Side Effects

You've all seen those ads on tv that allegedly alleviate the symptoms of everything from depression, the pain caused by fibromyalgia, high cholesterol, diabetes, and the inability to have an erect penis for more than 30 seconds. The first 30 seconds of the commercial they are braging about the benefits of the drug; For the entire commercial you see actors walking on the beach, riding a bike, having a picnic with friends, etc. as if they are living in their own personal utopia. For the final 18 minutes of the commercial the narrator rattles off the side effects of the drug they are trying to sell with the verbal dexterity of an auctioneer who's had 4 cups of coffee.

"With any medication, consult your physician before starting (insert drug name here). If you are pregnant or may become pregnant, this drug may be unsafe. May also cause drowsiness, depression (even the anti-depression drugs may cause depression!), suicidal thoughts (yikes!) or involuntary bowel-movements. Drophysixian may also cause irritability. Do not use Blosphystiphan while operating heavy machinery, or your wife's breasts. May cause numbness in arms or legs. Some patients have lost vision while using Tristanamoxen, although this is not a common occurrence. Kidney and liver failure has been reported by patients overdosing on Blosphoxine, so please use as directed. Your eyes may fall out."

"Your life will change with our product. Ask your doctor today!" Oh boy, I can't wait!

If they only made a drug for what I go through at the computer store... sure, booze would relieve the stress, but that's expensive and eventually my liver WOULD fail. At the very least, I would become even more irritable (when I ran out of booze). I could use Hokie; petting her, telling her she's a good girl, etc. to lower my blood pressure; side effect would be she'd get spoiled and would constantly beg for even more attention. I could throw things against the wall, but customers would perceive me as a psychopath.

I could quit, but then I'd have no money. Everything has a @%@#g side effect.

I promise to post a more upbeat blog next time.

Being Told What I Need To Know

The internet is a wide open expanse of a place where one can research to his heart's content anything from methods of heart-bypass surgery to the industrial revolution to ways of increasing the length of your penis. Unfortunately most people, like myself, limit themselves to a handful of their "favorite" pages. For news, maybe they only read CNN or (lets hope not) Fox. Same can be said for television; The weak-minded of us watch Fox News for the shiny graphics and silly exaggerated "facts" that stream along the bottom of the screen. A lot of us take in this so-called information and take it as gospel; it must be true because it's staring at us in the face.

Remember back in the day when people used to use the library to do their research? It wasn't easy..what with navigating through the dewey-decimal system-based drawers full of cards, telling us which floor out of 12 our material on "the history of religion in southeastern Peru" would be.

Now we're left with brief 20 second video clips or 2 paragraph articles. Lindsey Lohan is going back to jail, but she's wearing this STUNNING outfit! Alyssa Milano is pregnant! Justin Bieber cut his hair! And oh yeah, this thing is Libya is out of control but we'll listen to these four analysts debate back and forth, constantly interrupting each other, about the best way to proceed about doing absolutely nothing about it. We're not led to think on our on, we're told what must be important. Everything has become black or white, with us or against us.

Not to say that EVERYONE is falling into this trap. I do see people meandering about in the library here in town; I'm sure they're not all looking for the latest Twilight series book or inane romance novel. I'm sure some of them are trying to better themselves; learning to think for themselves after taking in multiple sources of information with varying opinions.

If you take the easy way out, you'll hear from 6 different channels that Lindsey Lohan wore this or that and that some 12 year old girl wants to marry Justin Bieber. But without pain-staking research, you would never know that both of them enjoy studying particle physics and attend weekly mensa meetings.

Well, probably not. I made that up. Did you believe me?

Bear Stearn/Lehman Brothers Computers

After watching a horribly depressing movie about the reasons behind the collapse of the U.S. economy called "Inside Job" this morning, I got to thinking about how our computer store could benefit from such tactics. Although extracting $450million a year from a town of less than 10,000 may prove difficult, any sort of journey always starts with just one step. In order for me to pay myself a $100million bonus for resigning from Clear Case Computers some day in the future, I must first start small and fuck over one person at a time, one gigabyte at a time.

