I loathe this question.
It seems that with nearly everybody with a bank account these days having a hybrid debit/credit card, everybody and the ancestors of their extended family want to ask you “credit or debit?” as soon as they see plastic in your hand.
While this may seem to be an inane rant, there actually is a reason behind it. Credit cards are credit cards. Debit cards are debit cards. Debit/credit cards are debit cards that happen to be able to be charged through a major card company (most often Visa or MasterCard) to allow greater flexibility with merchants, online and off, who do not accept debit card networks at their point of sale.
A debit/credit card is not a true credit card, and the money is (almost always) taken out of the very same checking account the debit card is linked to. While a consumer who may be a member of a credit rewards program - one that hasn’t gone the way of the dodo for debit accounts - may have a preference, I’m sure they’d make it a point to instruct the cashier of such. I know I certainly did until my bank (which shall remain nameless, but it may or may not bear a resemblance to W_lls F_rg_).
For the rest of us, we probably couldn’t care less. I sure don’t. And see, that’s not even why this question irks me, for the end consumer experience.. I simply respond with “whichever is easier” when faced with the question.
No, it irks me from the merchant’s standpoint.
Taking both debit and credit card options effectively cuts into the merchant’s profits by levying small fees to each transaction, usually, a percentage of the whole sale. Debit card fees are significantly lower than credit card fees. Which makes it painfully clear that, unless a merchant is a complete buffoon, they would much rather have you pay cash (ideal), then debit (still acceptable), and then finally credit (ouch).
Yet they still train their employees to ask “debit or credit.”
I know you want me to say debit, fool, because you get more money. It doesn’t make the slightest toss of a difference whether I enter my PIN number or sign a slip of paper (or digital pad), since it’s the same money coming out of the same account in the same amount either way.
I know you want me to say debit, because the funds are electronically transferred instantly and that makes your accounting process that much easier.
I know you want me to say debit, because that’s one less piece of paper media you have to account for.
Yet you still ask me whether I want to use debit or credit. If you were smart, you would train your employees to just say “enter your PIN there,” and point at the pad, and only offer credit if the customer should ask. That would be the smart thing to do. Obviously, if the customer has a credit card, they would rather be forced to inform you of such.
Which leads me to my sadistic project I have in the works. The next time I get a credit card (which, the way things are going, will probably be sometime in April of 2041 after I’ve sold millions of books [ha!]), I fully intend to demand it be run as debit during the first purchase where a cashier asks me “credit or debit.”
After all, they offered it as a possibility, didn’t they? I demand it be run as debit. They shouldn’t have asked, otherwise.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
On Children's Television
Children’s television has become a large part of how our kids learn these days. I suppose I should specify that this is referring to small children’s television, typically aimed at kids under the age of five; the Ninja Turtles and such can move on for another article at a later date. There are, however, a large number of subconscious messages that lie hidden within the frames of animation that might be overlooked by some parents. Here, I aim to bring some of the more insidious ones to light.
Any readers who don’t have access to small children, either their own or someone else’s, probably won’t get half the references contained within. I won’t be offended if those of you that are free from small human interaction skip this column (for the time being). I expect you to return when the stork does.
Wonder Pets teaches your children that their parents are careless and will abandon them. Why else would every baby animal parent go on vacation, leaving their beloved (?) offspring to get stuck in a tree?
Go Diego Go inspires your kids to go pick up and/or touch any animal that you find, since they’re all smiling and friendly and most certainly will not eat them. Especially jaguars. They’re just big kitty cats and will never, ever maul or consume a human.
Max & Ruby instills the lesson in your little one that a.) not having a mother or father around is perfectly acceptable, your big sister can run everything, and b.) disobeying said big sister and aggravating her to the ends of the earth (while she is taking care of the household as outlined in point A) is perfectly acceptable and comes with no consequences. Also, if your child is on the older end of the viewing spectrum, it teaches them that being a raging beast-on-wheels and speaking to your little brother in an extremely condescending fashion is acceptable. No wonder the two hate each other.
Yo Gabba Gabba! promotes the use of LSD.
Caillou lets your child know that he’s a kid who’s four. Really. Other than that and whining “Mom-meeeeeeeee!” at least seventeen times per episode (which reinforces that this behavior is acceptable and even expected, I might add), there is literally nothing redeeming about this show. I knew I should have been suspect about a child who is bald at four who is not suffering from some horrible affliction.
Dora the Explorer teaches your child that talking AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE AT ALL TIMES is a good thing. In addition, saying everything eight or nine times in said obscene volume is also required. If your child has ever seen an episode of Dora, and you ever wonder why they say, “Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry! Mom, I’m hungry!”, this is why. In addition, this program demonstrates that wearing ill-fitting clothes that expose your midriff is perfectly fine, even though it is considered child pornography in some parts of the world.
