Damn you, Royal Wedding!

Uch.  I was doing such a good job of NOT falling victim to the hype, pomp, frills, and general ridiculosity of this monarchical matrimonial mess.  Until this morning.  Over a bowl of Giant-brand raisin bran crunch I went to my iPhone, opened my CNN app (I swear this is not an advertisement), and watched as droves of wide-eyed wedding lackeys packed in like sardines in front of Buckingham Palace to await the "first kiss."  It was all very Beatlesmania and I really couldn't have cared less.

But my interest was peaked when the Bride and Groom emerged to greet their public and Kate--a newcomer to royal living-- was visibly taken back by the crowd at her doorstep.  It was only for a second, but her facial expression said it all.  And that got me thinking: Man, it must be absolutely NUTS to become part of the royal family.  Especially for a "commoner" like herself (and please don't get me started on the antiquated terms and practices of British society...I've got too much else to do today...).

Since I was a wee laddie I've always wanted to be in the celebrity limelight.  But the ROYAL limelight is different, methinks, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want any of it.  Not only are you, undoubtedly, hounded by paparazzi and under constant scrutiny by...well...everyone in your kingdom, but you also have to hold yourself to a very high standard of propriety.  All the time.  You can't go out to a dingy college party, do a few beer bongs and keg stands, puke in an alley while peeing on yourself, then have sex with a random before doing the walk-of-shame via 7-11 for some taquitos (I love Tuesdays).  You must be proper.  VERY proper.  AT ALL TIMES.  24/7/365.  And that just doesn't sound appealing to me--even with all the riches and fame and glory and personal drivers and yadda yadda yadda.  Not saying I'm trying to hit up Old Schoolesque keggers every weekend (*sigh*).  But in watching the newly-ordained Duchess of Cambridge stand above the masses in her lovely wedding gown, I couldn't help but wonder if she was truly prepared for a lifetime of rigid posture and polite smiles.

Or is that just being British, generally? (HEYO!!  Just kidding, my crumpeted brethren.)

Really? I mean...REALLY?

I was driving down the ol' highway today when someone driving a less-than-amazingly preserved once-gold Honda Accord from what had to be the early 90s cut me off.  It was definitely their bad...I was going the speed limit(ish), they decided to scoot over a lane at the last second without signaling...I was totally "in the right" and they were totally "in the wrong." (excessive use of quotes, much?)

So, I was particularly perplexed when the driver of said beautiful golden Honda HONKED AND THEN FLICKED ME OFF!  Wha??  REALLY??  Haven't check the books in a while, but I'm fairly certain that societal norms delegate the right of bird distribution to the cutoffee, not the cutoffer.  In what unevolved, crusty, cottage cheese-filled part of that person's mind did they feel entitled to get angry at me, the law abiding traveler?

I continued down the road in awe of both the situation and their car, itself, deciding to let this one go instead of following my heart, slamming my foot down on the gas, and playing "fender make-out session" with my golden friend.  Your welcome, whoever you are.  You're welcome.

Top 5

Most Annoying Phone-Based Customer Service Practices/Tendencies (in no particular order)

1) The "I'm more than happy to help you with that today."

Oh, are you?  Well, thank you for being so happy to help!  I realize I was impinging on your free time with my frivolous request, so the fact that you're not only willing to help but HAPPY to help really brightens up my otherwise dreary day.  Thank you for letting me know you're HAPPY TO HELP.

First of all, you're damn right you're more than happy to help...you're CUSTOMER SERVICE...IT'S YOUR FUNCTION.  What, is there a chance you're not going to help?  Or, better even, are you going to do it grudgingly??  Is there a chance you're gonna be slightly peeved to assist me in that matter...or, perchance, you're just a bit ambivalent with a side of melancholy at the thought of helping me with my problem that YOUR COMPANY CREATED?  There is no option of being RUDE to the customer (except if you work for Comcast in Maryland, where I'm pretty sure it's written in the employee handbook next to "Must be incompetent, inconsistent, or both to work here") and I'm already pissed off because of whatever reason I have to call customer service in the first place, so your scripted "happy to help" assurance is going to do NOTHING but fuel my preexisting desire to hurt someone.  Save it, broham.


2) Comments they make to make you think they are empathetic towards your situation.