First, I must convince you that my computers are the easiest to afford among all the brands available. For just 25 cents to one dollar a day, this $499 computer will be yours in just 15 years (final cost after interest, etc. about $1,850). Never mind that before you're even 10% of the way paying for this computer you will have already "purchased" another one each for your 2.5 kids. Perhaps your dog or cat will have chewed on the power cord (if it's a laptop) along the way, which means you'll have to pay me to either repair the computer or replace a part (at a cost of about 20% of the total value of the computer, of which you've only paid 2% of it's value to this point). Your son has been looking at pornography and your daughter has been downloading what she thought were Justin Bieber songs, and as a result the machine is horribly infected with viruses (Bieber music can be equated to a virus in itself). This means another trip to my store to pay me at least another 20% of the value of the computer which has not been paid for yet.

To enhance profitability, I could order components to build these computers from companies that offer little or no warranties on their hardware. The hard drives are destined to die, the cpu's destined to overheat, etc. They are betting on the failure of the product so that I'll have to buy more and charge the customer for an item that should have outlived the term of their loan (which it won't). Not only are we both making money on the original purchase of the computer, but on the multiple return trips for hardware failures and virus infections. I could even infect them with a virus that won't even cause symptoms for weeks or months down the road (therefore, how could it be my fault?). I'll advertise these machines to those people who live in subsidized housing here in town; those who consistently make bad purchasing decisions anyway: ordering pizza more than once a week, souping up their bank-owned cars, owning a credit card.... These are the people enticed by the buck-a-day/rent-to-own concept of computer ownership. Hell, no matter how it turns out, I get paid. Either via credit card or the line of credit that they defaulted on so that they could pay me in-full at the time of purchase. If the computers are repossessed due to default on payment, I can buy the $499 computer for $50 and resell it for $399.

What I'm suggesting is just speeding up the process to put the most money in my pockets. How would that be any different than how people were taken advantage of during the housing bubble? Shit, none of the people responsible were even arrested!

As much as I'd like to go on a field trip to Congress or the Parliament to see the sights and to have my wrists slapped, I'm too honest of a person to do any of the above.

By the way, my printer ink is cheaper than Staples and...

Floyd the Barber Reborn

As all three of you loyal followers of my blog know this has been the week of the spectator at our computer shop. John's journey continues tomorrow as grumpy santa returns with computer in tow; seems his usb ports aren't working in windows xp. Yesterday was my turn, albeit for a much shorter period of time.

This customer was probably equally as old; if he were food and he was dropped on the floor, the 3 second rule would have expired sometime during the Truman administration. Yet, somehow he is still being served. If any of you remember Floyd Lawson, the barber from "The Andy Griffith Show", you'd remember how he prattled on about nothing in particular and was easily diverted off into a tangential conversation that was completely one-sided. That is, he could start off making a few comments about Gomer Pyle and a few minutes later be talking to himself about how he's out of Aunt Bee's pickles, and how good they were because she used just the right touch of pepper and a special kind of vinegar, and wow those jars she uses reminds him of the only time he left the state of North Carolina and went to Nashville and boy do they ever make grits like his mother used to make and...

I'll call this guy Mr. Droner, mainly because "Mr. Makesmyearsbleed" is a bit harsh. The project he wished to bestow upon me is the conversion of tiny video clips. Tiny, tiny video clips. Lots of them. It's like the guy pushed record, let it tape for 3 seconds, and in an effort to not waste the 20 hours remaining of available recording time on his hard drive-based camcorder, hit the stop button. "Oh look! Something shiny.. Record! Stop!" In a case of unsurpassed convenience he also managed to duplicate each file 2 or 3 times.

