She came in through the bathroom window

Well, replace "the bathroom window" with "my windshield" and "She" with "A brick" and you have my day pretty much summed up. Yep, first the $400 furnace repair and now a $180 charge to fix my windshield because some dude(s) thought it would be totally rockin' to hurl bricks through car windows.

At first we though it was just us, which is kinda scary, since brick-throwing seems like serious business. But as it turns out around a dozen cars in the area had the same thing happen. Good times.

And I didn't even know about it until this afternoon. We got some furniture delivered today and the guy comes to the door and says, "Hey man sorry about your windshield."

"What about it?"

"It's...it's totally smashed in."

"Really?"

"Yeah, didn't you see it when you went to work?"

"I'm unemployed."

"Oh! So it's not really much of a setback then I guess. Well that's lucky."

The hole in the windshield was almost cartoonish, I mean, it was the exact shape of a brick. Perfectly rectangular. Like when some character runs through a wall at high speeds. So now I have the repairmen coming out tomorrow and I really hope they vacuum up all the glass because I totally didn't. That's just too much for one day.

And I want to be angry about it, but it's more relief that we aren't the target of some nutjob. The whole story (not my story in particular) was on the news, too, and all the people seemed to feel the same way. They didn't say it outright, but you could tell they were all happy that it wasn't that one person from their past who they had wronged.

"Well Gene, I guess I'll take it to the body shop for repairs, darn it! (and thank you for not being Dave Kowalski that guy I ran over in high school and never visited in the hospital)"

Every cloud, man, every cloud.

On schedules

Being out of work has really thrown me off my schedule. You know, like 1) Shower 2) Go to work. Both of those have kinda been thrown to the wayside recently. Well, come next week I'm getting back on track. Here goes:

1) Wake up at 8am
2) Work out (I'm gonna be ripped, yo!)
3) Have tea
4) Sleep till 11am

That's all I have so far. But hey, it's a start.

Tragedies come in threes, yes?

So yesterday I lost my job, which sucks a little but isn't the end of the world. Then last night, around 7:30, the power goes out. Poof, just like that. And just our block. Not across the street, not the next block over, just our single block.

It wouldn't have been so bad except it was around 12° outside and by the time the power came back the thermostat was down to around 55°. Not cool when you have parrots in the house. But, power came back, everything's cool right?

WRONG! Wake up this morning around 7am and it's cold yet again. And our bedroom is the warmest room in the house, but it's chilly even in there. Power's on, though, so what could be the problem? Oh that's right the furnace.

So I go down there, restart the furnace twice causing it to then lock itself out to keep from flooding. I call the oil company, they say they'll have someone out by noon. Noon! And it's 7:30am, around 60° inside, 16° outside.

Long story short (too late!) the guy arrives around 10, which is awesome, and he's this older, kinda crazy dude who, by his own words, "went to bed at 4 and woke up at 4:30." So he's ready for action.

He's so old-school he talks to the furnace like it's a woman and refers to it in feminine terms. "Come on baby, what's wrong with you?" "That's it baby, do it!" "You treat her right, she'll treat you right." "That ain't my child! Who you screwin'? Who you screwin'?!" That kinda thing.

It turns out the line into the house is frozen solid, and not even his Tim Burton designed double-action brass hand-pump can budge it. He then decides to dump into the tank, and force up the line, some de-icing chemical they use in Mack trucks. We wait a few minutes for it to work its magic. Nothing.

It's at this point I show my own mad chemistry skills. "How about if I use a hair dryer on it?"

"That might work, man. Some people try using a butane torch on frozen lines, you know."

"Yeah I wouldn't do that."

"Good thing, it'll ignite the whole tank."

"Oh I just meant I'm afraid to use butane torches. But that other part too."

The tech heads back to the car to make a call, so there I am out by the tank with a tiny little off-brand hair dryer, my hands turning red from the cold (and the periodic hair dryer treatments to keep them from freezing), and I realize after about thirty minutes of this that the guy hasn't come back yet.

