you?

I’m bored so far mainly because I’ve been working with the beta version of Vista for several months now, so everything they’re teaching to us is a repeat to me. Meanwhile, I have a lot of work I could be doing back at my desk. But no – I’m a good Tom. So I sit there, keep quiet, and try not to yawn.

But the 16 people in the training room around me? They couldn’t be more excited about it. They talk and chatter and giggle like little schoolgirls whenever they learn some new neat Vista-only feature.

Yes, it’s true. I’m surrounded by...COMPUTER NERDS!

These are guys who were absolutely astounded to learn that I didn’t rush right home Monday night after class and spend the rest of the night formatting one of my many PCs to load the RC2 Vista version they gave us. (Seriously.)

They laugh together about obscure computer acronyms (I have no idea what a “T.S.O.P.” is, but just mentioning it sure makes them snicker). They talk about memory modules and BTX cases and nVidia sound chipsets like it was the greatest thing on Earth.

Me? I really could care less. I own two computers – one desktop that I use for school and e-mail, and one laptop that I haven’t turned on in probably 6 months. I’ve never upgraded my BIOS (oh, the shame!), I never download new drivers (oh, the horror!), and I’m not constantly looking to upgrade the hardware (blasphemy!). Heck, I’m still running old Windows 95 software in some cases. It just doesn’t matter to me.

But these guys – they’re far too into this crap. For me, a computer is a tool. For them, it’s a girlfriend, or the closest thing to one they’ll ever see.

Yesterday the instructor was showing a “neat trick” in Windows Vista, where during the installation phase you can press Shift+F10, which opens a command prompt. You can then open the log files...and...get this!...Follow Along As Vista Installs!

When the instructor mentioned this, I swear that the 16 young nerdlings around me all sprung their very first boners. They literally all said “OOOOOOOOOOHHH!” in unison. Seriously – as if reading log files to see which Vista feature is currently installing is a fabulous way to spend your evening. Throw in a box of Twinkies and a large bottle of Jolt Cola, and you’ve got a party!

So I’m on my way back to class now – day 3 of 5. I’m wearing my Spock ears and my “DOS For Dummies” t-shirt, and I’ll try to think of a couple of Bill Gates jokes to tell while I’m walking down the hall. That way maybe I’ll fit in a little bit.

Or maybe I’ll just keep my pride intact and not become a computer geek myself. Because I have a life. And a girl. And no masking tape on my glasses.

See you soon.
Live long and prosper.

Thanks for Everything

So here we are at Thanksgiving once again. But before I go make a sea-pig of myself in a post-turkey haze, I thought I should do the right thing and give a little credit for...

Things Thomas J. Gressel is Thankful For – 2006 Edition (Sounds classy, don’t it?)

I am thankful for my little family – the Lovely Mrs. G, Miss Katie, Uncle Jack, and Crazy Tasha, the girl who drools. We’ve had our ups and downs and sides-to-sides, but we’re still together, so that’s a plus.

I’m thankful for The Lovely Mrs. G. encouraging me to go to the gym on a regular basis. I’m walking 40 minutes a day now, and am hitting the weights, despite the pain it causes. If it means I’ll be able to move around without the aid of a walker when I’m 80, then it’ll really be worth it.

I’m thankful for vacations. See the next line.

I’m thankful for Walt Disney World. I’ll be there two weeks from today, dragging Mrs. G. around Epcot. It’ll be fun – trust me. Plus, it’s not work, which makes it even better.

I’m thankful I’ve got food in the fridge, a roof over my head, and some coin in my pocket. A lot of people can’t say that. So be sure to think of them the next time you walk past the food bank drop-box, okay?

I’m thankful that despite everything I still manage to find my sense of humor every now and then.

I’m thankful that by this time next year we will no longer be Iowans. No more cold winters, no more oddball Sioux Cityans.

I’m thankful that school is going so well. I have 5 classes to go, and still have a 4.0 GPA. Sweet! I never seriously imagined that I’d end up with a 4.0, and I’d hate to jinx it now, but I’m kind of excited to prove that I can do it. And no matter what, by this point I’ll graduate with honors, so that’s good.