His explanation of said project went something like this: "I tell ya I'm not real computer literate, I'm just trying to convert these clips so that my daughter in Hawaii can see these videos on her dvd player and not just on her computer, the weather out there is really lovely, you know, see most of these videos are on the beach and I've watched them all, hey you suppose cd-rs or dvd-rs are better for this, or is plus R or minus R better that sure is confusing I don't know what the difference is, do you, doesn't make any sense to me, see I tried this but it said I didn't have enough room so think you could do this before you close in two hours?"

The man talks like Justin Bieber's fans write...without any punctuation whatsoever. By this time I've already cracked every knuckle on both hands and have moved on to my feet. Before my blood pressure reaches critical mass I reach down and start petting Hokie, then I make a circle around to the other side of the table to feign concern in other computers that I'm working on (they are scanning for viruses and need no input from me, but it's a distraction nonetheless). After I've told him 5 times that I'd call him when the project was all done, he saunters over to John who is in mid-conversation with Kevin, a friend of ours who has a repair business of his own. Oblivious to the fact that they are engaged in conversation, Mr. Droner interrupts and asks for their opinion on the best way to proceed with the project. Kevin makes a run for it to the bathroom and John is saved by a phone call. "At the tone, the time will be...."

We're on attempt number 3 on the project; John is using his much-less girly-manish computer to try and render this monstrosity of a video (over 8 gbs of material). Our futile perseverance is only rivaled by this guy's ability to not know when to shut the @#%@ up.

The only question is who will break first.

I hope he chokes on one of Aunt Bee's 50 year old pickles....after he pays us.

Just Watch Me!

I'm not sure if it's a trend or the only reason I write these blogs at all: I've had a few (drinks).

As I sit here at our amazing $500 dining room table, Hokie is sitting patiently to my left, staring at me. This is due in no small part to the fact that I just ate a slice of bread. Maybe some of it will fall on the floor? There is always a chance. Ever since someone spilled beer on the floor during a new year's eve party a few years ago, Hokie has begged every time I've cracked a beer or consumed anything remotely alcoholic.

Today at the shop we had a crotchety old man we call "grumpy santa" sit and watch John work on his machine...ALL DAY. We gave him this name due to his resemblance to Santa, white beard and all, and due to his attitude resembling that of Andy Rooney if someone maybe didn't replace the toilet paper roll in the 60 Minutes bathroom.

Poor John had to not only enable RAID on 8 (count'em EIGHT) hard drives, he also had to create a dual boot option for windows 7 and windows xp. Seems Grumpy Santa doesn't want to lose his treasured porn collection and I suppose some porn apps don't work on Windows 7? Jobs like this I almost always pass on to John; I don't think he'd have it any other way... I don't think he wants his business partner in jail because given the same circumstance I would have certainly killed him. I can't fathom being a surgeon in one of those circular "surgical theaters".. can you imagine the scene?

"Dr. Bragg, here's the scalpel...what are you waiting for?" "I'll make the incision as soon as that guy up there gets lost. Or maybe he'd like me to remove his pancreas and mail it to his mother?"

Yes, I have an angry streak. To be fair, I don't go to the mechanic and watch over his shoulder as he changes the oil in my car; I don't stare at my carpenter as he hangs drywall in my living room; I don't pull up a chair and watch my clothes spin around in the dryer. Yes! I even have respect for the dryer! It's presumably doing the job I paid for, so I @%@ # off and let it do it's thing. I just wish some of our customers would afford us the same courtesy.

Bite Me, Reality

So it's another slow Saturday; I play tug of war with the dog, eat some chinese food, and flip on the television after drinking a few beer.

"I bet you'd rather give a back massage to a grizzly bear with a handful of razorblades than mess with me" exclaims Earl (he looks like an Earl, although I didn't read his oval shaped name-tag), as he boasts about how he enjoy his job repossessing cars.

It seems I've landed in the middle of yet another reality show.