Example:
Me: Hi, I'm no longer a customer and see there's a positive balance/refund on my account.  I'd like to get it back in the form of a check, please.
CustServRep: Haha, well, that's completely understandable...I know I'd appreciate that money back in my pocket as well.*

HAHA, yeah, I bet you would.  That's funny.  We're friends now.  You know what else is funny...they fact that you've now just wasted 10 more seconds of my valuable time by assuring me that my desire to be made financially whole is valid.  Again, THANK YOU.

*This comment is typically followed with a "I'm more than happy to help you with that today, let me just pull up your account"...which segues perfectly into the next annoying tendency...


3) The Play-By-Play Narrative

The needless explanation of every step they're doing as they go.

Example:
Me: Hi...(yadda yadda yadda)...please.
CustServRep: Ok, I'm bring up your account......now I'm checking to see your history......yup, there it is, exactly what you just said......mmhm, ok, I'm just looking at the notes on your account......yup, I see what you mentioned.......ok, I just have to enter in some information......and there we go, just need to verify your--YOU GET THE POINT.


4) The Long Goodbye recap statement

Possibly my least favorite.  By this time, you've had absolutely enough.  Either the problem is solved in your favor and you just want to get on with your day, or the problem is solved in their favor and you don't want to hear their evil voice anymore, or the problem isn't solved and you've been on the phone arguing for so long you are just spent and done.  But, like a lurking sea monster, lying in wait until the moment is right, it emerges from the deep:

"Ok, just to recap we've [insert unnecessarily long "summary" of what they've done since you've been on the phone].  Thank you for contacting X company where customer service is our priority.  I hope I've helped you resolve your issue today and we at X company appreciate your continued service..." (it's at this point I usually hit myself over the head, repeatedly, with the receiver or any nearby blunt instrument until I pass out from the pain/exhaustion).


5) The Satisfaction Survey

"Hi, would you mind staying on the line after your issue is resolved to take a 2-minute satisfaction survey that will provide feedback to our customer service staff to..."

Oh, how I loathe thee, satisfaction survey.  It's practically a smack in the face.  Or a testicle flick.  You've already been subject to the "I'm more than happy" followed up by a "play-by-play" and then a "long goodbye"...NOW they want you to stay on the line to provide an anonymous account of their inadequacy as a customer service team to, typically, an automated robot voice that will, undoubtedly, never actually prompt change or, better yet, a staff member to be tarred and feathered?

*************************************
Epilogue: This post was written from experience.  Lots and lots of unfortunate experience with cable and phone companies, predominantly.  Now, I understand that not all customer service teams were created equally and there are, assuredly, competent reps out there.  I also understand that a lot of the dialogue described above is required of the reps via their company's customer service procedures.  However, after spending the past many years arguing with uncompromisingly incompetent rubes, my stance is securely anchored in the above diatribe and I invite any and all reps reading this post (and the companies for which they work) to attempt to tilt my scales in the opposite direction via satisfying future customer service experiences.

And now that I've said all that, I'm sure karma will ensure that my next job will be in a customer service call center.  If you get me on the phone, save yourself the pain and hang up immediately.

Old Ass Audiobooks

I started a post a while back called "Old Ass Audiobooks."  It contained only those three words.  Coming back to it now, I have absolutely NO idea about what I wanted to write regarding old ass audiobooks at that time.  Frankly, if anyone has any ideas, I'm open to them.  I mean, I like audiobooks enough...in fact, I listened to the entire Harry Potter series on tape (i.e. mp4) while going through my "elliptical phase" at the gym a few years back (I promised myself and various others that I would, under no circumstances, read those ridiculous books after the hype grew to biblical proportions...but I happened to end up loving the movies, so I figured going audio-rogue was a respectable enough loophole).  But, as for "old ass" audiobooks...yeah, I'm at a complete loss.

Speaking of "on tape," however, does anyone else still use the verb "tape" to describe the act of recording a tv show? (that wasn't rhetorical...I really want to know)  Just the other day, I reminded myself to tape The Office.  Using my DVR, of course.  But for some reason my brain--which, apparently, stopped developing at some point during the late-20th century--has yet to fully accept "DVR" into its vernacular.  Oh, I have set the DVR.  I have watched shows via the DVR.  I have rewound live television and searched the cable listings using my DVR.  But what act does the DVR perform when it is set to record a show, according to my Fraggle Rock/Saved By the Bell/Thundercats-infused brain?  It tapes.  Oh well.  Took long enough for my brain to translate "mix tape" into "playlist," so I'm not holding my breath for this one.

