Where's Emeril when you need a good "BAM!"?
Thanks, Bike Snob NYC:
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
To anybody who thinks that bumper stickers are a source of wisdom, skip this post, will ya? This is for those of us who despair of human civilization.
The his and her edition of cycling jerseys that should never be worn...
Good lord, where's Style Man when you really need him?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
How's this for irony: a guy (who looks a lot like me) hates talking on the phone (because he doesn't like phones or people much), but works the help desk for a computer company for a living. In doing so, he (me) has a laundry list of things he hates about Mr. Bell's great abomination. To whit...
Long-winded voicemail greetings:
There just ought to be a law. I don't want to hear all of your myriad office hours (which are usually different every single day of the month), I don't care about how to get ahold of you if it can't wait another 12 hours, I don't need the explanation of all the possibly permutations to explain why you can't come to the phone, GIMME A DAMN BEEP ALREADY!!! At the very least, there should be a Constitutional amendment saying all voicemail systems should say "Press one now to skip the bullstuff and leave a message" at the beginning of the message. Maybe even make it one of the Ten Commandments (we're not paying attention to the fifth one, anyway, right kids?)
Long-winded voicemail messages:
I'm with George Carlin. There's no message you can leave on my answering machine or cell phone voicemail that can't be condensed to, "Call me back." I swear, there are people out there who think the machine is alive and they're supposed to have a conversation with it rather than me. Here's the drill, people: once you get past the bit about "Hey, it's (name), call me back," I tune you out. If you start talking about how you were at the supermarket getting munchies for the game this weekend, and you wandered by the vegetable aisle, and you were checking out the sweet corn, and you remembered how much I hate sweet corn, and this made you want to call me just to say "what's up?"...I've already deleted the message 30 seconds ago. Thank you.
"This machine does not accept messages:
Then why the flake do you have it in the first place, you pretentious techno-smack? What's your next trick? Renting a doctor's office and hanging "this office does not see patients" on the shingle along with the caduceus?
Beyond a doubt, the primary cause for Paxil prescriptions among phone support agents worldwide. I know how tough it is to type with one hand. I know holding the handset in the crook of your neck makes it stick that way. I get it. I just don't care. You're still going to hell.
This has been a public service announcement.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
40 minutes on the trainer tonight, average heart rate, 176 BPM. Suffice to say, I got sweaty.
And to my cycling friends, there's a good series by Joe Lindsey of Bicycling.com on his blog, Boulder Report. He's been undergoing a professional fitting session on the bike (kinda like getting fitted for a suit, right down to the fussy men with measuring tape). Money quote from today's blog:
"A stationary trainer is about the most uncomfortable ride you'll ever have....The corollary to this is that if you can get a position that's comfortable on a trainer, it'll probably be even better on the road."Amen, brother. Now if you'll excuse me, my butt hurts.
Spin easy, friends.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
I think I've figured it out.
My workplace has four restrooms, two on each side of the building. On my side, they regularly clean out any spare catalogs from the joint (Pampered Chef, Land's End, Pretentious Housewife Weekly, etc.). We're the phone support department: they need us productive all the time. On the OTHER side, where the programmers hang out, they get all the reading material they want. What does that say about THEIR productivity, I wonder.
Anyway, I think that whenever I get a different job lo these many years from now, I know how I'm going to spend my time jerking the company for some free income. I'm going to lock myself in one of the bathrooms on the other side of the building until someone comes looking for me. I call it my profit-to-productivity bonus: The longer I sit on the throne, the more money in my treasury without having to work for it. I'm thinking of bringing a 12-pack and my iPod to make the most of my time.
It's not like I haven't cleaned up plenty of shit for people since I've been there.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
I'm tempted, but it would look a bit out of place with my log cabin decorating scheme.
Well, they make carbon bikes, right down to the carbon saddles, right?
Back to THIS planet...this thing retails for $229, US. Or approximately a month's gas bill if you drive a Tahoe. Or a couple sets of Continental GP4000 cycling tires, or the approximate cost of the golf balls I lost in the pond/forest/weeds/neighboring houses last season.
But it WOULD look cool at Bike World...
More info here.
For my friends without MySpace accounts, here's my damn blog site, already. Sheesh.
Anyway, content... I attended my first Iowa caucus last night as an actual participant rather than as a news reporter (man, that was a long time ago). Interesting process, but it can really take a long time if you let it. We had ours at the local middle school, and there were so many of us Obama supporters that they asked us to walk down one of the halls and line up there so it'd be easier to get a head count. A little inconvenient, and we had to wait 20 minutes or so to get all the apostates from the other candidates settled in, but it also meant that the guy had plenty of support.
And it certainly has been entertaining listening to the candidates trying to spin things this morning. The Bitch said her loss was all the fault of the caucus process itself (never mind the fact that she DID leave with a certain number of delegates, the sore loser). And Romney The Robot has apparently programmed his droids to try to synthesize gold out of diarrhea in the PR department. Most amusing.
Oh, and how's the Huckabee bashing coming along, Comedian?