Ni Hao Kai Lan teaches your child that they can “speak Chinese” by knowing the words red, green, jump, pull, Grandpa, and swim. I know of so many absolutely scintillating conversations that can be formed with that extensive vocabulary.
Strawberry Shortcake informs your child that replacing the word very with berry is “cute” and should be done so at every single possible opportunity, even if it occurs four times in the same sentence.
Barney teaches your little one how to dress to get bullied at school. Now I’m not advocating dressing like a thug or streetwalker, but I can honestly say that every kid at every school I’ve ever attended who tucked his or her t-shirt into their shorts while the waistband was worn somewhere around his or her ribcage got real used to being punched and shoved into lockers at a very early age.
It’s these little things that often go overlooked by parents, who select the shows their children watch to establish valuable life lessons more by what keeps their child’s attention, rather than the subliminal lessons that aren’t directly voiced. Kids are sharp, though. They pick up on these things, even if it’s not something they are cognizantly aware of.
So the next time your child runs off on their own at the zoo to try and pet the fuzzy lion while talking quite nastily to their younger sibling between asking said lion why the Mandarin word for “green” tastes so berry good, all while wearing the latest Disney shirt tucked into their shorts worn berry, berry high up their torso, stop and take a moment to consider the source of all this behavior.
You might berry well have had something to do with it.
Friday, June 15, 2012
On the Fundamental Problem with Vampires
You might say I have a problem with vampire stories.
Not that I don’t enjoy some of them, I do.. as long as there’s no glitter involved.
The biggest problem I have with vampire stories (apart from the rather obvious initial leap of faith required) is that there’s a simple issue of logic. And I’m not talking about the biological stuff, bending the rules of physics, and all that mess - that was covered under “initial obvious leap of faith.”
I suppose you could say it’s more of a supply and demand thing.
In Victorian era or Middle Age settings, it’s a lot easier. In modern times, however, I just can’t see it happening and still “being kept quiet.”
Here’s what I mean. Assuming the vampire needs to feed only once per week - which is rather conservative, since most vampire mythos suggest that it is closer to every 2-3 days - that’s still fifty-two people being preyed upon every year. Keep that point in mind.
In addition, the vampire would also need to have shelter of some form during the daytime. While I suppose “dirt” would suffice in a pinch, this I can only imagine is a last resort for a variety of reasons. Security being one of them. There’s nothing preventing any number of creatures, animals, or bugs from disturbing your slumber, not to mention nosy humans poking about what looks to be a freshly dug grave (which, understandably, arouses human suspicion). Or a curious dog from digging up the same plot and exposing the vampire to random sunlight. Plus, I’m not sure about you, but the idea of sleeping in dirt, which may or may not get soaked due to rainfall during the day, would put an irritating dampener on my appearance and style - both of which are rather important for a vampire, considering to lay low, looking like a diseased hobo is not the best of first appearances.
And while a vampire might not care, I don’t think I’d be too fond of maggots and bugs crawling all over me and disturbing my sleep for centuries. But that’s just me - I digress.
Obviously, a form of shelter would be ideal. However, in today’s modern world, shelter costs money. Any form of shelter which does not cost money would be placed outside of major city areas (read: low population). And before you get into the “money passed down from the ages” theory, that’s my next point.
Any vampire was once human at some point. The vast majority of us do not have money which could be stretched across centuries or even decades, even without the cost of eating and medical bills and such. Furthermore, let’s be honest - how many executive positions do you really see being held by someone who never sets foot in daylight? Not to mention that, before roughly 1930 or so, anybody who was never seen in daylight was automatically suspect of being up to no good. This, surely, sounds like a character we wish to promote to our highest rankings.
No, no, “ancestral money” doesn’t fly, either. Which means a job in order to pay for said shelter, which means - exposure. Nope, that boat is sinking pretty quickly, too. Which leaves us with the following conclusion:
The vampire would need to have some form of shelter in an unpaid area outside of major areas of civilization, but close enough to make a trip out to hunt feasible.
There, that’s not too much of a stretch of the imagination. “Adopt” an abandoned building or customize a run-down shack in off of some forlorn area, and nobody will pay it any mind. Especially if it looks identical outside every day - which, since the vampire would be holed up in some secured area during daylight, it would appear to be from the outside. And shouldn’t be too hard to install some form of locking mechanism on the inside to prevent nosy kids from poking about...
...oh, wait, that’ll require money. Well, for the sake of this argument, since it’s a fixed cost, we’ll let that point slide assuming the vampire can hustle the money off his or her prey. (See, I’m even letting that bone of contention slide. Nice, aren’t I?)
