your bad

In the last week, I've received three formal apologies from co-workers. Two via email, one in person. Three apologies, each one stemming from a different confrontation, all in the span of a few days.

It's pretty strange.

If you've ever worked with me, you know I'm not the most confrontational person on earth. Even though I know that true progress often requires some degree of conflict, I will do almost anything to avoid it.

I want to do a good job and turn out a widget that the company can be proud of, but it is of almost equal importance to me that the widget-making process is an enjoyable ride for everyone involved. I want to laugh, I want to feel a sense of comradeship, I want lightheartedness and oh-well-we're-fucked-today-so-let's-make-the-best-of-it-edness. I want people to treat each other with respect and kindness and as corny as it is, I want us to feel like family.

I like most of the people I work with and I try not to give them any reasons to dislike me.

But this week, three times people blew up at me. And I kept my cool each time. I didn't back down, I didn't get pissy and petty (OK, one time I kinda did), I just basically stood there and made my case and let the other person go all wah wah wah. Twice a door was semi-slammed in my face.

Each time, the person came back and was all, I'm sorry.

To which I basically say: not good enough.

I mean, I get it. It's a stressful time for us right now and everybody's on edge. People don't see eye to eye on things, tensions rise, emotions surface, and suddenly -- WHAM -- an uncomfortable moment right there in front of everyone.

But c'mon you fuckers, grow up. Be cool. Internalize your stress, take on a few extra hypertension heart attack points. Don't pass 'em all to me. I treat you with respect. I discuss shit in calm tones. I sugarcoat my criticism of your crappy work. I give you every chance to do the same for me. And then I get the door in the face.

I am trying to figure out what led to this sudden barrage of contentiousness. I have come up with a few possible sources:

1. The Fat Face Theory -- there are a few supernatural forces which I grudgingly believe in. I believe that time actually flows at varying speeds, that there is a physical force, to this point unmeasurable by instruments, which makes some days go slower than others. Most of my evidence for this is that if you ask someone you know if the week or day etc. has gone by quickly or slowly, they will always have the same general sense about it as you, even if the two of you work/exist in totally separate worlds. I also believe that approximately once every six months I physically grow approximately 2 inches, a phenomenon known as "Giant Hans." It will usally last for a day or so. Others can testify to this. A third theory is that I am treated better by people when I am having a "handsome day." Do you notice that on some days your face is all bloated and fat, and others it is more slim and defined? Good, me too. When the face is slim, everybody's your best friend. And on those Fat Face Days, people seem to want to shit all over you. Perhaps I have been having a bunch of Fat Face Days in a row.

2. The Captain Pussy Theory -- I am too nice a guy and people feel they can lash out at me without repercussions. Later, they feel bad about it because they are ultimately decent human beings.

3. The Asshole Theory -- I have suddenly become more combative and that is why I am getting in more messy situations. I am a dick. I should be the one apologizing but am too arrogant to even consider this possibility.

4. The Random Chance Theory -- a few incidents that would otherwise seem largely inconsequential suddenly take on importance because they happen in quick succession.

5. The My Bad Theory -- I am just plain wrong in each case and since I have not backed down, people have gotten pissed. Whatever, I'm right.

Interested to hear your thoughts.

On a side note, within 24 hours of the first confrontation, a moment of supreme poetic justice landed on my adversary's head in such a perfect way that if you saw it in a movie you'd roll your eyes at its ludicrousness. I will savor it for a good while.

mr. shaw, i presume you've met mr. shank

damn, it's been a whiley while.

sometimes when you don't post anything for a long time you start questioning the merits of having a b-log in the first place. like, the world seems to be doing fine in the two months since i last posted, maybe i should just say fuckitall and leave this behind so i can concentrate on other more important crap.

but this time wasn't really one of those times -- this time i always felt like the next post was right around the corner and i was excited to make it. unfortunately work kept pounding me with body shots against the ropes and i haven't been able to wrestle myself free for an instant.

even now, time is short. starting tomorrow i have two weeks of concentrated hell at work. it's the final two weeks of the season and it's gonna take a hail mary or two just to get through it. fuck. and no hiatus after that, either. straight from hell into an extended shawshank -- something between 2 and 6 weeks at the old job. i am actually looking forward to it.