I’m thankful that the latest transition at work has gone reasonably smooth. I’ve had 3 different managers in the past 3 months after Skippy Whitebread moved on, but I think we’re now set for a while. But like the Iowa weather, that could change any time.

Speaking of which, I’m thankful that it hasn’t snowed much yet this year. It’s supposed to be sunny and 60 tomorrow – unbelievably good weather for this time of year. But you watch – we’re going to get buried in snow come January. Just you watch.

I’m thankful that as bad as things may get at times, it’s not worse. And no matter how sticky things may get, we always stick together. For better or worse, for thicker and thinner, for good and bad. Now, if that isn’t a great family, what is?

I’m thankful that I can now hear my favorite radio show via podcasts. No more static-y reception.

I’m thankful that we had an opportunity to go to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade a few years back. It’s one of those things you always dream about, but never get around to actually doing. My next big crowd-o-rama? New Years in Times Square. Some day...

I’m thankful that Kevin Federline is slowing fading into obscurity.

I’m thankful for turkey, sweet potatoes, and pie. Mmmmm, pie. Pie for breakfast is probably one of the best meals you could ask for. Try it – you’ll like it. And I'm also thankful for the healing powers of a post-turkey nap. It's better than aromatherapy any day.

I’m thankful that the Seahawks don’t suck anymore than they already do. C’mon, guys – get it together!

I’m thankful that you’ve actually read this nonsense this far without drifting off or finding dancing cats to watch instead.

I’m still thankful for Walt Disney World. Nothing to worry about, nothing to do but have fun. Ahhhh.

I’m thankful for my convertible, especially between mid-May and the end of September.

I’m thankful the Democrats will have Congress back in January. A little balance is needed every now and then.

I’m thankful that there’s a fan on my desk. Lord, it’s hot in here today. You’d think a company like ours that squeezes every penny dry would try to save money on the heating bills on reasonably warm days. But noooo...

I’m equally thankful for sunrises and sunsets.

Finally, I’m thankful that I’m able to sit down just about every day and think up something stupid/useful/a little bit of both/ to write about. It’s been a good way to let go of some of my anxieties, feelings, emotions, and disgust. “Shut up and write” was some of the best advice I’ve ever been given, and I’ll never regret being a writer.

So there you are – a happy Thanksgiving to one and all. Drive safe, don’t eat too much, and watch out for runaway Macy’s balloons.

No Diet Plates Here!

You know, I like a good burger as much as the next carnivore. But I may have to skip this one and just go for the salad...

* * * * * * *
Hamburgers to die for at US restaurant

WASHINGTON - A restaurant in the southwestern US state of Arizona that proudly admits to trying to finish off its customers has introduced a new item on its menu -- the "quadruple bypass burger".

The burger at the "Heart Attack Grill" restaurant is stacked with four beef patties, cheese, onions, tomatoes and fried bacon, and weighs in at only 8,000 calories, more than three times what the human body needs in one day.

Patrons who have no appetite for the "quadruple bypass burger" can opt for the "triple" or "double-bypass".

"It's not good for one's health but it's only a joke," John Basso, who opened the restaurant 10 months ago, told AFP.

Customers who have room for more can also order French fries "fried in pure lard" and can purchase cigarettes off the menu. As a courtesy, the restaurant offers its "best customers" a wheelchair service to their cars by waitresses dressed in slinky nurses' outfits.

"I am dreaming of opening a restaurant in Paris," he said.

* * * * * * *

When I lived on the West coast we used to go to the neighborhood Jack in the Box restaurant for the Pacific NW equivalent of Death in a Bun: They called it the Monster Burger – two half pound patties, four slices of cheese, and four pieces of bacon. Heartburn is not included, but is probably coming for dessert.

We never had the courage to ask how many calories or fat grams were in that thing – don’t ask, don’t tell – but I’m fairly sure it wasn’t pretty. Jack in the Crack also deep fried their tacos, so that should tell you something.

It’s embarrassing to think that we were stuffing our faces with burgers big enough to feed a small nation while people are going hungry every night. Fortunately for my arteries, I don’t eat these Bacon Double Giant Grease Bombs with Cheese much anymore, and I do try to pass along some of my good fortune with the food bank.

But one of these days I may have to have one of these Monster Burgers again, for old times sake. Of course, I’ll have to have a cardiologist standing nearby.