Moving along. Remember that first point? Fifty-two victims per year. (At least.) Now the closest center of population for The Vampire Shack would be a small one, where people going missing or suddenly springing up with bite marks on their neck would be noticed very quickly. No, a vampire would need a more populous hunting ground, such as a major city. This would, theoretically, provide enough random homeless, vagrants, and those living alone who might not be noticed as quickly to allow the vampire to hunt and extract a decent tenure out of his or her hard-won home. But you know I didn’t leave it alone there, right?
According to the Virginia Department of Housing and Community Development, there was an approximate 9,025 homeless individuals statewide in January 2011. (I’m working with old data, so we’ll just pretend the vampire in question is a year behind as well. Things don’t change that much in a year, anyway.) Of course, that’s statewide; so going by the posted census data, the City of Virginia Beach had a population of 437,994 people out of the statewide population of 8,001,024, or 5.4742% of the total statewide population. (I told y’all I did analysis for a living.) Of course, homeless populations are not evenly spread out across an area, but for the sake of this illustration, we’ll have to make do: 5.4742% of 9,025 equates to approximately 494 homeless people in Virginia Beach. Yes, for you math nerds, I rounded .04 humans down to zero.
Getting back to the point at hand - staying undetected means preying upon those who will attract the least attention when they suddenly disappear. Anne Rice fans will immediately recognize this concept, and for good reason. It’s pretty logical. Even still.. 494 homeless people at the rate of 52 people per year (and remember, that’s conservative) means the population will be exhausted in exactly 9.5 years.
And that’s not including the fact that 281 of those 9,025 original individuals had AIDS. I’m sure that’s not good for vampires.
Obviously, that population of homeless people will replenish itself over time. However, even with a reasonable replenishment rate, judging by the detailed level of statistics included in these reports from which I’ve garnered them, you’d think it might catch someone’s eye that the homeless population of Virginia Beach has decreased by 87.3% over the last 8.3 years, even when the budgeted spending has fallen to next to nothing.
Of course, all this having been said.. this is only accounting for one (1) vampire in a single metropolitan area. Considering the number of metropolitan areas in the United States is relatively limited, and the number of vampires in these stories is most certainly not limited to one (typically an entire underground subculture of rich industrialists who have somehow kept firm grip over their companies, escaped the Depression and economic downturn, all while preying on the humans they.. pay? while never setting foot in the daylight), and the fact that they most certainly do not feed only once a week, and you might start seeing where I’m coming from.
After all, three vampires in Virginia Beach (even remaining under the once-a-week assumption) would deplete the entire homeless population in three years and two months.
Tick tock, tick tock...
So you’ll have to forgive me if I laugh hysterically anytime I hear someone say “but they could be real and we’d never know it!”
Sources:
Virginia Department of Housing & Community Development
http://www.dhcd.virginia.gov/HomelessnesstoHomeownership/PDFs/Virginia_Homeless_Report.pdf
2010 Census Data
http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/51/5182000.html
Not that I don’t enjoy some of them, I do.. as long as there’s no glitter involved.
The biggest problem I have with vampire stories (apart from the rather obvious initial leap of faith required) is that there’s a simple issue of logic. And I’m not talking about the biological stuff, bending the rules of physics, and all that mess - that was covered under “initial obvious leap of faith.”
I suppose you could say it’s more of a supply and demand thing.
In Victorian era or Middle Age settings, it’s a lot easier. In modern times, however, I just can’t see it happening and still “being kept quiet.”
Here’s what I mean. Assuming the vampire needs to feed only once per week - which is rather conservative, since most vampire mythos suggest that it is closer to every 2-3 days - that’s still fifty-two people being preyed upon every year. Keep that point in mind.
In addition, the vampire would also need to have shelter of some form during the daytime. While I suppose “dirt” would suffice in a pinch, this I can only imagine is a last resort for a variety of reasons. Security being one of them. There’s nothing preventing any number of creatures, animals, or bugs from disturbing your slumber, not to mention nosy humans poking about what looks to be a freshly dug grave (which, understandably, arouses human suspicion). Or a curious dog from digging up the same plot and exposing the vampire to random sunlight. Plus, I’m not sure about you, but the idea of sleeping in dirt, which may or may not get soaked due to rainfall during the day, would put an irritating dampener on my appearance and style - both of which are rather important for a vampire, considering to lay low, looking like a diseased hobo is not the best of first appearances.
And while a vampire might not care, I don’t think I’d be too fond of maggots and bugs crawling all over me and disturbing my sleep for centuries. But that’s just me - I digress.
Obviously, a form of shelter would be ideal. However, in today’s modern world, shelter costs money. Any form of shelter which does not cost money would be placed outside of major city areas (read: low population). And before you get into the “money passed down from the ages” theory, that’s my next point.