in the middle of all of this i have to decide what to do about next year. should i continue to allow myself to be victimized by 15 hour workdays and constant work-related anxiety? probably i should, right?

no, i don't think so.

i have my year-end review on thursday and some things need to be said. demands, complaints, sighs. it's going to be a shockingly uncomfortable 25 minutes. the good news is that as far as i am concerned, there can only be two outcomes. i get a much better deal for next year or i am done. no hard feelings towards anyone in particular, just that if a job can take as much out of a person as this one's taken out of me, there has to be some kind of reward.

i am ready for either of those two outcomes.

here are some things i've done, thought about, or encountered in the last month or two:

did you guys see this colbert-o'reilly thing last week?



that is pretty awesome -- I am really impressed that they can crank out stuff that joke-packed and good on a daily basis.

on the other end of the spectrum is this:


I just don't get olbermann. i thought he was lame and annoying on sportscenter, and now he's still lame but he's also taking himself too seriously. he's trying so hard to be provocative yet somehow he still manages to be boring. he talks like one of those guys who's real smart but too nerdy to be appealing on television, but when you listen closely he's just stating lowest common denominator obvious shit that's been said before. he's not smart, he's not interesting. he's just not good. he gets all worked up and then he never delivers any good blows. how can you tell the president to shut the hell up and still seem like a megadork? ask olbermann. i hate him the way i hate klosterman.

we had our wrap party at work. it was pretty fun, i got a few drinks in me and narrowly avoided stupid behavior. man it's easy to do stupid things when you are drunk. luckily this time i wasn't that guy. one nice thing was that a lot of drunk people came up to me and said incredibly nice things like, you've made this year bearable, you're one of my favorite dudes, etc. i couldn't help but agree with them.

one guy started talking about my dad being in heaven watching us. i know he meant well but it was pretty weird talk for an office party.

the yankees suck. i had meant to say that at the beginning of the year: "the yankees are gonna suck." i would have been right. i am not a girardi lover but i don't blame him for the slow start. you got stinky old dudes getting stinkier each year, and who do you bring in to make it better? nobody. they didn't bring in anybody at all. name one guy on this year's team who wasn't there last year and can be reasonably expected to make them better. you can't. now name a guy who they already had who you'd expect to be better than last year. maybe a couple of those young pitchers, but that's far from a sure thing. how did they expect this to work? time to get out the gold card and start buying some new dudes.

i read another book, it was good: play it as it lays. took about three hours. i am in an early 1970s state of mind. maybe i need to grow my stache back.

i got in a cab one night after a horrible day at work and sat down. i absentmindedly asked the driver how he was doing, just out of politeness.

"terrible," he said. "i got prostate cancer and i'm pissing in this bag (turns around in seat and shows me bag), i got 39 electrodes in my ass and i gotta sit all day. i can't get a fare this time of night, it almost doesn't even pay to stay out and work. i don't know what i'm gonna do. i was in the garment business but it went to shit. maybe i'll write. i have like three unpublished novels at home. steinbeck wrote a bunch of duds before he made it, too."

just like keith hernandez

We are coming out of the tunnel at work. I can feel it. The nights are slowly getting shorter. There is hope. There is laughter. There are awkward fist-bumps and calm coffee runs.

And, lucky me, I love the people I work with. Strong citizens of the world. Team players. Sarcastic, angry, prone to swearing, but righteous in their hearts and committed to the job at hand.

Plus, I have discovered one antidote to the long hours and the completely unexciting pay: I have begun openly drinking beer at work.

Here's how it goes: once the higher-ups filter out, around six or seven, I have decided it is officially OK to drink beer. Not a lot, just a couple. Maybe just one, depending on how precise my work has to be on that given night.

Even the higher-ups drink wine on certain occasions. My beer drinking is practically sanctioned. I might shotgun one at my desk tomorrow.

It makes things more better. Although it isn't helping me get skinny, and I have a big red gin blossom on the bridge of my nose.

Whatever, I am drinking beer at work. I got no worries. Are you drinking beer at work? You should be.