Still, if I wash it down with a low-cal milkshake, maybe it’ll all balance out in the end. You think?

How Old Are You?

There’s been a whole lot of stuff going on lately that makes the Lovely Mrs. G. and I feel really, really old.

I mean, we’re only 41 – we’re in the prime of our lives! But no matter how young we may feel, the world is trying to force us into the oblivion that is...middle age.

So there was a pleasant surprise on Saturday that reminded my lovely bride that maybe we’re not as old as we think.

You see, Mrs. G. was carded.

It was just one little bottle of red wine – no big deal, right? Ah, but the cashier looked her in the eye and said, “Can I see your I.D. please?” The little sign by the register says that they card anyone who looks under 27. Now, without calling my Missus anything mean and/or offensive enough to get me into trouble later on, I do have to say that she doesn’t look like she’s 27 anymore, much less 21.

So Mrs. G. flashed her proof of being over 21 while I snickered a little too loudly. Hee hee.

I haven’t been carded in many years, mainly since my hair is half gray these days. And unless you’re that goofball singer from American Idol last season, the odds of finding someone young enough to be carded with as much silver in their hair as me are pretty slim.

But when I younger (and my hair a lot darker) I used to get carded all the time. Seriously.

I was 25 years old when I was carded for an R rated movie.
I was 21 or 22 when I’d be in bars with a bunch of underage guys, and I’d be the only one asked for I.D.
Hell, I used to get pulled over regularly when I was 18 – 19 by cops who thought I was a 12 year old who’d taken Mom & Dad’s car out for a joyride.

But these days I think I’m finally starting to look my age. Even though I may not always act it.

Anyway, the lovely Mrs. G. and I went home with our legally purchased liquor, and had a good laugh about being mistaken for a twentysomething. And now we’re hoping that the truant officer doesn’t try to send us back to high school.

So here’ the moral of the story: Enjoy your youth while you can, but always be sure to have your driver’s license with you.

Hungry No More?

Earlier this week I commented on what I was convinced would be the dumbest argument/battle over semantics of 2006 – the “is a burrito a sandwich?” discussion.

I thought there couldn’t by anything out there that was more brainless than that.

I was wrong.

I’m sure you’ll be surprised to learn that there is something even more inane than arguing about the sandwich qualities of a beef & bean burrito. But I’m sure that there will be no surprise to learn that it’s courtesy of the U.S. Government.

This story really sounds like something out of The Onion or National Lampoon, but it looks real to me. Of course, I “borrowed” the article from the Washington Post, so if we’ve been punked, well... they were punked first.

* * * * * * *

U.S. agency changes "hunger" to "very low food security"

WASHINGTON — The U.S. government has vowed that Americans will never be hungry again. But they may experience "very low food security."

Every year, the Agriculture Department issues a report that measures Americans' access to food, and it has consistently used the word "hunger" in connection with those who can least afford to put food on the table. But not this year.

Mark Nord, the lead author of the report, said "hunger" is "not a scientifically accurate term for the specific phenomenon being measured in the food security survey." Nord, an Agriculture Department sociologist, said, "We don't have a measure of that condition."

The department said that 12 percent of Americans — 35 million people — could not put food on the table at least part of last year. Eleven million of them reported going hungry at times. Beginning this year, the Agriculture Department has determined "very low food security" to be a more scientifically palatable description for that group.

The number of hungry Americans has risen over the past five years, and last year, the share of food-insecure households stood at 11 percent.

Anti-hunger advocates say the new words sugarcoat a national shame. "The proposal to remove the word 'hunger' from our official reports is a huge disservice to the millions of Americans who struggle daily to feed themselves and their families," said David Beckmann, president of Bread for the World, an anti-hunger advocacy group.

"We ... cannot hide the reality of hunger among our citizens."

* * * * * * *

See what I said about being dumb as hell?

I have nothing nice to say about the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture wasting perfectly good tax dollars on this crap, especially when that money could’ve been used to actually feed the hungry...oops, “people who are experiencing very low food security”.

I have to go now. I’m so disgusted by this, I’m afraid that I may experience urges contrary to digesting.

And where the security in that????

Game On!

Today is a national holiday, you know.