Any vampire was once human at some point. The vast majority of us do not have money which could be stretched across centuries or even decades, even without the cost of eating and medical bills and such. Furthermore, let’s be honest - how many executive positions do you really see being held by someone who never sets foot in daylight? Not to mention that, before roughly 1930 or so, anybody who was never seen in daylight was automatically suspect of being up to no good. This, surely, sounds like a character we wish to promote to our highest rankings.
No, no, “ancestral money” doesn’t fly, either. Which means a job in order to pay for said shelter, which means - exposure. Nope, that boat is sinking pretty quickly, too. Which leaves us with the following conclusion:
The vampire would need to have some form of shelter in an unpaid area outside of major areas of civilization, but close enough to make a trip out to hunt feasible.
There, that’s not too much of a stretch of the imagination. “Adopt” an abandoned building or customize a run-down shack in off of some forlorn area, and nobody will pay it any mind. Especially if it looks identical outside every day - which, since the vampire would be holed up in some secured area during daylight, it would appear to be from the outside. And shouldn’t be too hard to install some form of locking mechanism on the inside to prevent nosy kids from poking about...
...oh, wait, that’ll require money. Well, for the sake of this argument, since it’s a fixed cost, we’ll let that point slide assuming the vampire can hustle the money off his or her prey. (See, I’m even letting that bone of contention slide. Nice, aren’t I?)
Moving along. Remember that first point? Fifty-two victims per year. (At least.) Now the closest center of population for The Vampire Shack would be a small one, where people going missing or suddenly springing up with bite marks on their neck would be noticed very quickly. No, a vampire would need a more populous hunting ground, such as a major city. This would, theoretically, provide enough random homeless, vagrants, and those living alone who might not be noticed as quickly to allow the vampire to hunt and extract a decent tenure out of his or her hard-won home. But you know I didn’t leave it alone there, right?
According to the Virginia Department of Housing and Community Development, there was an approximate 9,025 homeless individuals statewide in January 2011. (I’m working with old data, so we’ll just pretend the vampire in question is a year behind as well. Things don’t change that much in a year, anyway.) Of course, that’s statewide; so going by the posted census data, the City of Virginia Beach had a population of 437,994 people out of the statewide population of 8,001,024, or 5.4742% of the total statewide population. (I told y’all I did analysis for a living.) Of course, homeless populations are not evenly spread out across an area, but for the sake of this illustration, we’ll have to make do: 5.4742% of 9,025 equates to approximately 494 homeless people in Virginia Beach. Yes, for you math nerds, I rounded .04 humans down to zero.
Getting back to the point at hand - staying undetected means preying upon those who will attract the least attention when they suddenly disappear. Anne Rice fans will immediately recognize this concept, and for good reason. It’s pretty logical. Even still.. 494 homeless people at the rate of 52 people per year (and remember, that’s conservative) means the population will be exhausted in exactly 9.5 years.
And that’s not including the fact that 281 of those 9,025 original individuals had AIDS. I’m sure that’s not good for vampires.
Obviously, that population of homeless people will replenish itself over time. However, even with a reasonable replenishment rate, judging by the detailed level of statistics included in these reports from which I’ve garnered them, you’d think it might catch someone’s eye that the homeless population of Virginia Beach has decreased by 87.3% over the last 8.3 years, even when the budgeted spending has fallen to next to nothing.
Of course, all this having been said.. this is only accounting for one (1) vampire in a single metropolitan area. Considering the number of metropolitan areas in the United States is relatively limited, and the number of vampires in these stories is most certainly not limited to one (typically an entire underground subculture of rich industrialists who have somehow kept firm grip over their companies, escaped the Depression and economic downturn, all while preying on the humans they.. pay? while never setting foot in the daylight), and the fact that they most certainly do not feed only once a week, and you might start seeing where I’m coming from.
After all, three vampires in Virginia Beach (even remaining under the once-a-week assumption) would deplete the entire homeless population in three years and two months.
Tick tock, tick tock...
So you’ll have to forgive me if I laugh hysterically anytime I hear someone say “but they could be real and we’d never know it!”
Sources:
Virginia Department of Housing & Community Development
http://www.dhcd.virginia.gov/HomelessnesstoHomeownership/PDFs/Virginia_Homeless_Report.pdf
2010 Census Data
http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/51/5182000.html
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
On Lips and Logic
Lips can be confusing.
Not the whole kissing thing, that part is easy to understand. I am more or less referring to the insides of our lips. That really squishy part of a lip that just sort of sits there when your mouth is closed. Normally, we pay it absolutely no mind whatsoever, since we haven’t needed to consciously do anything with them (except make pucker faces and fake zombie sneers while intoxicated) for the vast majority of our lives.
The only time we pay attention to that particular part of our anatomy, it seems, is after we’ve bit them.
