Now that I have lost both my scoring center jobs for the season, I am forced to go back on the dole. But I forgot to do it until Friday, and unfortunately for some odd reason the website is up only from 6 till 6 Monday through Friday.
I am familiar with the application process. One of the things I remember foremost is that it can be quite involving, and you might need information that you'll need time to look for -- a problem if I want to get this down by the end of this week, the first of my unemployment. (What I don't know is what will happen if I don't get this done the week of me not having a job. There's a possibility that I won't get benefits because of that.) So I needed to get this done Friday afternoon.
But where? Filling this out means sending over sensitive information, the foremost being my social security number. I trust the security of my home Internet. But the goddamn, motherfucking thing remains very spotty. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the wires, but lately I haven't been able to get a solid, consistent connection while at home. Something like that might be deadly when trying to fill out the application.
One other thing: I don't want to be home when my folks get home. I keep telling them I'm at "work," so I have to be out of the house for at least several hours in the afternoon to maintain the lie.
So I decided to do what I think is mighty dangerous: Fill out the unemployment reapplication at a public space, the library. I don't want to do it, but in a time crunch and worried about Internet connections, I didn't really have a choice. Besides, I needed to go to the library to print out some letters for Father because the fucking printer still doesn't work.
The one thing I realize once I get into the application at the library: It's been so long since I applied that I forgot all the information that they want. So after getting, oh, halfway through, I had to stop because there was no way I could fill it out. Then I realize that the info I need might be at home. But then I realize that I can't come home too early. And then I realize that I need to complete this by 6. Fuck me. So I get out of the library at around 5.
I come home to the commotion of workers tearing up the kitchen. That morning I was woken up to by the sound of chainsaws and general tearing-up noises. Father didn't tell me he was renovating the kitchen that day. More on this later. Anyway, I immediately unpack my laptop, but goddamn, I knew this would happen, the fucking modem is on the fritz. Maybe this time it's all the (de)construction out in the kitchen that's somehow fucking with Internet.
For about a half-hour I dealt with cut-off connections and waiting for them to reconnect. I quickly start to lose my mind and my bearings; once I get back on I fill out erroneous information that I have to spend to going back to and correcting.
I'm getting pressed up against the 6 o'clock shutdown date. I review the application one last time before sending the whole thing in, and with a short and disquieted sigh that doesn't completely believe I'll get money, I hit enter at 5:58 p.m.
I forget that upon sending, even though people have to review it, there is a preliminary estimate as to how much money you'll get per week. My estimate was too low for a guy who worked a lot. And then it dawned on me: I forgot my PCA job! It's only the job that paid me the most. It's also one that I lost when my folks threw Grandmother into a nursing home two months ago. And, if I recall correctly, it's one that the state has had problems with figuring out if it needed to be factored into my unemployment.
Not to say this isn't my fault, but I will say that since they have my name on file, they also have a listing of previous occupations I have had and that I've put into previous applications. If they have those, why don't they have my PCA job?
So I beat the deadline and sent in an incomplete form. And there's no way to change it -- well, at least not now because it's shut down. I don't think there's a way to amend the form. All I can do is wait for them to mail me a determination letter and appeal, throwing myself at the mercy of the state and telling them I totally forgot about the most important job I've had the past six years. Wish me luck.
Whatever, fuck my life.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -1). Maybe it's me, but even if a baseball team is in a funk, somehow sweeping a doubleheader makes up for it.
Even though I did not work Saturday night's doubleheader-capper, I did see a snippet of the game on TV where the Twinks were well ahead of Kansas City. (And by the way, the play-by-play guy, Steve Physioc, who is the Royals' main TV announcer, is a great guy. Had a quick conversation with him once and he never acted like I was beneath him.) Cole De Vries turned in a solid start, as did Scott Diamond in the afternoon opener, which are few and far between. Also, the bats came alive (with home runs seemingly the weapon of choice in the nightcap) as the club beat K.C. Saturday by a combined score of 12-3.
That salvaged the week; the squad finished 4-3. Surprising that even though they are the worst team in the American League, as of right now they are only 1 1/2 games worse than Seattle, and by winning percentage they are actually better than four teams in the National League (Houston, Colorado, San Diego and, worst in the majors, the Cubs).
Today (Sunday) is the day rosters for next week's All-Star Game are announced. I'm pretty sure the Twins' rep will be Josh Willingham. There's an outside shot that Glen Perkins gets in. And if I'm totally wrong, Joe Mauer gets voted in; is he even anywhere near the top of the voting for A.L. Catchers? Meanwhile, they finish their series against the Royals this afternoon, then immediately go on the road for the first four-game series of the year (?) against Detroit, followed by a series in Texas.
#-2: Wild (Re-Entry!). I should have put these guys in last week's WMNSS because of the NHL Draft; mio malo. I will try and make it up to them by putting these guys ahead of the Wolves just because.