What – you mean that you DON’T know what holiday today is??? How gauche! Just ask any male between 12 and 25 years old; he’ll tell you that there is a very good reason that he’s skipping school/work/sleeping in Mom’s basement today to celebrate instead.

Today is the release date for Sony’s new Playstation 3.

They’ve been making a big stink about these things – showing pictures of video game nerds camped out in front of Best Buy for a week in order to get their mitts on one of the first ones off the boat. (Of course, I suspect that 90% of them sold this AM are already listed on eBay.)

The press seems to think it’s a new thing for people to camp out in line. Haven’t they ever heard of Star Wars? Hell, I sat out in front of the UA-150 Theater in downtown Seattle for 6 hours to see “The Empire Strikes Back” in 1980. (Hey, it’s cool. I was 14, so it’s not like I had to use a vacation day for it.)

I’m not going to rush out for one of these things, mainly for two reasons: One, I don’t have much interest in gaming anymore, except for my 12 year obsession with shooting Doom monsters, and the challenge to beat the HAL 9000 at Disney trivia, since no human will play with me any longer.

But the other reason? These suckers are PRICEY! The new Playstations are $600.00, and the games run for about $70 - $80 each. So by the time you’re done buying the console, a couple of games, and the extended warranty for when you throw the controller at the TV, you’ll be dropping close to a grand. Yikes.

They’re predicting though that the PS3 will be one of the top selling Christmas presents this year, another fact I still don’t understand. Never in my life did Santa bring me a $600 Christmas gift, and I certainly knew better than to ask for one. (Greedy little kids will find their stocking filled with only socks and underpants.)

But there was a time in my life that I was video game crazed, though.

1981.
The Atari 2600.
The greatest invention of my youth.

I LOVED my Atari. I had blisters on my fingers for months from that non-ergonomic joystick. My eyes blurred from staring at the green screen of “Pitfall” for hours on end. I can still hear the sounds of Defender in my head.

But I didn’t get my Atari for Christmas. I actually bought it myself. See what a resourceful 15 year old I was? I saved my paper route money for months and month to buy one. I did really good hanging onto my money, but no matter how hard I tried I still didn’t have enough green in the bank.

It was rough – my Pac Man Fever was burning, and there was nothing I could do. Short of selling pencils on the street corner, it felt like Poor Old Tommy would never fulfill his Atari dreams.

Okay – the truth. I did pay for it myself, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d like you to think.

I had about $40 saved. And then I went with my Mom to E.T.T.L. Bingo in Midway, WA, where I won $150 on a blackout. Oh, sure – I had to put up with the nasty stares of dozens of old smoking blue-hairs for daring to win their jackpot, but there I was - $150 richer.

Now, I probably should have done the right thing. Invested the money, gave some of it to charity, try to turn it into $300 at the horse track.

But no. I ran out to Southcenter 30 minutes after winning, and thanks to the power of underage gambling, I had my Atari.

So good luck to all of you sitting out in front of the electronics store this AM – stay warm, watch your wallet, and don’t forget to pick a Bingo card with O-64 in the corner.

The Season of Giving

Today is Blackmail for Babies Day here at work. Make a minimum $2 donation to the March of Dimes, and you can...hold your breath...here it comes...WEAR JEANS TO WORK TODAY!! Eeeeeeeeee! I’m squealing like a girl!!!

(And no - that's not by butt. So stop thinking that.)

I tease because it’s fun. The March of Dimes is a good cause, and to not have to put on our newly imposed monkey wear for a day? It’s a small price to pay.

What gets me though is that they’ve turned wearing jeans – the official company dress code for 21 years, until our new CEO declared that we looked like ‘vagabonds’ last month – into an incentive. One that coincidently costs the company nothing. You want to reward me? Show. Me. The. Money. Denim isn’t a reward. Cash to buy some denim is a reward.

But I digress, since as I pointed out above, saving babies is a good thing. But it really is the season of giving, isn’t it? Or at least that’s what it feels like.

I mean, I’m a lucky guy and all. I’ve got a roof over my head, a late model car, and something to eat at all times in the fridge. I’ve been on the broke side of the fence before, and believe me – it ain’t no fun. So now that my fortunes have improved, the Lovely Mrs. G. and I are glad to help out several charities, such as March of Dimes, Make a Wish, the local food bank, the Gospel Mission, and the Red Cross. But they keep on a-coming.