Although the other day I was in the middle of a beer and I left it somewhere in the office and was unable to find it. I don't think that's very smart. It's not Nancy's house party on the corner of Bassett and West Mifflin, it's a place of business and some people there don't even drink on the job. Keep track of your beer, son.

I think it is now just about safe to say that the Yankees will make the playoffs (I might regret that, but I doubt it) and if so, it has been the most enjoyable season in years. Well played, Yankees. Joe Torre, go win us a WS and step aside with dignity and grace. Mike Mussina, keep sprinkling the HGH on your wheaties for another month and then disappear. I still think it's a flawed team with only one and a half reliable pitchers, but the bats are scary and if they get hot they could do a little damage. As anyone with half a brain can tell you, the playoffs do not necessarily measure anything more than luck, timing and luck. Sad as it is, the best team does not always win. The regular season, 6 months long, full of twists and turns and injuries and slumps and underage girls from the hotel lobby and angry wives and bad food and long flights and 81 performances of "Cottoneye Joe" and repeated offenses of ignorance and malice by the sports media who read way more into every loss and win than they need to and clubhouse music arguments and facing every team a whole bunch of times, while less romantic and exciting than the postseason, is a better indicator of who is good and who is not. Consider the playoffs a fun little lottery that the best teams get to play in as a reward for being good for half a year.

Do you ever hear about something and you know you'll like it because it's right in the middle of your wheelhouse, and you get embarrassed at how predictable you are, so you don't check it out? That's how I was with The Hold Steady. Everything I heard about them excited me and reminded me of my own lameness. From Brooklyn via Minneapolis. Replacements fans. Springsteen comparisons. Nerdy emphasis on lyrics. I was ashamed of them and of myself. And then I broke down and I iTuned all their records. And I like 'em a lot. Dammit. The singer's speaky style gets super-annoying sometimes but overall I'm digging that shit.

This goal is 10 feet, bitches:

Photo by PBdotC

The Asshole Factor

If you're wondering where I've been, I'll tell you. Working. Way. Too. Much.

Last Friday night at 2am, I punched out and headed home after a 41 hour workday. That's right: I showed up for work at 9am on Thursday and didn't return until Friday night at 2am. That's 41 hours straight, no sleep, no poop, no special massage, no internets, no steakhouse dinners, no champagne, caviar, or bubble baths. No relief of any kind. I must have downed 18 cups of coffee in the 41 hours. Somehow, my bowels held up.

By the end of the 41 I was punch-drunk and wobbly and I had lost control of my thoughts and movements. Words were coming out of my mouth before I could think to say them, and as a result most of them made no sense. It was a really unhealthy, disorienting kind of fatigue/nausea/panic/depression that I can't quite describe. I think it's probably sort of what The Bends feels like. You tweakers probably know what I was dealing with. Same goes for doctors who's worked multiple shifts back to back, anyone who's ever been trapped in a building collapse, anyone who's watched a Real World marathon on MTV, and Jack Torrance.

As I groggily stepped into a cab at the end of this monstrous shift, the ass of my pants ripped spectacularly -- right up the seam, a good eight inches. It was all too appropriate.

I won't say any more about any of this other than how gratifying it was that all our efforts paid off: we saved that ten year-old boy's life.

Oh, wait...we actually didn't. We just made some stuff and sent it out to the people for consumption.

One thing I really wanted to do was an iPhone review, but I haven't had time. Now I have like eight minutes, so here goes.

Cons:
1. internet is painfully slow unless connected to wifi
2. rarely connects to wifi; how many hotspots are big enough to stay with you as you walk or drive around? zero.
3. cannot create your own ringtones by yelling stuff into phone
4. camera fairly well sucks; if you twitch or if your subject twitches you get a blurry piece of shit. if it's dark, you'd be better off just making a quick pencil sketch. however, if conditions are good, you can get a decent shot. here is a cute one of Baby Bungle:

