On the 24th day of Christmas

I’ve been away for a bit, but I got busy at work, then vacation came so it was time to step away from the computer for an “extended” break. (Just because my optometrist told me I need to step away from the computer occasionally doesn’t mean anything. Seriously, you guys, it doesn’t.) Over the last few weeks (fine, it was close to a month), life has been quiet. Thus, I stepped away. But I’m back now, and what better way to come back than open mockery of something sacred…

While visiting my family last week, Danielle and I saw this scene in the front yard of a house near my mom’s house. Behold:

Who knew that Santa visited Jerusalem?

I know a picture says a thousand words, but after “repent” and “materialistic” and “sinner”, I’m not sure what the other 997 words are that this picture is saying. Maybe it says something about how spry Santa is to still be traveling the way he is after 2000 years. Maybe someone could corner him and get a first-hand account of the birth of Christ.

Does that come with a samosa?

On Sunday, I finally decided that I needed a new toy. Being impatient when it comes to getting new toys, I logged onto Dell.com to find out when I could expect it to arrive. Dell surprised me when my order number returned a status of “No order was found that met the search criteria”. My first reaction was amazement and I was all “Whaaaaaaaaat?” I retyped my order number and customer number, thinking I’d made an error, but I hadn’t. I got the same result.

I tried again on Tuesday and received the same error. I checked the status of the credit card transaction and Dell had definitely taken the money from my account. I was concerned, so I called Dell’s customer support. After navigating through the menu system, a woman’s voice told me that Dell had no record of my order number, but if I’d placed my order in the last 24-48 hours, it might appear online or in the automated service. I grumbled but accepted that because I fit (barely) into the 48 hour window. I waited.

Yesterday, I checked online again and received the same “No order was found that met the search criteria” message. I didn’t think Dell was just going to steal my money, so I called for an explanation. After navigating through the now tedious menu system (note to Dell: when I push the button for order status, I do NOT want to be rerouted to K-12 sales), a woman put me on hold while she directed me to the right destination.

Eight minutes later, I arrived in that destination, which turned out to be India. I have little problem with outsourcing jobs because I believe that, although there are economic swings to each extreme, capitalism works effectively to restore equilibrium. Outsourcing will not be the death of the free market. However, that telephone call sounded as though the customer service representative and I were holding tin cans with a thin thread stuck through the bottom of each can. I made that call on December 8, 2004. (It was December 9, 2004 in India, which means I called the future. Time machine!) No business call should sound like that. I intend to give that call a 1 on the 1 to 9 scale when Dell asks me to fill out a survey. Behold the corrective power of the free market.

P.S. She found my order and gave me the details, but she couldn’t resolve the reason why my order was non-existent on the web and the automated phone system. Alright, so that’s not entirely true, since she did offer a theory. I quote: “It was probably just some error on your part.” I smacked my head and said “why didn’t I think of that?”

Fifteen by February

Infinity Broadcasting’s Chief Operating Officer, Joel Hollander, made some interesting comments yesterday concerning Howard Stern’s impending (if 12 months away can be considered impending) move to Sirius Satellite Radio. Consider:

“If you give me a check for about $100 million, I’ll take him off tomorrow,” Hollander said. “I certainly don’t love the fact that he’s on the air talking about satellite radio. But it is overblown, in fairness to him.”

To an extent, I agree with him. Allowing Howard Stern to talk about the move isn’t great for Infinity, but people are listening and ratings translate to advertising dollars. I’ve read rumblings that Sirius and Infinity may strike a deal to release Howard Stern from his contract, but I doubt it. There’s too much money to make in the next year before he moves to Sirius, which means twelve more months of status quo.

That doesn’t mean the Mr. Hollander is smart. Aside from the fact that Infinity stations air commercials for XM during such high profile shows as The Don and Mike Show, which is like Coke allowing Pepsi to pay to have its logo displayed on every can of Coca-Cola, Mr. Hollander sounds a lot like cable television skeptics from the early 1980’s who questioned whether or not people would pay for television when they could get the networks for free. Five hundred channels later, the argument is ridiculous. Consider:

Brought in last year to turn the Viacom unit’s lagging revenue growth around, Hollander expressed respectful skepticism about Sirius, and satellite radio in general. He said the rise of both XM and Sirius shares is the result of “irrational exuberance.”