There are two big events that I need to cover. The more timely situation actually starts at 11 local time: Free agency. It's considered to be a thin free-agent market, but the Mild have the cash to throw at the two big catches this off-season: Nashville Defenseman Ryan Suter and New Jersey Forward (and Minnesota native) Zach Parise. The Star Tribune's excellent Michael Russo details what's going on to this very second: Parise is in Toronto, where his agent is, and they are still talking with the Devils. The guess from me (not from Russo) is that if things don't get hammered down by 11 CDT, Parise is single and looking to mingle. Meanwhile, Suter is in Wisconsin while his agent is in the hotbed of agency, northern Minnesota. Suter is testing free agency, but there's no guess from Russo who he's leaning toward.
One other player who picked up noise for the Mild is a street free agent coming out of college: Wisconsin Defenseman Justin Schultz, who was drafted by Anaheim in 2008 but has refused to sign with the Ducks. Russo said that according to Bob McKenzie of Canada's TSN, Minnesota is one of six teams in the running to sign Schultz. Unfortunately, also according to Russo, the Mild wound up third choice; Schultz has just decided to
What are the chances that the Mild whiff on all three of them? Very high. But let's just enjoy the anticipation and the what-ifs. There will be time in the next few weeks to judge the organization.
As for the draft, I don't want to make this into a Russo lovefest, but he accurately predicted that the Mild would pick Canadian D-Man Mathew Dumba with the seventh pick in the first round of the NHL Draft. Think of him as as a guy who plays larger than his physical size. Draft picks in the NHL are compared to pros so they can illustrate what a prospect's ceiling could be. Dumba's comparison? Drew Doughty, the tough and diminutive spark plug for the now-Stanley Cup-champion Los Angeles Kings. If this guy pans out, he will join Mikael Granlund, Charlie Coyle, Matt Hackett and Jonas Brodin as future players with the potential to be great players for the Wild. Hope so; like with the Lynx, this team has been so bad for so long that they can't help but stockpile studs that will turn the franchise's fortunes around.
One other thing: Dumba's unfortunate pronunciation of his last name -- Dumb-a. It's a heckler's dream. Hope he's talented enough to overcome the name-calling.
#-3: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). Yes, this team's draft falls into this survey's screening week.
They didn't do a whole lot for the NBA Draft, but I think that's a good thing. Much was made about Utah winning their last game of the regular season because that meant that their first-round pick was outside the protection of the lottery and therefore was traded to the Woofie Dogs (that was the deal for Al Jefferson, The Stoic One).
It wound up being 18th overall, and so many writers went head-over-heels wondering whom the team would pick. Why would anybody give a shit about the 18th-best player in a draft that, at best, is split between deep and fallow? Projections leaned towards Shooting Guard because that's the position the organization needed to fill. The three names bandied about were two Washington guys, Tony Wroten, Jr. and Terrance Ross, and the guy with the most heat, Duke's Austin Rivers. He made that miracle dagger 3 at the buzzer to beat North Carolina in Chapel Hill, but beyond that he's considered to be a selfish ball hog who will destroy team chemistry. And this seemed to be the guy more prognosticators thought the Wolves would take.
So thank Buddha that they just traded away the pick. In a move I derisively thought was initiated by David Kahn but seems to have the imprints of Head Coach Rick Adelman, the pick was traded to Houston in exchange for 2 1/2 tweener Chase Budinger and the rights to some guy playing out in Europe. Jerry Zgoda of the Strib thought the team would trade the pick to the Rockets, but in exchange for Kevin Martin. A microwave who could cook from outside on any given night instead of a guy whose attributes are in limbo between two positions? Sounds right to me. Still, Adelman believes that Budinger is the 2-guard with the fantastic three-point percentage the Timberwolves need to open up their offense. And it doesn't hurt that he was drafted in the second round and will make only $942,000 this upcoming season.
So the Woofie Dogs had just the 58th overall pick in Thursday's draft. They tried moving up, but when that failed, they took a flier on a guy who could have been great until his career got derailed by not one but two ACL injuries, Robbie Hummel out of Purdue. A few years ago he formed a formidable three-headed monster with Jajuan ... Johnson (?) -- and some other guy? Anyway, there's a chance that Hummel's once very promising career will end without him even stepping onto an NBA game. But there's little risk and nothing but potential here if his ACL's are good.
So now to free agency, which started at 11 Saturday night. Michael Beasley and Anthony Randolph were not offered contracts, so they're gone. Darko Milicic might be next. Martell Webster has been resigned, but maybe so he could be moved at a later date. Maybe to make way for Pau Gasol, which would be very interesting ... but for Derrick Williams? He seems like a nice guy, but right now Gasol is a much better player.
In the meantime the Woofs are still looking for swingmen, as well as other roster-padders, so according to Zgoda, the following are names Kahn and Adelman are pursuing: Brandon Roy, Jordan Hill, Greg Stiemsma, Nicolas Batum, and Jamal Crawford.