Spidercricket Graveyard

Upon emerging from the basement with a glass vase in her hands, The Wife just proclaimed, "So, I found the vase...and it's currently serving as a spidercricket graveyard."

I don't think I've blogged about the mutant species of spider we have been breeding in our basement ever since I was a child...so in case you aren't aware, there are such things as "spidercrickets."  Arachnis Cricketacious, I believe they are called--don't quote me on that (b/c it's not true).  Anyway, we started seeing these little freaks of nature many-a-year ago and dubbed them spidercrickets due to their many freaky deaky legs and tendency to jump around like a giddy Andy Dick.  Only later we realized that they, in fact, actually are called spidercrickets and had been discovered by not just our family, but modern science as well.  That fact aside, having already staked our claim in the discovery of this horrific accident of a species, we continued to contemplate how we'd co-exist with these ugly basement dwellers.  And they are ugly.  I mean, U-G-L-Y.  They've also been the source of high entertainment over the years.  We dubbed my Dad The Spidercricket Hunter after his patented broomstick-killing technique proved not only most effective, but consistently intriguing (most of the time, the man was a beacon of calm and tranquility...but when it came to hunting spidercrickets, his speed and reflexes were unparalleled.  It was practically a superpower.).  One time, he came upstairs from the basement and, unbeknownst to him, a spidercricket had taken up residence on the back of his shirt.  Seizing the opportunity, I took the liberty of smacking the crap out of his shoulder while my sister, deeply arachnophobic, proceeded to dry heave uncontrollably.  A good time was had by all.

So, The Wife brings up this vase containing about 6 dearly departed spidercrickets (it was hard to tell exactly how many were inside considering they were not all...um...how shall I put this...properly limbed?).  It became obvious that the spidercrickets didn't just go their to meet their demise, but the vase--the type you get for free from 1-800-Flowers--was perfectly shaped for spidercricket trapping, having a wide belly but a thin opening.  It made me think about how, if we knew about this unintentional and ingenious trapping technique years ago, we could have saved ourselves hours...nay...days of frustration running after (or from) these pesky critters.  But, then we wouldn't have been able to watch the Spidercricket Hunter at work.  Or watch my sister descend into traumatic states of horror-filled agony.  And where's the fun in that?

But the FIRST thing I thought about was how cool of a band name SPIDERCRICKET GRAVEYARD would be.  Which then prompted me to add it to the list (albeit short) of awesome band names I've been populating over the years.  So, without further ado, I submit to you:

JFro's List of Awesome Band Names!!

Artificial Sweden
Laser Post
Microscopic Spike (this was a product of the same late-night, post-party college conversation that produced "Laser Post"...the brain cells were a little thin by this point and I only remember the basis of Microscopic Spike.  But Laser Post still sounded cool enough to make the list.)
Whorch
The Gamgee Machine

and finally...

Spidercricket Graveyard!

(note: these are all original creations.  They all have meanings, available upon request.  They are all copyrighted by me.  If I hear that Whorch is coming out with a new album and I'm not personally involved, I'm gonna come after you with the wrath and anger of 10,000 real housewives of NYC).

Compliments That Aren't

You are sexy like houndstooth.

You make me feel as good as when I get a decent, inexpensive haircut.

I love your taste in Internet service providers.

You make me want to be a better farmer.

When I see you from across the room, I don't feel compelled to leave.

You're so smart, you should work for a large electronics chain.

If you emailed me, I'd respond as soon as was convenient.

You make me want to play chess.

T-Shirt Posedown

I recently emailed Busted Tees asking to be one of their t-shirt models.  Actually, it was more of a rant than a request.  Nevertheless, I told them to check out my blog for examples of my t-shirt posing expertise (if you weren't aware, I have extensive t-shirt posing experience.  Mostly posing to myself, in front of my mirror.  And, by "mostly," I mean "only.").  Busted Tees, I present to you...the posedown:

Pensive.

Can I get you a drink?

I call this pose Cap'n Awesome.  Or, simply, "BOOM."