Now, obviously, I’m not some mastermind genetic architect capable of designing an organic being from the ground up. If I had that degree of skill, my apologies, but I wouldn’t be wasting time on a humor column.
If I were, however, capable of engineering something organic, I’d sure as heck not put the squishiest and most sensitive part of the mouth next to dental razor blades.
Sure, lots of people say “I bit my lip” when they actually meant “I seem to have mistakenly chewed the inside of my cheek with a molar.” That’s entirely different. Molars are intended to grind food down that has already been bitten off. No, biting your lip has a much more painful tendency to act like a tender guillotine between incisors, canines, or both - teeth whose dental purpose is to “rend flesh from bone.”
Hmm.
Cats, dogs, wolves, lions, tigers, alligators, what have you - funny how their lips aren’t capable of curling in underneath those rather large teeth. Of course, they can’t speak, or at least, none of the ones I’ve met have deemed me worthy of hearing their version of accented American English. (Yes, I would imagine animals would speak with an accent, considering they don’t have lips with which to properly form....)
......oh.
Sigh.
I suppose I’ll settle for speaking and the occasional flurry of expletives when I mistake my lips for chicken wings while devouring them.
Not the whole kissing thing, that part is easy to understand. I am more or less referring to the insides of our lips. That really squishy part of a lip that just sort of sits there when your mouth is closed. Normally, we pay it absolutely no mind whatsoever, since we haven’t needed to consciously do anything with them (except make pucker faces and fake zombie sneers while intoxicated) for the vast majority of our lives.
The only time we pay attention to that particular part of our anatomy, it seems, is after we’ve bit them.
Now, obviously, I’m not some mastermind genetic architect capable of designing an organic being from the ground up. If I had that degree of skill, my apologies, but I wouldn’t be wasting time on a humor column.
If I were, however, capable of engineering something organic, I’d sure as heck not put the squishiest and most sensitive part of the mouth next to dental razor blades.
Sure, lots of people say “I bit my lip” when they actually meant “I seem to have mistakenly chewed the inside of my cheek with a molar.” That’s entirely different. Molars are intended to grind food down that has already been bitten off. No, biting your lip has a much more painful tendency to act like a tender guillotine between incisors, canines, or both - teeth whose dental purpose is to “rend flesh from bone.”
Hmm.
Cats, dogs, wolves, lions, tigers, alligators, what have you - funny how their lips aren’t capable of curling in underneath those rather large teeth. Of course, they can’t speak, or at least, none of the ones I’ve met have deemed me worthy of hearing their version of accented American English. (Yes, I would imagine animals would speak with an accent, considering they don’t have lips with which to properly form....)
......oh.
Sigh.
I suppose I’ll settle for speaking and the occasional flurry of expletives when I mistake my lips for chicken wings while devouring them.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
On Random Lungs
Yes, you read the title correctly. Today’s column is about, of all things, random lungs.
Those of you residing on the West Coast may have already heard the story. A lady in Los Angeles was apparently walking in an “unincorporated area” of the county and called in to report what “appeared to be” lungs on the sidewalk.
Now I must confess to having a few questions regarding this rather unsettling news story.
First off, bodily organs are not clean, color-coded, and cleanly labeled the way they are in anatomy textbooks. Nor do they look nice and neat like they do at the butcher’s counter. In quite the opposite fashion, most randomly found internal organs are quite a bit of a mess, and to the untrained eye, pretty much indistinguishable without actually poking around or cleaning it up a bit first.
Secondly, a sidewalk is an awfully random place to find a pair of missing lungs. I’m sure whomever is missing them is worried to the point they can’t seem to catch their breath.
Later in the article, it says that the “authorities were trying to determine if [the random sidewalk lungs are] human or animal.”
...because there are so many critters wandering the streets and sidewalks of Los Angeles county whose lung capacities are in the range of humans. Not only that, but one would hope a simple DNA test or blood type analysis would be able to make a “not human” determination pretty quickly.
With all these shows on the amazing powers of forensic science and technology, the fact that nobody at the crime scene, nor any medical examiners on site, could say “oh, we don’t need to worry, these are only possum lungs” rather makes me question the capabilities of the police on-site.
Even if it’s not human lungs, the question still remains as to why on EARTH there was a pair of lungs found just plopped on the sidewalk in Los Angeles to begin with. I’ve heard of some twisted serial killers in my days of reading their case studies for fun, but discarding random internal organs on busy sidewalks seems to be a slightly obscure practice.
Not in the City of Lung-Donor Angels, apparently.
As though that weren’t bad enough, a quote was made by Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Sgt. Panis (of all spokespeople to use in a case of missing body parts) that simply says, “it’s getting weirder.”
Ya think?