5. touch-screen typing sucks, you must stare at screen to type and still get frequent key misses
6. vibrate mode is not vibratey enough, leading to numerous missed calls
7. ATT service sucks, leading to dropped calls, missed calls, and lots of what?-based conversations
8. need to press multiple buttons to dial a call
9. iPod interface kinda sucks. not enough controls handy and need to press buttons more than once to register a press all the damn time. then accidentally starts or stops playing at random moments because it brushes against a piece of lint in your pocket
10. battery does not last as long as they say it does, i forgot to charge the phone one night and it actually died the next day; this never happened to me before with a phone
11. The Asshole Factor: it is hard to walk around with a $500 phone and not feel like an asshole. As a result, when I make calls on it at work I find myself sneaking away so nobody can see it. I went to a bachelor party a few years ago for a friend who I hadn't seen much in recent years. There were some people I knew there and then some other dudes who I'd never met. One of these new dudes had some fancy-ass cell phone with a sliding spinning panel thing on it, and he kept showing it off and bragging about it. Finally, somebody (possibly me) made a sarcastic comment about it and he replied, "You have no idea how much pussy this phone has gotten me." I let this declaration of assholery stand instead of piling on top of it, a decision I now regret. Whatever, the point is that people who have $300, $400, or $500 cell phones are usually assholes. Pussy-gettin' assholes, but assholes nonetheless. So I need to distance myself from them -- I assume it will be easier now with the price drop and the ensuing ubiquity of the iPhone.
12. touch screen in general activates too often by accident, and not often enough when you want it to
13. no cutting and pasting
14. cannot use blogger for some reason
15. hands-free does not sound all that good

Pros:
1. Every time I hold it I feel so irrationally happy that I nearly pee myself.

That's it.

Seriously, I also like the voicemail interface a lot -- you can see a readout on the screen of your messages and choose which ones to listen to and in what order. And one thing I never thought I'd care about, but I do -- having all my devices in one unit. I love not bringing an iPod to work anymore.

There are lots of other cool grabby features and stuff but they get old after awhile. Overall I would say that I love having it but I expect the one that comes out in 6 months to be 85% better than this one (and cheaper, too).

hangin' downtown

It was a quick weekend, muggy and rainy and not much going on.

I went to a wedding on Saturday night at the South Street Seaport. Whenever I'm down there I feel a weird sense of nostalgia for a time and place I was never actually a part of. It feels like 1985 and I picture myself wearing a fancy suit, sitting outside at one of those interchangeable seaport bars, talking loud with my banker buds. Later we'd head out to The Tunnel and burn through a couple thousand dollars worth of coke before finally calling it a night around 5 am. That would be my routine: days spent on the trading floor, gambling with incomprehensible sums of other people's money, nights of aggressive debauchery and no time for regrets. Sleeping around and bragging about it and assholing my way through life with a guiltless, clueless smile on my face.

Too bad that I've never even taken one sniff of coke and I've never been to The Tunnel and in 1985 I was sitting nervous and alone on a park bench, wearing grey jeans, doing the Daily News jumble and trying to figure out how I was going to avoid failing out of school.

I totally screwed up the 80's. Oh well.

Anyway, the wedding was OK. It got started kinda late, so we ended up having to leave before dinner was served (it was 10:45 when we left). We were fringe invitees -- we got seated on the outskirts of the dining room at the Rando table: a hodgepodge of the bride and groom's work acquaintances and their spouses, all there because the happy couple felt obligated to invite us and we felt obligated to come. I like the groom, he's a funny guy and we get along. But I think he invited me mostly because I gave him a job a couple of years ago, and this wedding may well be the last time we see each other. That's OK.

One thing I saw for the first time, and it caught me by surprise, was people playing with their Blackberries at the reception. Maybe it was because we were a bunch of Randos and nobody seemed to care about us, but whatever the case two dudes (including a friend of mine) felt entitled to bust theirs out at the table in full view. One guy was a huge Red Sox fan, and he kept checking the score like every three minutes. He even pulled a move where he was checking the score with one hand and romantically caressing his girlfriend's hair with the other. Finally he gave up all efforts to be discreet and just parked his Blackberry on the table and stared at it for like 20 minutes straight.

I told him to relax, the Red Sox have all but locked up the division, and he shook his head and said, "No, we're gonna lose this game (Tampa Bay had tied it on a 2 run HR in the 9th), and I will not relax until the Yankees are dead, dead dead." I found his pussified Yankee fear to be quite refreshing. He was actually a pretty nice guy, so on the way out I tapped him on the shoulder to say goodbye. He looked up for a moment from his Blackberry.