The United Way was through here last week, and all of us were barraged by posters, e-mails, and banners begging us to give up part of our paychecks every month to them. They used to make us go sit through a two hour United Way presentation, but these days it’s not in the budget to take 1,000 people away from their jobs, so now it’s a purely multimedia experience, and more information is available to you over your unpaid lunch hour.

Next week the Salvation Army is setting up their annual Angel Tree table, where we can pick out tags to buy presents for underprivileged kids. The Lovely Mrs. G. and I gladly do this every year, and we have a lot of fun picking out things we think the kids would like. They also run a Mitten Tree, and since frostbite is not a beauty mark I’d like to have, we always pick up a few pairs while we’re at it.

But God help the person who takes a tag off the Angel tree and doesn’t bring it back on time – the H.R. dept. keeps track of who takes what, and rumor has it that if it’s not back with a present attached before the deadline, you’ll find yourself hauled into an H.R.-sponsored scolding you’d rather not hear. So I’ll continue to be a good boy and return my Angel Tree presents early this year.

Next week is also the kickoff for the local food bank donations – bring canned non-perishables to work. They’re also trying to raise cash for the food bank, and if we raise enough, we’ll be rewarded with...yes, another Jeans Day!!! Mrs. G. and I like to help out the food bank, but sometimes I’m leery if the food actually gets to those who need it. I used to give stuff to the food bank in the small town we lived in, until I found out that the little old ladies who volunteered there helped themselves to the “good stuff”, and left the dented cans of cream corn for the hungry. (These were ladies who could very well afford their own groceries. They were just Iowa Cheap.)

After all these charitable events at work, in December we’ll have a couple of requests for donations from the blood bank (they actually send a blood-mobile and come onsite to pump our cells), a fundraiser for the Goodfellow Fund (a local toy drive), a bucket for Toys for Tots, a bucket for dog/cat food donations for the Humane Society, and God knows who else will want a cut. It’s exhausting, I tell you.

Still, it’s for a good cause, and if I can help even one family have a better holiday, then it’s worth it. And maybe I’ll get to dress down more often for my efforts.

If not, then I’ll probably donate my extra jeans to Goodwill.

A Burrito By Any Other Name....

They say that you really should choose your fights. Why waste your time, energy, and money arguing over something that’s...stupid? Oh sure, there are plenty of worthy things in this world to go mano-a-mano about – wars, politics, religion, Survivor, Coke vs. Pepsi, Britney Spears: Hot or Trailer Trash?

But then there are some really dumbass things to argue about. Like this:

* * * * * * * *
Is a burrito a sandwich? Judge says no

Is a burrito a sandwich? The Panera Bread Co. bakery-and-cafe chain says yes. But a judge said no, ruling against Panera in its bid to prevent a Mexican restaurant from moving into the same shopping mall.

Panera has a clause in its lease that prevents the White City Shopping Center in Shrewsbury from renting to another sandwich shop. Panera tried to invoke that clause to stop the opening of an Qdoba Mexican Grill.

But Superior Court Judge Jeffrey Locke cited Webster's Dictionary as well as testimony from a chef and a former high-ranking federal agriculture official in ruling that Qdoba's burritos and other offerings are not sandwiches.

The difference, the judge ruled, comes down to two slices of bread versus one tortilla.

"A sandwich is not commonly understood to include burritos, tacos and quesadillas, which are typically made with a single tortilla and stuffed with a choice filling of meat, rice, and beans," Locke wrote in a decision released last week.

In court papers, Panera, a St. Louis-based chain of more than 900 cafes, argued for a broad definition of a sandwich, saying that a flour tortilla is bread and that a food product with bread and a filling is a sandwich.

Qdoba, owned by San Diego-based Jack in the Box Inc., called food experts to testify on its behalf. Among them was Cambridge chef Chris Schlesinger, who said in an affidavit: "I know of no chef or culinary historian who would call a burrito a sandwich. Indeed, the notion would be absurd to any credible chef or culinary historian."