Those of you residing on the West Coast may have already heard the story. A lady in Los Angeles was apparently walking in an “unincorporated area” of the county and called in to report what “appeared to be” lungs on the sidewalk.
Now I must confess to having a few questions regarding this rather unsettling news story.
First off, bodily organs are not clean, color-coded, and cleanly labeled the way they are in anatomy textbooks. Nor do they look nice and neat like they do at the butcher’s counter. In quite the opposite fashion, most randomly found internal organs are quite a bit of a mess, and to the untrained eye, pretty much indistinguishable without actually poking around or cleaning it up a bit first.
Secondly, a sidewalk is an awfully random place to find a pair of missing lungs. I’m sure whomever is missing them is worried to the point they can’t seem to catch their breath.
Later in the article, it says that the “authorities were trying to determine if [the random sidewalk lungs are] human or animal.”
...because there are so many critters wandering the streets and sidewalks of Los Angeles county whose lung capacities are in the range of humans. Not only that, but one would hope a simple DNA test or blood type analysis would be able to make a “not human” determination pretty quickly.
With all these shows on the amazing powers of forensic science and technology, the fact that nobody at the crime scene, nor any medical examiners on site, could say “oh, we don’t need to worry, these are only possum lungs” rather makes me question the capabilities of the police on-site.
Even if it’s not human lungs, the question still remains as to why on EARTH there was a pair of lungs found just plopped on the sidewalk in Los Angeles to begin with. I’ve heard of some twisted serial killers in my days of reading their case studies for fun, but discarding random internal organs on busy sidewalks seems to be a slightly obscure practice.
Not in the City of Lung-Donor Angels, apparently.
As though that weren’t bad enough, a quote was made by Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Sgt. Panis (of all spokespeople to use in a case of missing body parts) that simply says, “it’s getting weirder.”
Ya think?
Sunday, June 10, 2012
On Intellectually Challenged Avians
It can safely be said that the majority of birds are not the smartest of creatures.
This is not to say that all birds are stupid. Not at all. Parrots seem to be quite quick on the uptake. But the term "bird brained" didn't just sprout out of nowhere. Today, I'm discussing the more "special" members of the winged communities.
I won't mention any specific species for fear of incurring the wrath of the PETA trolls. (Whoops, sorry PETA. That last statement could have been construed as insulting to trolls.)
Getting back to the point at hand.. Birds like to chirp in the morning. It's part of the sunrise ritual for many people, waking up to the sound of bird calls and songs that leave many cheerful and ready to face the day. I'm not one of those cheerful sorts. Nor am I a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. The only time I'm up at sunrise is when I have not yet gone to bed for the evening.
During these fine times, I use chirping birds for an entirely different reason: they let me know it's time to get my behind in bed. It's a good system, if a little odd. By now, I should hope you know that "a little odd" is a conservative way of describing my behavior.
Lately, however, there seems to be a new addition to the clan of birds outside my window at night. One of those "special" birds. I've given him a proper American name of S. F. Bird. The initials, of course, stand for Santa Fe.
Mr. S. F. Bird likes to randomly start chirping. That wouldn't be bad, in and of itself, should such behavior occur during Normal Bird Chirping Hours. No, S. F. Bird thinks it's time to chirp sometime in the vicinity of 1:15 a.m. I'm still awake at that time. That's not the problem. The problem comes from the fact that it gives me a rather alarming shock into thinking that it is four hours later than it actually is. I suppose I could liken it to Leno coming on at 7:30 for normal people. It just doesn't happen.
For starters, the sun isn't up. At one in the morning, it's black as pitch outside. There isn't even a significant street lamp that could possibly startle the bird awake and make him think that it's time for the chirp-fest to commence. No, I assure you, it is quite dark outside. That typically happens at one a.m. In fact, it's quite reliable in that regard. Tonight's forecast: dark. Followed by scattered patches of light. Chance of bright tomorrow morning: 100%. This isn't exactly something new.
I'm no scientist, but I feel it's a pretty safe wager that this has been the pattern ever since Mr. S. F. Bird was hatched from his egg. He doesn't seem the worldly sort of bird that has visited the polar regions. Even if he had, at some point in his brief existence, traveled to the land of ginormous ice cubes, I'm sure the last six months here in the States would have set him back on track. So to this I would like to ask: what, exactly, Mr. S. F. Bird, are you chirping about or at? And from the (rather angry) sounds coming from your neighboring feathery friends, they're none too happy about your practice of the overture from Swan Lake during the middle of the night, either.
Although I suppose it could be argued that there is merely an insufficient number of swans in the local area to generate proper appreciation for the piece.
This is not to say that all birds are stupid. Not at all. Parrots seem to be quite quick on the uptake. But the term "bird brained" didn't just sprout out of nowhere. Today, I'm discussing the more "special" members of the winged communities.