Satellite radio is a viable business, according to Hollander. “I just think it’s a boutique business; I don’t think it’s a mass appeal business.

“And that’s why I think people are going to come back to [traditional] radio. It’s survived every new technology advance of the last 50 years. It’s not going away. It’s still a $20 billion business. And the irrational exuberance is that there’s [sic] 290 million people that [sic] listen to radio every day in the United States, and [satellite radio has] 4 million subscribers.”

Terrestrial radio is free and abundant, but there’s a flaw in Mr. Hollander’s argument. Terrestrial radio sucks. Now that I have Sirius in my car, I never listen to regular radio (aside from Don and Mike and Howard Stern). Every radio station I hear has the same characteristic flaws: repetition, commercials, and annoying DJs. I want music or talk, not both at the same time. When I want music, I want to hear a variety of songs, including songs I’ve never heard. What terrestrial radio gives is the same rotation of Jessica Simpson and Usher. When I want talk, I want uncensored (though not “blue” for the sake of being “blue”) talk. What terrestrial radio gives is lame-ass family-friendly noise.

Terrestrial radio is virtually useless to me because it lives by the mentality of the target audience, the holy grail of free entertainment. But I don’t care about demographics. I’m a 31-year-old male with a girlfriend who isn’t inflatable and a real job that doesn’t require me to say “Thank you, drive thru“, yet I rationally worked out a plan to fly to England for a weekend to see Busted perform in London. (Which didn’t work out because of that stupid real job. Damn you, Responsibility!) The only way I’m a typical listener is that I’m not a typical person.

Sirius doesn’t focus its playlist based on my demographic because, rather than chasing me with what some poll tells them I want, they let me find the playlist I want on any of the dozens of music stations. In my unscientific survey, which means I asked everyone I know who subscribes to satellite radio, no one who tries satellite radio is willing to give it up. To every person I ask, not one of them can imagine going back to terrestrial radio. I pay my $12.95 every month and that’s all the proof they need that they’re doing something right. Terrestrial radio would play some Busted for me, but not before trying to sell me a black mini-skirt, a tube of glitter-filled body spray, and the latest Orlando Bloom movie. Where’s the mystery?

What’s next? Canceling Alias?

Dear ABC Sports:

Yes, I know that Miami is a good team, but when the Hokies can finish NO WORSE than ACC co-champions after this game, we do NOT have to go into Miami and “STEAL” the championship. That’s Miami’s task. Acknowledging that is unbiased journalism. You might consider practicing it.

Also, learn to pronounce the players’ names. And our university’s name is NOT pronounced as “Vah Tech”. It is shortened in writing as “Va Tech”, but it’s pronounced “VIRGINIA TECH”. When you spoke with the coaches and players, did anyone say Vah Tech? No. When you pronounce Va Tech as “Vah Tech” instead of “Virginia Tech”, you think you’re being witty but you’re just being ignorant. Stop being ignorant.

You can’t even keep the broadcast live because you’re experiencing technical difficulties. When was television invented? It’s 75 degrees and sunny in Miami today, so weather isn’t the issue. You should be ashamed.

At least I’m not having to listen to the stupid announcers.

Thank you Bite me,

Tony

Real men don’t read instructions

Walking back to my office this afternoon, I had to do a quadruple-take at a man stepping onto the curb from a Metro bus. Disembarking from a bus should be uneventful, but the man I saw attempted it with an unfolded walker in his arms. When he stepped down each step, he continued to hold the walker in front of him. His only effort was to balance it between the doors in front of him. He didn’t grab the exit handrail. No one held his arm to steady him. He just held his walker in front of him and took each step with determination.

I’d at least expected him to use it to steady himself once he stood on the bottom step. Alas, he didn’t; he continued to hold it in front of him as he stepped onto the pavement, as though the walker might be his shield against normal human beings. Once standing on the sidewalk, he walked away from the bus. I turned around to watch where I was walking since I didn’t want a cobblestone to jump out and attack my feet. (I hate it when that happens.)

After a few awkward steps down the sidewalk myself, I had to look back. I needed to see how fast he was shuffling down the street. He hadn’t seemed to need the walker since he’d balanced himself on the steps so well. I looked back to see him still walking, pushing the unfolded walker out in front of him. In an obvious effort to mock me, he used the walker correctly as he shuffled slowly towards the intersection – if “correctly” means holding the unfolded walker six inches above the sidewalk.