Luckily his truck's still there with him it, with his shirt off, drinking some iced tea.

"Oh hey," I say like nothing's wrong, "you think this'll be done in the next hour or so? If not my birds are gonna, like, die."

"Hey man, sure thing, I'll be right out. I gotta go anyways, it's like a sauna in here."

So back he comes, bouncing through the gate, steam rising off him, and he's carrying what appears to be a giant bamboo pole, like he's got an audition with Cirque du Soleil right after this. He jabs it down into the tank a couple of times, exclaims, "We're free!" and rushes back down into the basement.

I can't even make it down before he yells it again and starts putting everything back together. "Knocked loose some ice up there that was in the tank. She's all ready to go now, man!" And sure enough, in about five seconds the whole thing is up and running, no clogs, no muss, no fuss.

"Okay, just one second and I'm going to come back with a bill so large that even employed people would be shocked." And he did. And I was. But boy, it sure is nice to be warm again.

Jooooblesssss

So now I'm essentially jobless.

I work(ed) over at the ol' Circuit City, which went into liquidation today. Sad times. Not so terrible for me, I guess, I mean, I get 60 paid days off (for now), tax refund time is coming up, and, the best of all, since my dad died I get half the estate.

I won't be some kind of millionaire or nothin', but I'll have enough to get by for a couple extra months. Surely(!) that will be enough time to find a job. Even in the worst economy, people still need websites right? That's what they did back in the 30s. Except the websites were more like wooden tables covered in day-old fruit. Not so much different really.

Usually I'm such a pessimist, especially when it comes to other people; but when it's my future at stake, suddenly I'm the opposite. I figure it'll all work out in the end. Usually does for me; I hear I'm lucky, but who knows.

This last job I got the same day I lost the one before, so I guess that's pretty lucky. The one before I got just about right after I'd lost the previous one to that. Of course, I also have a trail of failed companies on my resume, but oh well, I wasn't in charge.

I sometimes wonder, when I'm feeling particulary narcissistic, if me being there caused the company to go under. Not in a direct way of course, I work hard and have a high output, but if in some cosmic way my presence is the death knell. Like I'm the Ted McGinley of the corporate world.

I smell a book title.

Foster's: It's Australian for regional adjustment

I like Foster's. Not the blue one, the traditional can, but the hunter green and gold one. It used to be called "Extra Special Bitter". ESB. Is it bitter? Oh yes. And way better than the regular blue, uh, not-so bitter variety.

But somehow, within the past few months, the name has changed. It's no longer bitter, apparently, but rather "Premium Ale". What they've done is removed the option to choose based on type of flavor and replaced it with a challenge to your ability to taste better flavor.

Obviously Premium is better than not Premium, yes? That's what the word premium means, it's better than those other shitty varieties they have. Yet it costs the same. I find this interesting.

Foster's is almost daring you to buy the version which is, by their own definition, not as good. "Hey listen man, it's up to you, we're giving you two monetarily equal options. Do you want a full-bodied, rich flavor that comes in a can instantly recognizable to every beer snob in town? Or would you rather have 25.4 ounces of hangover in a container which says little more than 'I have no shame.'? It's up to you, friend, we don't judge."

I'm sure the real reason it happened is some lame marketing guy with nothing better to do starting making generalizations based on talking to no one. You know, oh Americans are turned off by the word "bitter" so let's call it "premium" because Americans always want to buy what they think is the best. Or some bullshit like that.

It's annoying because if someone is looking for a bitter beer, it's real easy to choose when it's written right there on the label. Nobody goes looking for a "premium" beer. And I have asked people about this, marketing guy! I have paperwork and multi-colored folders!

If you'd taken your generalizations a little further you would have realized Americans see the word "premium" and it may as well say "just another". That's how jaded we are! You cannot impress us with such juvenile adjectives.