"You heard about Ortiz breaking his ankle?" I said, with my best "sucks for you" look on my face.

I swear to you all the blood rushed from his face within half a second's time. I could see his mind racing: my life is ruined. what am I going to do now? why me? why us? why?

If I had then said, "Just kidding. But I did murder your entire family!" he would have let out a huge sigh of relief. Instead, I let him off the hook with a simple "just kidding" and went home. The Red Sox ended up winning the game in extra innings, so there was peace in The Nation that night. Thank God.

Today at work we had a bizarre unannounced four hour software training session, and we have another one tomorrow. It was right out of Office Space. I will spare you the details out of respect for the "you hadda be there" principle, but suffice it to say it was a mess: none of us knew why we were there, the poor trainer lady assumed we all had more familiarity with stuff than we did, and she ended up babbling on and on for twenty minute stretches without any of us having a clue as to what she was talking about. It was a lot of people staring at each other and stifling laughter. At one point when her back was turned I decided I was owed a nice full second eye-close. Unfortunately, that second turned into two seconds and then three, and suddenly I found myself asleep and lost in a dream. In the dream, I was standing on top of a tall ladder, neatly cutting lighting gels into beautiful oval shapes. It was satisfying. I woke up (what was hopefully only) like ten seconds later, and I made eye contact with the girl sitting across from me. She gave me a "Holy shit, I can't believe you just fell asleep in the middle of a meeting" look and then started laughing to herself in amazement. I think I sort of got away with it.

I'm sick of jobs.

Anyway, the best potato chip currently on the market is the Kettle brand Krinkle Cut Salt and Fresh Ground Pepper chip. It is right on the damn money. Simple yet completely unstoppable, just like Mariano Rivera used to be.

Caption this tool pic (25 GP's goes to the winner, and yes, our hero just emerged from the Apple store with one of the first iphones to be sold at that location):

brent barry: deadbeat scuzzball

I've been so very tired lately. Just counting down the daze until my hiatus rescues me. I have been working one (Shawshank) job from like 9am-7pm and then coming home and working on my other job from like 10pm-4am. So I would guess that at my best I am operating at 62% efficiency right now.

Last night I tried to stay up and work but got so burned out that I decided to treat myself to a ten minute break to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game I had DVR'd earlier in the evening. It was like 3am and I plopped down on the couch, honestly thinking I could go back to work after a few minutes. Of course I started drifting off to sleep almost immediately. You know that state when you are fighting to stay awake but like 80% of your brain has entered shutdown mode, and you keep waking up and trying to convince yourself that you can snap out of it, but it's a hopeless battle? That was me. Just cashed. Every few minutes I would open an eye or two and look at the TV screen. However, my powers of cognition were so depleted that I could no longer understand what it was that I was watching. Again: I ceased comprehending that there was a basketball game on. The last thing I remember was seeing Brent Barry and thinking, "Oh...that dude. I think he owes me money!" I repeat: I thought Brent Barry was an acquaintance who owed me money.

That is fucking tired.

Two more weeks of this crap. Two more brutal weeks and then it's moustachioed afternoons at the bar, bike rides down the WSH, dancing with bruised redheads in the park, and figuring out the rest of my life. Oh, and maybe some Doritos when nobody's looking.

The real reason I'm posting today is to alert you of two fresh pieces of digital content:

1) Season's first softball recap is live, thanks to PBdotC.
2) My good friend from college, redneck-thwarting bcny, has started a cool blog. Check it!

stubbed

Here's some stuff that happened over the last few days:

I saw a guy try to back his car over a gay deaf couple (deaf gay couple?). Whatever the terminology, it was insane. This maroon sedan was blocking the box on 14th street just to the southwest of Union Square. Suddenly he threw it in reverse and intentionally tried to hit these two dudes, who seemed to be minding their own business. They barely got out of the way and then they went after him. He sped away like a big chicken, leaving rubber on the street, and then he got stuck at a light and they caught him for a second before the light changed. One of the dudes punched the rear left panel of his car nice and good, but it didn't look like it left a dent. I secretly wished they had smashed his head like a melon.