* * * * * * * *

I really have to wonder how much money the lawyers made off this case. The “experts”, too – how much did these professionals of all things sandwich-y make for their skilled testimony? I also wonder if the judge rolled his eyes throughout the entire trial – I suspect he must have.

I can’t figure it out. Doesn’t Subway sell a wrap as a “sandwich”? What if you were to cut the tortilla in half, so that you’d have a top and bottom. Would that qualify it as a sandwich? Personally, I’ve always been surprised that McDonalds gets away with calling their hamburgers “sandwiches”. I’ve always referred to them as “mediocre, generic, ketchup-laden slabs of mystery meat”, but that’s just me.

Hopefully all of the attorneys, plaintiffs, defendants, judges, court reporters, and courtroom janitors were able to get together for a nice, police lunch when it was all said and done. Let bygones be bygones, and burritos be burritos, right?

I just pray that they all ordered the soup.

Choose Your Words Carefully

As a writer, I enjoy nothing more than coming up with a really decent catchphrase to use. Oh, sure -- I’ll usually beat it to death, to the point where the Lovely Mrs. G. has to threaten me with bodily harm if I dare repeat it once more, but hey – a good catchphrase is a good catchphrase, right? Might as well get as much mileage out of it while you can.

So as the talented young scribe that I am (humble, too), I can appreciate when someone else comes up with a great slogan. Of course I’m instantly jealous that I didn’t think up “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World”, but in the proper context it probably works best of the show Heroes and not for me. (Since I personally don’t know any cheerleaders offhand who need saving.)

“Let’s Get Ready to Rumble” is another one of my all-time faves, but since I can’t say it even remotely as cool as Michael Buffer does, I won’t even try. And yes – I’m the guy who still loves to hear someone say “I’m Going to Disneyland!”, especially when it’s me.

But when a slogan, catchphrase, or other swell line stinks, it really stinks. And it’s my duty and responsibility to point it out, mock it endlessly, and laugh in its face.

So here’s today’s stink-o-rama. It’s from the new ABC game show “Show Me the Money”, hosted by none other than William Shatner. (He's no Reege, but that's an argument for another day.)

This is seriously how they’re promoting the show.

They’re calling their own show “Shat-tastic”. And I’m still not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or not.

Do none of the marketing geniuses at ABC not know that the term “shat” has more to do with past tense B.M.s than it does with Captain Kirk? I mean, who really wants to be associated with a TV show that they’re literally calling a turd, even before it airs?

The Lovely Mrs. G. uses the term “shat” quite often, usually when describing her disgust at our cat’s inability to hit the litter box. But I seriously doubt she’d ever call a game show “Shat-teriffic”.

T.J. Hooker wouldn’t jump across a cop car hood to save that poopy slogan, that’s for sure.

So for Christmas I may need to send the boys at the Tiffany Network a dictionary. And maybe some fake doggie doo to make the point.

Of course, if the show bombs in the ratings, it may very well be “Shat-tastic” on its own...

You Can't Fight City Hall - or the Weatherman.

Hey, kids -- it’s time for my annual bitch-fest about things I can’t control! Stick with me – I promise to be brief.

Flashback to Wednesday afternoon, November 8. 36 hours ago. It was sunny and 82 degrees here in the heartland of America. Sunny and 82. Can you believe it?

The sun shined.
Birds sang.
Old men smiled.
Angels wept.
Children joined hands and sang a song of peace.

That was a mere 36 hours ago.

It’s now Friday AM, and here’s the current weather:

Yes, snow. Freaking snow. I know, I know. 'Tis the season, right? I should probably be thankful it’s only a dusting of wet snow and not a foot of the stuff. But I'm not.

So let winter begin. And please – let the “Sunny and 82’s” come back soon.

The End of the Federwang

The Lovely Mrs. G. says that sometimes I can be a shallow, cruel, and needlessly vindictive little man. And she may be right.

For the past several months I have taken personal glee in my wishes and hopes and dreams that Kevin Federline would fall flat on his face. I very openly and publicly have prayed that K-Fed’s album would bomb, that he’d end up as a human punchline, and that he’d eventually have to go and crawl back into the scum pond he came from, where we’d never have to hear from him again.