I won't mention any specific species for fear of incurring the wrath of the PETA trolls. (Whoops, sorry PETA. That last statement could have been construed as insulting to trolls.)
Getting back to the point at hand.. Birds like to chirp in the morning. It's part of the sunrise ritual for many people, waking up to the sound of bird calls and songs that leave many cheerful and ready to face the day. I'm not one of those cheerful sorts. Nor am I a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. The only time I'm up at sunrise is when I have not yet gone to bed for the evening.
During these fine times, I use chirping birds for an entirely different reason: they let me know it's time to get my behind in bed. It's a good system, if a little odd. By now, I should hope you know that "a little odd" is a conservative way of describing my behavior.
Lately, however, there seems to be a new addition to the clan of birds outside my window at night. One of those "special" birds. I've given him a proper American name of S. F. Bird. The initials, of course, stand for Santa Fe.
Mr. S. F. Bird likes to randomly start chirping. That wouldn't be bad, in and of itself, should such behavior occur during Normal Bird Chirping Hours. No, S. F. Bird thinks it's time to chirp sometime in the vicinity of 1:15 a.m. I'm still awake at that time. That's not the problem. The problem comes from the fact that it gives me a rather alarming shock into thinking that it is four hours later than it actually is. I suppose I could liken it to Leno coming on at 7:30 for normal people. It just doesn't happen.
For starters, the sun isn't up. At one in the morning, it's black as pitch outside. There isn't even a significant street lamp that could possibly startle the bird awake and make him think that it's time for the chirp-fest to commence. No, I assure you, it is quite dark outside. That typically happens at one a.m. In fact, it's quite reliable in that regard. Tonight's forecast: dark. Followed by scattered patches of light. Chance of bright tomorrow morning: 100%. This isn't exactly something new.
I'm no scientist, but I feel it's a pretty safe wager that this has been the pattern ever since Mr. S. F. Bird was hatched from his egg. He doesn't seem the worldly sort of bird that has visited the polar regions. Even if he had, at some point in his brief existence, traveled to the land of ginormous ice cubes, I'm sure the last six months here in the States would have set him back on track. So to this I would like to ask: what, exactly, Mr. S. F. Bird, are you chirping about or at? And from the (rather angry) sounds coming from your neighboring feathery friends, they're none too happy about your practice of the overture from Swan Lake during the middle of the night, either.
Although I suppose it could be argued that there is merely an insufficient number of swans in the local area to generate proper appreciation for the piece.
Friday, June 8, 2012
On Necessary Warning Labels
About a week ago, I wrote about unnecessary warning labels. I also made mention that there were several warning labels which should stick around, such as informing an allergic carpenter that the drywall (s)he is installing may contain wheat products.
Pity the poor homeowner who may be allergic to wheat that buys the house at a later date and suddenly has allergic reactions during every home improvement project without knowing why.
Today’s post is not about products that can be (readily) found in the aisles at your local Lowe’s. It has to do with a far, far more sinister plague, one of which I have had the unfortunate experience of getting all-too personal with recently. This is a prime example of the sort of important messages which are missing from everyday products, which would be far more useful than restating the painfully obvious in small letters.
My box of fish sticks is missing a warning label.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s still plastered with the notice “Warning: Contains Seafood,” for which I am grateful. It’d worry me if it said “may contain seafood,” similar to a package of peanuts I once bought. That informational message is clearly visible above the ingredients list where the first item is minced fish.
The statement which is missing needs to say something along the lines of “Warning: Exceeding the Recommended Serving Size May Result In Your Colon Rehearsing the 1812 Overture.”
Worse, it wasn’t even on key. Apparently, exceeding the recommended serving size of cocktail sauce may make your post-intestinal happy dances tone deaf.
Now, I’m sure there are those amongst you whose first instinct will be to say, “But, good sir, you possess a reputation for indulging well past the suggested portion on a fair number of products,” which is true. In a reasonable scenario, I would agree with the fact that my dining habits would quite possibly be to blame for curious trumpet-like noises in the middle of the night. In this case, however, the recommended portion (for consumers on a 2,000-calorie-a-day diet) was three fish sticks.
My pinky finger is bigger than these sticks. Which leads me to another bone of contention: shouldn’t these be renamed “fish twigs?”
Pity the poor homeowner who may be allergic to wheat that buys the house at a later date and suddenly has allergic reactions during every home improvement project without knowing why.
Today’s post is not about products that can be (readily) found in the aisles at your local Lowe’s. It has to do with a far, far more sinister plague, one of which I have had the unfortunate experience of getting all-too personal with recently. This is a prime example of the sort of important messages which are missing from everyday products, which would be far more useful than restating the painfully obvious in small letters.