This one about car repo-men, subpoena-servers, and security guards at wrestling events. I'm not sure if there was more actual dialogue or more beeps to cover up the foul language: "you @%@ ain't gonna take my @#%@'n car, no you @%@% ain't!!" Apparently Lurlene (she looks like a Lurlene, I didn't read her 1982 Camaro's vanity license plate, so I can't be sure) didn't take kindly to Earl's brother towing away her car (she kicked his tow-truck). I believe throughout the entire episode, the poor camerman was told at least 8 times to "get that @%@n camera out of my @%#$^#n face." Hey, he's just doing his job.

So I got to thinking near the end of this crap how many reality shows there must be at this point, since "Survivor" got the ball rolling in the late 90's.

We went from a show about self centered assholes playing headgames with each other to a show about eating bugs and making people do stuff that one wouldn't do unless under the influence of PCP. Shortly after that we had groups of married couples who hated each other and we followed their race all over the planet, including some third-world countries ("hey, help a brother out! how about selling that video camera and feeding my @%@n village! "Sorry, I have a flight to Paris to catch, and so do the 8 couples behind me; you'll probably see them in 10, 20 and 50 minutes from now.")

I think in the past 2 years the reality craze (at least among producers) really took off. Following the bounty hunter and his quest to find bad guys on a small island while purchasing larger and larger vehicles to contain his wife's breasts, we now have shows following an exterminator in the deep south, people who can't drive, people who can't lose weight, people who write parking tickets (!), people who purchase crap out of storage units (!!), rednecks who build motorcycles, teenage sluts on MTV, a family with 8 kids who is trying to climb out of debt, families who need a fat, childless, unmarried British nanny to teach them how to parent, a myriad of talent shows, aspiring chefs being yelled at by a pompous British-Hitler with an apron, a guy who chased dangerous animals (who gave his life for the cause, no less), dozens of "Cops" shows and their imitators, kids alone in a ghost town, people with 86 cats in a house full of garbage that they won't throw away, one about @%@d up families trying to save their even more @#%@d up relatives by getting them a flight to Arizona, one about getting women married to a rich guy, and one about wannabe models who's combined IQ doesn't match the temperature in Sarah Palin's backyard.

There's even a sitcom about a reality show. "The Office"; has to be the best of the bunch.

I'm sure I've left out a few. I'm actually ashamed I know that these shows exist (Thanks to John for giving me even more).

Even when our own realities don't suck we enjoy watching other peoples' realities, as long they turn into a trainwreck.

I never did care much for Nascar, but alas, millions do.

Sigh.

Simple as a Snowball Throw

Every morning before work and every night when I get home, I take Hokie outside and throw snowballs back and forth for her to chase (up here, that's about 6 months a year). The moment her first paw hits the snow, her tail is wagging so fast it's a blur. I feel like it's the least I can do, seeing as how she comes to work with us each day and waits patiently between customers and their treats to go home and start the routine all over again.

As I've mentioned on these posts before, we have a hot-tub, a 100" screen for our HD projector, and 4 theater chairs. We have a lot of "stuff" which in a way might reflect some modicum of "success". I don't have a lot of friends up here, which due to my own introverted ways is my own fault.

I don't need to watch football anymore. I don't think I've seen more than 3 or 4 quarters all year. Watching illiterate millionaire athletes doesn't do it for me anymore.
I could care less that North Korea is threatening the south with nuclear war. I don't take any pleasure out of watching the evening news like I used to during the gulf war. None of it impacts my here-and-now.
As much as I'd like to see Sarah Palin gored by a moose on her stupid Alaska reality show, I won't tune in for the chance to see that, either.
I still dig 80's music and I still turn it up loud when John's not home. Thanks, grooveshark.com.
I still avoid a fair bit of social interaction; gets too complicated sometimes. I know I'm guilty of it, too, but most people just want to bitch or complain about something that happened during their day.

Most times nothing compares to a game of "go-get-it" with Hokie. She is happy; it's all she wants out of life. Plain and simple.