No, seriously, I'm not advertising for 2nd Ave. Deli...though they are SICK good.

There you have it, Busted Tees, my t-shirt posing resume.  As you can see, I wear a t-shirt like a t-shirt is meant to be worn...with heart.  I eagerly await your response.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!

IF I AM CAUGHT DRIVING BEHIND ONE MORE FREAKIN' MORON WHO'S NOT GOING THE SPEED LIMIT AND WAVERING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THE LINES LIKE LINDSAY LOHAN ON A TUESDAY NIGHT, ONLY TO LATER FIND OUT THEY WERE ON THEIR FREAKIN' CELL PHONE FOR THE PAST 10 MINUTES, DRIVING WITH ONE HAND ON THE WHEEL AND THE OTHER ON THAT VACUOUS SKIN-TONED KICKBALL THAT RESTS ATOP THEIR DROOPED SHOULDERS, I'M GOING TO MOUNT A GUN TURRET ON MY CAR, CRY HAVOC AND RELEASE THE MOTHERTRUCKING DOGS OF WAR ON THIS TOWN, YOU SONOFAB*)@)&$)#*)%*)#$%)@)$(^%^($)#_@garybusey)#%(*)^@*#!@^*#!($@#S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From beastly to...well...less beastly

Last Saturday was the big St. Baldrick's shave-a-thon.  Was a great turnout and the event raised a ton o' cash--THANK YOU, drunk people of DC!  I underwent a pretty drastic transformation, going from heavily hirsute to brutally bald over the course of a few minutes.  Hmmm...from tremendous growth to barren fields...kind of like Nicholas Cage's career?  Ooooooo!  ZING!  Buuuuuuuuurn. (sike...love you, Cage.  But, seriously, stop going bankrupt.)

Observe the worm going into its cocoon and becoming...an even balder worm:

Quite the beast.  Kinda like an emo Darth Vader.

Ahhh!  Don't get too close...it bites!!

Yes...they managed to find a scalp under that rug.

Boom.

Now my head is cold, my jaw is warm, and I look kind of like a young Obadiah Stane.  While I don't think the look is a permanent fixture, I kinda dig it and think I'll keep it around for a short while (I can feel The Wife scowling at me from where ever she is right now).  Definitely ups my street cred (previously clocked at "-8") .  I was opening the door to walk into an Einstein Bagels the other day when a middle-aged gentleman was trying to exit at the same time.  He glanced up at me, a frightened look came over his face, and he backed away from the door.  I held it open, smiled, and beckoned him through.  Then had a lil' chuckle to myself.

Yeah, definitely not losing the look for a while...

"I WISH my beard was youthful
and brown like JFro's..."

Hero of the Day - Ali Velshi

The Velsh, via CreativeCommons

Famed CNN anchor and chief spokesperson for HIFSA (Hair Is For Suckas Association) Ali Velshi officially became the biggest celebrity with whom I have ever communicated yesterday after he not only retweeted my St. Baldrick's video to all of his followers, but personally responded to one of my tweets.  I got a little faklempt.

Good Sir Velshi, I salute you.  Some may refer to you as the HAIRLESS PROPHET OF DOOM (which, for the record, is possibly the coolest nickname for which one could strive...aside from "Gooch"), but I like to think of you as a beacon...

...a beacon of skull-refracted light...

...sending out a message of to the droves of like-craniumed wanderers looking for a sign of calm amidst a raging sea of ignorant and foolhardy well-coiffed scoundrels!!!

That message: Rock the Dome.

Murphy can suck it.

Driving to work this morning.  First day on the job.  5 min behind schedule.  No time for shenanigans.

4 traffic light backups,
3 fender-bender rubberneckings,
2 school buses loading ridiculous amounts of anklebiters,
and 1 unexpected morning sheet of icy snow on the windshield LATER, I arrived to work only 25 min late.

RIDONKEY.

Why I love Sunday mornings...

3 egg omelet with green pepper, onion, tomato, jalapeno, garlic, cheese.  And the requisite fakin' bacon.
Thank you, The Wife!

WINNING!

First!

This. Is. My. BOOMSTICK!!