Well, it looks like the Blue Fairy granted my wish. Federwang’s “acting” on a recent episode of CSI was openly mocked. His album has been thoroughly trashed. His concert tour is the biggest bomb this side of Ishtar. And now his trailer park mate has up and left his sorry ass.

Heh, heh.

See, that was awfully petty of me. To laugh at someone else’s misfortune? Bad karma, Tommy. Bad karma!

As Mrs. G. says, I don’t know him personally. He’s never done anything to me. Hence, I should have no reason to despise him.

And yet I still do. I really, really, really dislike Federwang and everything his smug little smile stands for. And for that, I do take a sick-yet-pleasurable glee in seeing him crash to Earth.

You see, I am indeed a bad, bad, person.

Still, if anyone deserves it, it’s this no-talent tool. The only thing I’ve seen him be good at is impregnating women, and unless you’re a racehorse or are sporting a 180 I.Q. (which I’m sure K-Fed isn’t either), it’s really not a marketable skill.

Yet we’ve been subjected to 2 years of this idiot’s antics in every magazine, every online pop Web site, and even here on this beloved-yet-snarky blog. We know all about his fondness for ditzy blondes, his horrendous singing abilities, and his apparent dislike for everyday things such as manners, class, razor blades, bathing, and acting his way out of a Cheeto bag.

So now with a little luck Mr. F. will be shuffled off to obscurity, right next to Kato Kaelin, Screech, and Liz Taylor’s 8th husband. He’ll become a Trivial Pursuit question, and will have to spend the rest of his days writing “I shouldn’t have been such a wanker” on the blackboard over and over again.

Will that make me happy? Will that bring me personal joy? Will it make me a better person? Probably not.

Still, it was fun while it lasted...

Small Things in Big Packages

Well, it was bound to happen eventually. And I suppose that turnabout is fair play. If women can fake theirs, then why can’t men?

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New weapon in battle of the bulge...

Size really does count, just ask Australian underwear maker AussieBum which has just launched the "Wonderjock" for men who want to look bigger.

Since the launch seven days ago, AussieBum says it has sold 50,000 pairs of "Wonderjock," mostly on its Web site and a handful of stores around the world.

"The design of the underwear, separates and lifts. The fabric cup protrudes everything out in front instead of down toward the ground," said "Wonderjock" designer Sean Ashby.

"There is no padding, rings or strings," said Ashby, a co-founder of the Internet-based AussieBum firm.

Ashby said the idea for the "Wonderjock" was the result of online feedback from customers who expressed an interest in looking bigger, just like women using the "Wonderbra."

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Vanity is an ugly characteristic, you know?

Death Awaits Yet Again

Today is Black Wednesday. According to one very reliable source and about 100 nervous rumor mills, before the close of business today, about 450 (20%) of my co-workers will be unemployed.

Apparently senior management decided it’s time for yet another round of layoffs – the 12th round of job cuts in the past 5.5 years. In December 2000 we had 38,000 employees worldwide – after today’s cut, I figure we’ll be down to somewhere around 1,600. That’s 95.8% of the staff laid off.

It just sucks to see hard working people escorted out the door. They’ve busted their butts for this place, and this is the thanks they get? We went 3 years without any pay raises, put up with jacked up insurance costs because the company wanted to spend less, were given false promises of shares of stock that never materialized, and tried to work under a general feeling that any day could be your last day. Yet they tell us that one of their “Company Values” is fun.

As for me, as far as I know I’m safe from this round of cuts. (Insert the sound of me knocking on wood here.) Someone has to write the content I write, and as they told me a couple of years ago when I asked why we’d been spared from the layoffs, “We can’t find anyone to do what you do as cheaply as you do.” Gee, thanks. I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not. My department has gone from 16 writers to 3. My former department went from 150 writers to two. Yet I’ve never had a manager who has been laid off.

So I say they should start with all the management – get rid of some of the middle layers of supervisors – managers – senior managers – directors – executive directors – VPs, senior VPs, and executive VPs. There are far too many chefs in this kitchen, and for the most part all they do is stand around and argue while us poor little dishwashers pay the price.

So good luck to my co-workers who’ll be affected by this. It’s not fun; I know. I’ve been there, done that 5 times in my life. I’m hoping to avoid #6.

Here goes...