A Glimpse Of Hell

I meant to write about this experience Wednesday night before getting Lost. But the blocky adventures of Tetris with Mel kept me from writing.

You see, around 6pm Wednesday night, Mel wanted to go look for a canvas, and then go to The Salvation Army to buy a cushion or a frame or some kind of bric-a-brac that someone bought at the dollar store and then gave to their grandmother on her birthday, who then died a couple weeks later and had the executor of her estate donate it to The Salvation Army.

So, after looking for the canvas with Mel, I followed my first inclination when dealing with TSA. And my first inclination when dealing with TSA is, of course, to stay the fuck away. The reason for this is because other than maybe looking at a couple boxes of records that they have packed away in a corner near the shitters, there’s nothing there that I’m interested in.

So, while Mel goes to TSA, I head to the Co-op to get some Diet Pepsi™. As is pretty much always the case, this took much less time than scouring TSA for the perfect cushion, frame, or Dead-Lady-Garbage, and I headed over to TSA to tell Mel that I was heading to Cockbuster Video to look at their used games.

Immediately I notice something odd. The parking lot surrounding TSA is solid fucking full of cars. Not just parked cars, but cars hovering about looking for spaces like it’s December 23rd, 1996 and Walmart is having a half-price sale on Tickle Me Elmo. After nearly getting T-Boned by a half dozen crazy old women in a Buick Century, I manage to find a spot about a quarter mile from the store. I park, and freeze my ass off as I head for the store.

Inside the door, I see the cause of all the kafuffle. Apparently, every Wednesday from 6pm to 8pm it’s HALF PRICE ON ALL CLOTHING at the Salvation Army. Which, obviously, is something that everyone everywhere needs to be a part of.  It was my own personal hell.

Normally, the musty smell of TSA (or any 2nd-hand Clothing Store) over powers me.  But on this occassion it mixed in with the smell of cold elderly and made me cringe.  The line up for the cash registers–that’s right, registers, 3 were open–had about 25 people in it when I entered.  Rows and rows of clothing racks had women of all ages in them, sorting, lifting and judging.  But more noticable than anything, was the noise of the coathangers as they screeched across the steel racks incessantly.  By the time I had found Mel in the DLG section, I was ready to snap.
I told her where I’d be, and bolted for the door as fast as I could without looking like a complete lunatic.  But noticed something odd as I was headed up the aisle.  There, at the end of the aisle was a woman, mid to late 30s, leaning against her shopping cart.  Her appearance just barely betrayed that she was mentally handicapped.  Her hair was red, and curled in a perm.  Her eyes were small, but the irises huge.  She and her cart were stopped at the end of the aisle, taking up about 3/4s of it.  And as I walked the entire length of this long aisle, she never once stopped staring at me.  Not even long enough to blink.  Coupled with the screeching, it was about the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.  I quickened my pace, arguably reaching the point where I did indeed look like a complete lunatic, shot passed the woman as she slowly turned like a zombie, and raced out the doors for the car.
Safe once more from the threat of the nearly dead, I headed out to look for videogames.  As it turns out, I picked up Left 4 Dead for the 360.  It’s a game about Zombies.  I really hope there’s no Salvation Army level.

Slow Month

Hasn’t really been that much going on lately that I haven’t already growled about.  It’s been ridiculously cold this week, but no one has really annoyed me that much.

The only people that have pissed me off lately have been Rogers.  They sent me an offer in the mail, which normally wouldn’t bother me.  But this was an offer for a free Xbox360 game… one I really want called “Gears of War 2”.  It features a machine gun with a freaking chainsaw built into it.
Yeah.  Awesome.
So I call them up, to find out what hoops will need to be jumped through to get a free videogame.  Turns out I can get the game if I switch to either of their high-end packages…  10MB max dl speed, blah blah blah, stuff I don’t give a shit about that help sell internet to people that don’t know shit about it, modem with a wired/wireless router built-in, no installation fees, 15 bucks for “Activation Fees”… All sounds good so far, Gears 2 for 15 bucks basically…  Until they get to the final clause, the two packages have 60GB or 95GB max usage per month.
I only have a 100GB hard drive, and I fill and empty the thing on an almost weekly basis, without including my online gaming.  Since Thursday I believe I’ve downloaded about 12 GB of a show called Celebrity Big Brother UK.  It’s awesome.  They’ve got LaToya Jackson locked into a house with Mini-Me and Coolio, and a bunch of famous Brits I’ve never even remotely fucking heard of.  I downloaded a Gig of videos onto my Xbox.  Mel’s likely downloaded some episodes of a shitty 80s/90s sitcom.  That doesn’t include any actual gaming, Facebooking, YouTubing, Torrent Seeding or any other foolishness that goes on through the tubes of internet that get clogged every Saturday.
Fuck you Rogers.  The internet is not a cellphone.  Offer unlimited usage, or suck the 10GB that I sprinkle on my Kellogg’s Corn Flakes™ each morning as part of my complete fucking breakfast.

I Got Yer Usage Right Here.

I was torn there. Wasn’t sure if that should be the caption, or “This image is actually so big I could only download it 3030 times in a month if I went with Rogers.”

It’s a New Year

“Hey, Bruce, it’s a new year!  You can finally stop complaining about Christmas stuff, right?”

Holy fuck are you ever wrong.
I’m still complaining about Christmas stuff, because here it is… Christmas is over…  more than 2 weeks have past since 12/25/08 and yet there are those that refuse to let it go.  The those that there are, of course, are those in the business of advertising.  Anyone on radio, or television that created an ad geared towards the Christmas/New Year’s duo, or a “Happy Holidays” jobby, is still running the piss out of their ad on every medium they can manage.

So I say to you, dear advertiser, Stop.  Just fucking stop it right fucking now.  Two weeks.  Get over it.  9 fucking days have past since New Year’s Day.  You shouldn’t even be running the New Year shit anymore.  There are no Holidays left to be happy in.  Not for months.  So just stop it right the fuck now.  I should not have to hear about elves, boxing day, boxing week, Holidays, or any of that other shit for a good long while.

If you’re the advertising director at any form of broadcasting station, be it radio, television, webpage, or even wired telegraph, and someone comes to you this week with any Holiday/New Year themed ad…  I don’t care if it’s a major client, your boss, anyone…  Here’s what I want you to do.

I want you to take out your cell phone.  I know you have one.  Take it out of your pocket, and press the little button that lights up its display.  Now, walk over to whoever presented you with this ad, and show them the date… really, really, close to their face.  Tell them that unless you missed a memo, you’re pretty fucking sure it’s not the Holiday fucking season any more, and stab them in the eye with the pointiest, sharpest edge of your phone.  Grab them by the hair and drag them into your cubicle.  Yes, your cubicle.  I know you’re not nearly important enough to actually have an office.  Point their head at the calendar on your desk.  Ruffle through the pages of the calendar with your free hand.  Ask if they see how many pages are left.  Is there a lot of them left?  If at any point they ask “What?”, I want you to bang their head against the desk.  When they’ve agreed that there are a lot of pages left, tell them the next time they come to you with a Holiday themed ad with that many pages left to a calendar, you’re going to shove a Candy Cane up their ass, twist it around, and break it off.  One for each day left on the calendar before the Holiday season returns.  They’ll know you’re serious, too… because you just got a metric shit-ton of reduced Candy Canes from Wal-mart.  Know why they’re reduced?  ‘Cause it’s not fucking Christmas anymore.