I know this battle is lost, so I just have one suggestion. And this is cross-promotional. Please attach a little packet of ibuprofen to the blue cans because, seriously, they cause the absolute worst hangovers in history.

Oh hey wait now, rename Foster's Premium to Foster's NH for "No Hangover", then charge a buck more per can and watch that sweet, sweet alcholic money roll in! Now that's how to make a profit.

Fantastic Restaurant Idea #1

Why can't I order a meal to eat-in? You can get to-go and delivery orders till you're blue in the face, but I've never seen anywhere offer phone-ahead dine-in ordering. You can call ahead for reservations at some places, but why can't you just go ahead and place your order then?

I understand some places have daily menus and all but why can't I call up, for instance, Curry House and say, "I'm on my way there now and I'd like a big-ass dosa."? People are always bitching about how long it takes to get the food wherever they are, this would cut that right on out.

And it's not like it'd be that hard to do. Just do it the same way you take a to-go order. Give a name, a time, and there you are. Maybe you can do it, just nobody does; I don't know.

Hell, it would make restaurants even more money because you'd have a higher turnover rate on tables in a given time. Man, if I had a restaurant you'd have to call ahead or it's a no go.

"Party of two, of course sir. And what did you order this evening? Oh, you haven't ordered yet? Perhaps you could wait at the bar until you've decided." It's fucking gold, man!

Welcome to [insert bank name here]

So I go to the bank today to deposit a check I've been meaning to deposit for the past week or so, and man, they are just too friendly in there now.

As soon as you walk in it's "Hi, welcome friend, how are you today?" And I'm a nice guy, right, so I act like I've known them forever and say, "Oh I'm okay, how are-" but by then they've turned back to their co-worker and are talking about something I can't hear.

Then I mosey on up to the waiting line but, since I'm the only person in there, I have a triple threat of tellers before me. I never know where to walk in these situations, so I usually just slow down to a near-standstill until someone calls me over. I hate playing favorites.

I mean, I knew...well, I mean, I don't "know" any of them. I've never split a bottle of whiskey and opined on the meaning, the real meaning man, of life, with any of them. But I have experienced their existence previously. Close enough.

Anyways, the teller on the far left calls me over and is all smiles and "What I can do for you today?" and "How may I serve you, sir?" and "May I have water if it please you" and all that, and I play it cool, right. I just want to deposit this check and get on the road to my Taco Bell lunch (two seven-layers minus cheese & sour cream, with rice on the side. Rice was a waste.).

So I deposit my check and I'm leaving and the same woman from on the way in says, "Thanks for banking with us, have a great day!"

"Hey, you too, have a-", and she's back to talking, so I head out and I'm thinking, why are they so nice? Can I do any more banking with them? Do they think I have a pile of cash sitting around and I'm just some a-hole thinking, "Well, I would invest with you, but you just haven't shown me you really want my business."

No! You're my bank, I have to deposit with you or I don't get my money. Sure I could switch banks, but that's a fucking hassle and it's not like they spit on me when I come in or anything. It's like these fast food places that insist on calling me by my first name when I place an order.

"Graham, your order's ready!" "Enjoy your meal Graham!" Please stop doing that, man, it's too personal. I'm not going to act like we're on some commune and be like, "Thanks Kevin, I'll let you know if I need anything!" It's stupid and facile.

Just treat me like a customer. You don't want to get all caught up in the psychology of friendship just because you want me to start a savings account or make it a combo.

It's a new year, a new desk

Okay the desk isn't new, but it's in a new place. I now have my work desk in a place I can actually work now. That means I can get distracted by a whole new set of things to work on. I have my pads of drawing paper, all my pens & inks, my lino blocks and cutting tools, all manner of balsa and X-acto knives, the whole deal.

Plus it's January, and I can start fresh without guilt on so many projects I can't even begin to imagine. I still want to build my 3D board game, work on a comic, make some block prints, and do some for real drawings. And work on the website to make it not so devoid of content.

Oh man, I love the idea of a new year! They should do this more often.