Ten feet away, a cop tried not to notice. He was busy hassling street vendors.

The next day I stubbed my toe so hard that a 14 year-old kid in Dayton, Ohio started crying uncontrollably and had to be taken in for psychological evaluation. Sorry kid.

5 points for every attempt to finish that sentence: The next day I stubbed my toe so hard that...

3 entries max per person. Surely you can do better than the Dayton, Ohio business.

Today I (and a couple other people) fucked something up at work and it wasn't good. Big bosses found out. In fact, they were the ones that called it to my attention. I could have attempted some creative BSing and buck-passing, but I owned up. That's never a good idea. My stomach bounced and rolled and did The Hustle for about an hour, and then I moved on. There's worse things in this world than fucking up at work.

Here is a look at the field where my moustache will soon grow:

There are definitely some areas of concern. What do you think? Will it be a bumper crop or will I be reaching out for federal assistance?

Oh, and softball got frozen out. Next year will have to wait until next weekend.

Good Times Ahead

The other day when I was posting the whole "five things that determine how bearable your day job is" nonsense I think I shortchanged us all by not assigning point or percentage values to each of those things. I love making little numerical scales for all sorts of bullshit like that.

I do like keeping it simple, however. So for the Job Satisfaction Index, I will not weigh each category differently based on how important they really might be. Instead, each category will be worth 20 percentage points, bringing your maximum job total to 100 points. Once you get this total, say a 73 or whatever, you may then add plus or minus up to ten points for intangibles, those things that really cannot fit into any of the other five categories.

So here it is:
1) Good pay - maximum 20 percentage points
2) Good working environment/co-workers/bosses - maximum 20 percentage points
3) Low stress - maximum 20 percentage points
4) Fulfilling/Stimulating work - maximum 20 percentage points
5) Reasonable Hours/Time off - maximum 20 percentage points

Add those numbers numbers up and then add/subtract up to ten points for anything good or bad about your job that cannot be filed into one of the other categories (such as crsmal's "health risks").

Therefore a perfect job, like say highly-paid cheeto tester, would be like 110. Anything below 65 and you should be looking for something else. Unless you are profoundly unskilled and are lucky to even have a job.

***

Two facts that will make you feel extremely old:
1) Back to the Future came out 22 years ago.
2) Lindsay Lohan turns 47 this June.

***

The bad news in these parts is that my dad went back in the hospital after another low blood sugar episode. The good news is he's now out and he took home 100 clams for finishing second in the NCAA pool at my old job. Well done, pops. I watched the final with him in his hospital room and he let out a couple of woo-hoos when Fla. nailed big threes.One night when I was home from college on a break, let's call it 1990, a friend came over and together we consumed a bottle of vodka in about two and a half hours while sitting in my parents' living room listening to my sister's old records.

With all that booze inside us we decided it was time to go out and see if the world needed a hand with anything. We hit a couple bars, got to the point where if you knew us you would have politely excused yourself and gone home. We were obnoxious, unruly, and certain that we could do no wrong.

We finally left The Bar, bought a couple of Tall Boys to keep us company, and began walking down 3rd Avenue. We came upon a construction site and sauntered up to a rather large crane. The operator's seat was exposed, no locks or anything, so we climbed up and sat there, guzzling our beers and talking in the confident tones of drunk young men. At some point we became convinced that we should take the crane. How goddamn funny would that be? we reasoned. As we began plotting just what we might do with the crane once we figured out how to steal it (how hard could it be?), a concerned citizen came up to us and began yelling at us.

"Get out of there," he said. "I'm gonna call the cops."

I was pretty much ready to do as the guy said, but my friend yelled back, "Fuck you!"

And when you think about it, who the hell did the guy think he was, telling us not to steal a giant crane? Fucking balls on that guy. Mind your own bizznizz, boss.

The guy walked away, threatening again to call the cops, which I'm sure he did. My friend and I sat there for another minute or two, fumbling around halfheartedly for an ignition, before leaving, ON OUR TERMS.

Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that as I walked out of the emergency room the other night, I looked up at the crane that is being used to work on the hospital. This crane is literally like 500,000 miles tall. Literally. The point I'm getting at is that it's a very tall crane, taller even than the one we tried to steal all those years ago. And when I looked at it, its steel claw barely visible in the night sky, it came to me:

Nothing all that good would have happened if we had stolen that crane back in the day.

Imagine getting pulled over on like 57th and 6th, driving a huge stolen crane? You better have some quick excuses lined up, or you're looking at some major community service right there.

Baseball's back, I sorta care. And starting Sunday, softball's back. We all care about that. Thanks to all the fellas who came together and made it happen after a scary moment there.

Details to follow soon.

A request has been made for a GISG (rules below*). So here one is (10 GP's). Kinda easy, but we're just getting started. Also, here is a whodat (10 points). And I am thinking about having T-shirts made up for the three previous geniuses (cW, Joe M., smoker), but I can't think of a good design or slogan. I want it to include the word "verbungle" or "Hans Bungle" and some sort of proclomation of geniusitude. Like, "Verbungle Certified Genius" or some such. 25 points to anyone who can come up with one. It'll go right in the shop.

*Rules, originally printed here .
1. I will post an image, CLEARLY LINKED from this page, and that will be the image of the day.
2. Safesearch is off.
3. The goal is not just to submit a search term which brought up the image in question -- you have to guess the term my dirty little fingers actually typed into the search box, pretty much exactly as I typed it. I reserve the right to grant leeway.
4 The image must appear on the first three results pages for the search in question. I may trim that to one page if nobody gets any answers right.
5. There must be something visible in the image that makes it a logical (but not necessarily obvious) result for that particular search.
6. You can just guess shit if you want, or you can check your guesses on google before submitting them. Guess as often as you like.

soul suckin'

Unless you're a Rock Star, a Movie Star, a Sports Hero or a Bank Robber, you are pretty much doomed to bounce along through life in one of three ways:

1) Being told what to do and doing it;
2) Telling people what to do and making sure they do it;
3) Doing stuff in a relatively unsupervised setup, with occasional check-ins from a big boss but a large degree of autonomy. This scenario exists much more often in the movies than it does in reality.

Unfortunately, I hate doing #2 and I don't have any particular skill that will allow me to find a #3 anytime soon. It looks like I'll be a worker bee for life. And not even a highly-paid worker bee.

I really don't like managing people. They inevitably disappoint you, and then you have to confront them about it. Fuck that. Most people in the universe are by nature unskilled, lazy, unhappy and uninterested in their jobs. So you're bound to have like, a ton of confrontations. Who needs that? I'd rather have someone else confronting me about my poor work. I can take it!

If anybody's looking for a responsible, good-natured #3, let me know.

Here's some more working man's wisdom for you. When you are evaluating a current or prospective job, you should look for satisfaction in at least 2, preferably 3 of these 5 areas:

1) Good pay
2) Good working environment/co-workers/bosses
3) Low stress
4) Fulfilling/Stimulating work
5) Reasonable Hours/Time off

If you are getting 1 or 0, it's time to look for a new job. What are you at right now?

I am a little concerned about my upcoming moustache. There is a definite shortage of lip hair right underneath my septum. I might have to rock one of those two-part moustaches with a little gap in the middle. Will you still love me? Will you still love Oscar Gamble?


Of course you will.

O'Malley's Rule: Never Bet with Your Heart

From last Monday through this Sunday, my life was a 168-hour suckfest of the 19th order.

One week, countless humiliations, failures, aggravations, irritations, and anxieties. And I am completely spent now. I look and feel like a zombie with a tequila hangover.

Working a week at my old job was far far more unpleasant than I'd anticipated, and I'd anticipated it being quite unpleasant. It was good to see certain people but others acted like fuckweeds. I'll spare you the details.

I also repeatedly tripped on a stupid bunched-up rubber safety mat that had been improperly installed. This happened like 38 times. Once I actually fell forward and jammed both hands hard on the counter. When you're already in the middle of a crappy day, stuff like that really turns you into a raging maniac. Which for me meant that I muttered a few swear words, phoned in a complaint to the facilities department, and continued my business. But in another universe I stormed out of the room without saying goodbye to anyone, after kicking those who desperately needed it right in the balls.