If you're achin' for some UK love, tune your interwebdials into the The Boomstick Show!  This podcast combines techno mashups, current events, occasional discussions of the fashion implications of anal probing, and of course, the witty repartee you'd expect from one of the Queen's finest.

Go to http://theboomstickshow.wordpress.com/ to start streamin' immediately  Specifically, tune in to today's show (3/4/11) where the goodly host mentions YOURS TRULY at some point about 10 min or so into the show...which officially makes me a worldwide internet sensation, if I understand correctly the rules of internet celebrity.  Next stop, becoming white-scribbled picture fodder for Perez Hilton!  Please, please, no pictures...

Happy Friday, World!

PS - Daft Punk rules.
PPS - Ok, I've really only heard "Around the World."  But THAT song is deck.

Pshh, Phuck That

I will admit, first and foremost, that I'm not an old school Phishhead...as Phishheads go.  I started listening to their tunes around the mid-ish 90s (*cough*1999*cough) and went to my first show in 2000 (Hershey).  It was amazing.  From the First Tube opener to the Possum encore, I was captivated by the lights, sounds, and (ok, gonna get a little hippie on ya for a sec) the feeling that surrounded the whole experience like a warm blanket of patchouli-scented happiness.  So, I consider myself to be in the second of three categories of Phishheads--based upon the time in which one started appreciating the band; 1) the originals, 2) the latecomers, 3) the fratboy posers/the druggie grungetrashers/the neohippies.  No judging, of course...just my take on the fanbase's demographic breakdown over the past almost 30 years.

So, admittedly, I wasn't around in the very beginning.  But I have been a huge phan for over 10 years now and know a thing or two about how things used to be.  Tickets, for instance, used to be sold routinely for $20.  Every show--$20.  Yes, my little economists, you take inflation into account and $20 in the mid-80s amounted to a little more than $20 now.  But, still, it was very reasonable for a live show and went along perfectly with Phish's ideology of wanting everyone to be able to enjoy their music.  Practically anyone could afford tickets and, unlike today, anyone could actually GET tickets (i.e. the supply didn't really outweigh the demand).  "Touring" with Phish was a realistic endeavor, both practically and financially.  Not the case anymore.  Nowadays, to get Phish tickets in advance of the show, one has to jump through a variety of lottery-based hoops for the opportunity to pay exorbitantly for even general admission entrance (and, yes, "exorbitantly" is anything from twice as much as "the good ol' days" upward).  I'm not completely opposed to the lottery system, per se--I think it's a good thing that people have a chance to get tickets over and above the oft-futile practice of riding the Ticketmaster bottleneck.  Where my problem lies is in the cost.

Noticing, this morning, that Phish posted their 2011 Summer Tour schedule online (could have been weeks ago...I've been a little out-of-the-loop, shall we say), I followed the links to the site through which I could enter my name into the lottery.  But, when given the option to select the type/quantity of tickets, I noticed they were all $60.  $60?????  Per ticket????  WTPh?  What happened to the whole 'anyone should be able to come see Phish play' concept?  What happened to "music for the masses?"  Yeah, I understand that Phish has outgrown it's 1983 britches but COME ON!

Don't get me wrong, the shows are sick. Absolutely worth attending.  Technically (musically) amazing, visually stunning, and just plain FUN.  But for $60 a pop?  Does that include one of Fishman's sweaty polka-dotted dresses??  Or at least a personal high-pitched serenade by The Chairman of the Boards?  It's almost a good thing that one's chances of getting tickets to multiple shows aren't very high--at least that way you won't be tempted into poverty!

I would love to think that the band doesn't know what's going on and would put the kibosh on the whole operation if they did...but I'm not that naive.  Which just makes it all the worse to think they have strayed that far from their roots (ok, perhaps that comment is a bit naive, as well :)).  Regardless, I'm pretty damn bitter over the whole thing and will not be throwing my name into the lottery for any summer tour tickets at present.  I feel like I'm being taken...and yet I can't put my finger on exactly who is doing the taking.  So, if I can score some cheaper tix on CraigsList or maybe even by showing up at the venue the day of, great.  But I, for one, can't in good conscience drop $60 on tickets for a band that used to pride themselves on catering to the little guy.  Well, maybe won't--not can't--is the more appropriate word.

Sorry Trey, Mike, Fish, and Page...love your music, but the happiness is a little too expensive.