My box of fish sticks is missing a warning label.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s still plastered with the notice “Warning: Contains Seafood,” for which I am grateful. It’d worry me if it said “may contain seafood,” similar to a package of peanuts I once bought. That informational message is clearly visible above the ingredients list where the first item is minced fish.
The statement which is missing needs to say something along the lines of “Warning: Exceeding the Recommended Serving Size May Result In Your Colon Rehearsing the 1812 Overture.”
Worse, it wasn’t even on key. Apparently, exceeding the recommended serving size of cocktail sauce may make your post-intestinal happy dances tone deaf.
Now, I’m sure there are those amongst you whose first instinct will be to say, “But, good sir, you possess a reputation for indulging well past the suggested portion on a fair number of products,” which is true. In a reasonable scenario, I would agree with the fact that my dining habits would quite possibly be to blame for curious trumpet-like noises in the middle of the night. In this case, however, the recommended portion (for consumers on a 2,000-calorie-a-day diet) was three fish sticks.
My pinky finger is bigger than these sticks. Which leads me to another bone of contention: shouldn’t these be renamed “fish twigs?”
Monday, June 4, 2012
On Vending Machines
Our vending machines at my place of employment subscribe to this “healthier you” thing.
As you may have noted from my duties to aid your survival in the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse, dear reader, I don’t. As a matter of fact, one could say this healthy business is putting you at unnecessary risk.
However, while waiting for my meal to heat (a breakfast scramble consisting of eggs, sausage, cheese, home-fried potatoes, and gravy, of course) I couldn’t help but notice they had a system of check marks which were supposed to attract your attention to healthier choices.
Or, given the company name was completely unpronounceable, might that be Czech marks?
A blue check mark was to signify items with “less than 5g fat and 30% calories from fat per serving.” I couldn’t help but notice this color was completely absent from our vending machine.
A green one was to inform you that the product in question had “less than 15g carbs per serving.” While this might be of interest for carb counters on the now-defunct Atkins plan, I couldn’t help but wonder - wasn’t 15g of carbs more than the weekly allowance for the carb-conscious? I ponder this, of course, while checking the label on my breakfast bowl, which boasts 29g of carbohydrates. Yummy!
The last one, an orange check, was to announce that the product had “less than 100 calories per serving.” At first, I thought this was completely absent from our vending machine stock, which I found incredibly humorous. Then, I noticed a small string of them, one after the other, on the bottom row.
Five individual selections boasting the orange Czech mark.
All of them were chewing gum.
That made my giggling even worse. As though the machine were flashing a giant neon sign: “Attention, future survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse! We can satisfy your sweet tooth* for less than 100 calories per serving and at only twice market value! [*Disclaimer: The advertised product line is less than 100 calories per serving since you are not actually consuming anything.]”
In a way, I suppose these organizational check marks serve their purpose. As I’m browsing the contents of our snack dispensary, should I come across an item which is emblazoned with a proud blue, orange, or green angled logo, I know exactly what to do with it.
Pick something else.
As you may have noted from my duties to aid your survival in the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse, dear reader, I don’t. As a matter of fact, one could say this healthy business is putting you at unnecessary risk.
However, while waiting for my meal to heat (a breakfast scramble consisting of eggs, sausage, cheese, home-fried potatoes, and gravy, of course) I couldn’t help but notice they had a system of check marks which were supposed to attract your attention to healthier choices.
Or, given the company name was completely unpronounceable, might that be Czech marks?
A blue check mark was to signify items with “less than 5g fat and 30% calories from fat per serving.” I couldn’t help but notice this color was completely absent from our vending machine.
A green one was to inform you that the product in question had “less than 15g carbs per serving.” While this might be of interest for carb counters on the now-defunct Atkins plan, I couldn’t help but wonder - wasn’t 15g of carbs more than the weekly allowance for the carb-conscious? I ponder this, of course, while checking the label on my breakfast bowl, which boasts 29g of carbohydrates. Yummy!
The last one, an orange check, was to announce that the product had “less than 100 calories per serving.” At first, I thought this was completely absent from our vending machine stock, which I found incredibly humorous. Then, I noticed a small string of them, one after the other, on the bottom row.
Five individual selections boasting the orange Czech mark.
All of them were chewing gum.
That made my giggling even worse. As though the machine were flashing a giant neon sign: “Attention, future survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse! We can satisfy your sweet tooth* for less than 100 calories per serving and at only twice market value! [*Disclaimer: The advertised product line is less than 100 calories per serving since you are not actually consuming anything.]”
In a way, I suppose these organizational check marks serve their purpose. As I’m browsing the contents of our snack dispensary, should I come across an item which is emblazoned with a proud blue, orange, or green angled logo, I know exactly what to do with it.
Pick something else.
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