You stupid, stupid… silly little person

I read a column today by Bill Simmons in which he discussed his recent back injury-induced guilt-free TV weekend. He watched many, many episodes of bad television over the Thanksgiving weekend, including the most recent episode of The Apprentice. I loved The Apprentice when it started, but my interest is fading fast. The boardroom scenes are forced and painful to watch. My opinion about The Apprentice matches Bill Simmons’ comments about Desperate Housewives.

Whenever it comes on, I always end up leafing through a magazine or checking my e-mails — it just can’t keep my attention, kinda like this column for you right now.

Exactly, which confuses me when Mr. Simmons’ so absurdly imposes this opinion on me, the innocent connoisseur of fine television programming:

And like everyone else, I enjoy the boardroom challenges and wish they made them longer — maybe even a 90-minute show or something. What’s the downside of going to 90 minutes? “Joey” gets moved to another night? I think people would survive.

I could theoretically accept the idea of moving Joey to another night (may I suggest Wednesday nights, just before Alias), but I vehemently disagree with the notion that no one cares about Joey, or worse, that no one should. I laugh out loud during every episode. Some episodes, that means laughing at how funny the jokes are because they’re funny. The other episodes, that means laughing at how funny the jokes are because they’re not funny. In recent weeks, the former is happening in greater proportions than the latter. And we’re so grateful for that.

When the inevitable DVD release of Season 1 arrives, all the critics will watch and laugh and be all “Whaaaaaaaaat?” I’m telling you, this will happen.

Being a Fabin is not always easy

A few weeks ago, I enjoyed the wondrous occasion of Veteran’s Day. Since I work with, but not for, the federal government, I have to work that day if I want to get paid. However, the federal holiday is the most peaceful day to work because there are no distractions. And I get to wear whatever I want. It’s that rare day when I can chuck the tie and tie on the Chucks. I love it.

So, leading up to Veteran’s Day, everyone I work with got an e-mail proclaiming November 11th as “Casual Day”, which is better than “Business Casual Day”. When the 11th arrived, I wore casual; meaning, I wore jeans, a Virginia Tech t-shirt, a long-sleeved pullover t-shirt from Old Navy (my new favorite shirt), and my favorite shoes, the blessed maroon Chucks. (Someone must be happy right now that I have an actual Favorite Pair of Shoes&#153. I digress…)

Everyone else at work wore the standard DC yuppie uniform consisting of a black shirt, stylish jeans, and hip shoes. The other four guys I work with noticed the difference. Jason said that I would “fit in on any college campus in America.” I remarked on the “uniqueness” of their clothing before thanking him for the compliment. My brother (yes, I work with my brother… quaint, no?) rolled his eyes and shook his head, a vey common reaction to my style and interests.

I don’t do stylish because I don’t care. I like what I like and that’s fine. If I catch a trend or fad, that’s a bonus that means nothing to me. If I still like it when the trend or fad is gone, I’m going to continue wearing it because I never realize that the fad is over. I’m not cool because I’m dense to shifting trends. Ain’t that just the shittiest luck?

Last weekend, I caught a lucky break. In the new issue of Details (December 2004), Whitney McNally wrote a helpful fashion article in the dossier / style section (Pages 88-90) titled “It’s Time to Chuck the Chucks”. Now I know ahead of time that I’m behind the times again. Please wait while I take a moment to cry… sniff, sniff…

After wiping away the salty bitterness, I wondered what a square 31-year-old male could do to catch up. I read the article. So that you may be style-educated, consider this useful explanation:

“It’s the same thing as the punk movement,” says Jim Merlis, former publicist for the Strokes. “Everyone wants to dress differently, and they wind up looking exactly alike. I walk down the street and I always think I’m spotting Albert or Fabrizio. And I worked with them.” Merlis himself started wearing the sneakers in the spring of 1990 but recently untied his Chucks because of their ubiquity. He’s moved on. To Puma.

After I invested all that money in Chucks, I need to toss them out and buy some Pumas? How did I miss this? And fuck, I don’t even know who Albert and Fabrizio are. I need some remedial coolness help. Now! I continued reading, only to discover that Whitney must be a superhero with a cape, because the answer is in the article. Can you believe that, the kindness of a stranger stepping in to save me from making an ass of myself? Telling me that the trend is over and then explaining what to do about it? You rule, Whitney McNally! God bless Details.