In the middle of the shittiness of the work situation, I was further tested when Ma Bungle got stuck in Toronto for three days due to bad weather, leaving me to take care of Baby Bungle on my own. Thank God that she's such a good kid. She didn't give me any problems at all. Only a couple times did she even say "Mommy?" as in "Where the fuck is Mommy?" When she did, I would say, "Mommy's at work," and she'd nod and say, "work," like, "wow, mommy works hard for the good of this family and I for one appreciate it." What a kid.

The nanny helped cover some of the extra baby shifts, so on Saturday I rushed out of work to relieve her after what was probably the lamest day in my mediocre career. Not the hardest day but one of the most stressful and unsuccessful. A series of small calamities, some of which were unresolved when I bolted out of there. I hate leaving stuff in the air.

Ma Bungle finally got home at like 2am. Then this morning we had to do some stuff, which we did, and then I wanted to go home and watch some of the Wisconsin game on TV. Of course, a) it wasn't televised here and b) they shit the bed anyway. Serves me right for picking them. On the way home from our errands I stopped for a six-pack of Rolling Rock at the corner deli and the lady behind the counter had to look up the price on the wall (bad sign).

"$13.00," she said.

"$13.00?!?" I said. "I think there's some kind of mistake."

"No, no mistake," she said.

I shook my head and returned the sixer to the shelf. I've been buying Rolling Rock beer in New York City for over 20 years, and I am fairly certain that it is never $13 for a six-pack. The reason I buy it is because it is never $13 for a six pack. For more than five years it was $5.50 at the deli across from my shitbox apartment on East 9th street, although that six-pack was actually a 12-pack that the guy sawed in half to maximize his profits (and give us a good deal at the same time). Generally I don't think it should be more than $7 for a sixer, even at a deli. Although maybe I'm a couple years behind on that. Whatever the case, I went to Gristede's right next door to the deli and picked up a sixer for $7.58, which suddenly seemed like a bargain.

Ma Bungle did bring me back a nice gift from her trip, a pair of swanky headphones (pictured above). I am liking them much better than my previous pair, which occasionally sent mammoth electric shocks through my skull.

I am ready for some spring weather and some Yankee baseball.

The tournament thus far has seemed way suckier than usual. I haven't seen that much but it just seems dull. And somehow CBS only booked college basketball's best play by play man Gus Johnson for the first weekend, replacing him with snooze-inducer James Brown at the Sweet 16. Senseless. And that curmudgeonly prick Billy Packer and his terrifyingly bland partner Jim Nantz will get the big assignments as always. I just don't fucking get it. Sigh. I guess my memo of two years ago fell on deaf ears.

2 points for each thing you suggest that probably annoys Billy Packer, up to ten suggestions per person.

shankin like al franken

So I am halfway through my 6-day Shawshank Tour at my old job. It hasn't been easy. Not one thing in particular has ruined it, just a series of small bad things that at the end of the day make my brainial ulcer bleed. In short, there's some fucked up bullshit going on. But what can you do? The Man lays down the rules, the rest of us just try to get ours and get out before we get squashed. Only three days left. Only three days left.

Too bad Wisconsin lost their lanky honky. They might have done some damage in this year's tournament. Oh well, I'm still picking 'em to go to the Final Four, because that's what you do when your school is a 1 or a 2 seed. Otherwise the possibility of acute roundball regret is too scary. Usually you insulate yourself by turning in a second, less emotion-based bracket, but not this year for me. Too busy. Go Badgers! Do it for Rashard Griffith! Do it for Steve Yoder!

Get even more caught up in the hoophype with Dan K.'s Slate piece about the death of the bracketmaster. I was the bracketmaster at one time. I loved it and hated it and finally gave it up. And I don't miss it even one little bit. My wife will never let me forget our vacation in South Florida in 2003 (starting on 3/16 -- also note that that was verbungle.com's frist month of existence and that I was already longing for a moustache), when I wasted a significant portion of the trip holed up in the hotel room fixing glitches in my first-ever internet-based pool. Sorry baby.

Oh and nobody got MDillyhairmetalballaddat: the answer was Warrant's "I Saw Red." What was MDilly thinking? What was America thinking?