So that you may know, I present THIS:

“Having endured the saturation of trucker hats and vintage rocker tees, we all know where that ends up. “How edgy are they when you see them on 10 guys on the train?” asks Michael Bastian, men’s fashion director at Bergdorf Goodman, who approves of Converse only if they’re worn with chinos in a preppy-casual way – preferably on an island, far away. And as [Ermenegildo Zegna fashion director Djordje] Stefanovic reminds us, it’s the accessories that make the man. Which means that unless you can dress them up with Drew Barrymore and a mike, lose the Chucks.

If only I had Drew Barrymore’s phone number and a bit of musical talent, I could continue wearing my Chucks. Alas, I’m screwed. Whitney makes it very clear with this sentence:

In short, Converse are fine for guys who think ramen noodles are cuisine – but they’re not for grown-ups anymore.

Wait a second… Really? Really? No, you’re kidding me? There’s a loophole in the death of the trend? Holy crap, I feel like I’ve won the lottery and I didn’t have to buy a ticket. I get an exemption because I’m not a grown-up. I’m really just a 12-year-old girl.

The early bird doesn’t get the “Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra”

He sees the light.I got a wonderful treat yesterday on my journey to work. Like every day, I rode Metro, America’s Subway Worst Mass Transit System&#153. As if up-close people-smelling-watching was insufficient, there’s occasionally a major bonus. I am, of course, speaking of The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153. That guy kicks ass.

I admit that my humor isn’t always completely politically correct. I laugh at Kim Jong-Il’s misappropriation of “R” and “L” in Team America: World Police. I laugh at the singing waiters at the end of A Christmas Story. It’s an easy stereotype, but funny is funny. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is funny. He brings a smile to my face.

Even more than The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153, I’m amused by everyone else on the train. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is the big pink elephant in the room that no one wants to admit to seeing. There is a guy breaking the morning monotony with an uninvited intrusion into our minds and everyone shifts into “stare at the floor and it’ll go away” mode. I love people-watching so much that I feel like my day has an unexpected sheen to it when I witness my fellow travellers enter this mode and avoid eye contact with The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153. It’s hilarious and stunning. Yesterday, no one disappointed me.

Taken in that context, today’s commute to work was the Christmas morning of uncomfortable denial. Two stops into my subway ride, The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 stepped on and began his routine. I didn’t see this because I was sitting at one end with my back to the center of the train. I couldn’t see The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 because he stands in the middle of the train. But I heard him when he let that first note fly. Damn, I thought. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is singing and I can’t watch everyone be uncomfortable. In the next moment, I heard the joy go higher.

A woman behind me started screaming “WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP, THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO READ! YOU’RE BEING VERY RUDE!” She screamed this for the next 2&#189 minutes. One-hundred-fifty spectacular “Oh my God, will this just end please” seconds. I put my book down and listened to the entire glorious debacle. I smiled my biggest Joker smile, so unabashed that I bordered on being rude. The only way this morning could’ve been better is if one of my fellow travellers had joined in the song. (Note to my fellow Washingtonians: try harder. One of you has this in you.)

I bet The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is SO ronery when no one takes him seriousry.

Cowboy Cookies are better than Best Buy cookies

Dear Best Buy:

Your website is a disaster.

First, you require that I have cookies enabled to view any link on your weekly ad. Ignore that this will open my computer to any and all malicious attackers on the internet, this is excellent policy.

Next, when I load the weekly ad, on the rare occasions when the images load, they load the first half before stopping. I appreciate this because graphics are overrated.

Next, when the image on a page of the weekly ad fails to load, I must restart my browser. Even though clicking refresh would be easier, I appreciate that you’re looking out for the physical health of my fingers by requiring them to get that little extra exercise.

Finally, you bury the “Contact Us” link deep within the site map, leaving it off the front page. I can only assume you chose to do that because you needed the extra space for the essential “Conditions of Use” link, which is good because I don’t know how to use a webpage. This is helpful because my investigative skills were a little rusty, so having to dig around to find the link helped rejuvenate my mind.

Keep it up and I might start hiding my money in my wallet rather than handing it over to one of your wonderfully distracted cashiers. Of course, that would save the mouth-breathers the effort of putting the coins on top of the dollar bills, which I would miss. Because, you know, I really like having to juggle my change. It’s no fun if I don’t have the danger of dropping it all over the floor.

Thanks,
Tony