Even though I did not work Saturday night's doubleheader-capper, I did see a snippet of the game on TV where the Twinks were well ahead of Kansas City. (And by the way, the play-by-play guy, Steve Physioc, who is the Royals' main TV announcer, is a great guy. Had a quick conversation with him once and he never acted like I was beneath him.) Cole De Vries turned in a solid start, as did Scott Diamond in the afternoon opener, which are few and far between. Also, the bats came alive (with home runs seemingly the weapon of choice in the nightcap) as the club beat K.C. Saturday by a combined score of 12-3.
That salvaged the week; the squad finished 4-3. Surprising that even though they are the worst team in the American League, as of right now they are only 1 1/2 games worse than Seattle, and by winning percentage they are actually better than four teams in the National League (Houston, Colorado, San Diego and, worst in the majors, the Cubs).
Today (Sunday) is the day rosters for next week's All-Star Game are announced. I'm pretty sure the Twins' rep will be Josh Willingham. There's an outside shot that Glen Perkins gets in. And if I'm totally wrong, Joe Mauer gets voted in; is he even anywhere near the top of the voting for A.L. Catchers? Meanwhile, they finish their series against the Royals this afternoon, then immediately go on the road for the first four-game series of the year (?) against Detroit, followed by a series in Texas.
#-2: Wild (Re-Entry!). I should have put these guys in last week's WMNSS because of the NHL Draft; mio malo. I will try and make it up to them by putting these guys ahead of the Wolves just because.
There are two big events that I need to cover. The more timely situation actually starts at 11 local time: Free agency. It's considered to be a thin free-agent market, but the Mild have the cash to throw at the two big catches this off-season: Nashville Defenseman Ryan Suter and New Jersey Forward (and Minnesota native) Zach Parise. The Star Tribune's excellent Michael Russo details what's going on to this very second: Parise is in Toronto, where his agent is, and they are still talking with the Devils. The guess from me (not from Russo) is that if things don't get hammered down by 11 CDT, Parise is single and looking to mingle. Meanwhile, Suter is in Wisconsin while his agent is in the hotbed of agency, northern Minnesota. Suter is testing free agency, but there's no guess from Russo who he's leaning toward.
One other player who picked up noise for the Mild is a street free agent coming out of college: Wisconsin Defenseman Justin Schultz, who was drafted by Anaheim in 2008 but has refused to sign with the Ducks. Russo said that according to Bob McKenzie of Canada's TSN, Minnesota is one of six teams in the running to sign Schultz. Unfortunately, also according to Russo, the Mild wound up third choice; Schultz has just decided to
What are the chances that the Mild whiff on all three of them? Very high. But let's just enjoy the anticipation and the what-ifs. There will be time in the next few weeks to judge the organization.
As for the draft, I don't want to make this into a Russo lovefest, but he accurately predicted that the Mild would pick Canadian D-Man Mathew Dumba with the seventh pick in the first round of the NHL Draft. Think of him as as a guy who plays larger than his physical size. Draft picks in the NHL are compared to pros so they can illustrate what a prospect's ceiling could be. Dumba's comparison? Drew Doughty, the tough and diminutive spark plug for the now-Stanley Cup-champion Los Angeles Kings. If this guy pans out, he will join Mikael Granlund, Charlie Coyle, Matt Hackett and Jonas Brodin as future players with the potential to be great players for the Wild. Hope so; like with the Lynx, this team has been so bad for so long that they can't help but stockpile studs that will turn the franchise's fortunes around.
One other thing: Dumba's unfortunate pronunciation of his last name -- Dumb-a. It's a heckler's dream. Hope he's talented enough to overcome the name-calling.
#-3: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). Yes, this team's draft falls into this survey's screening week.
They didn't do a whole lot for the NBA Draft, but I think that's a good thing. Much was made about Utah winning their last game of the regular season because that meant that their first-round pick was outside the protection of the lottery and therefore was traded to the Woofie Dogs (that was the deal for Al Jefferson, The Stoic One).
It wound up being 18th overall, and so many writers went head-over-heels wondering whom the team would pick. Why would anybody give a shit about the 18th-best player in a draft that, at best, is split between deep and fallow? Projections leaned towards Shooting Guard because that's the position the organization needed to fill. The three names bandied about were two Washington guys, Tony Wroten, Jr. and Terrance Ross, and the guy with the most heat, Duke's Austin Rivers. He made that miracle dagger 3 at the buzzer to beat North Carolina in Chapel Hill, but beyond that he's considered to be a selfish ball hog who will destroy team chemistry. And this seemed to be the guy more prognosticators thought the Wolves would take.
So thank Buddha that they just traded away the pick. In a move I derisively thought was initiated by David Kahn but seems to have the imprints of Head Coach Rick Adelman, the pick was traded to Houston in exchange for 2 1/2 tweener Chase Budinger and the rights to some guy playing out in Europe. Jerry Zgoda of the Strib thought the team would trade the pick to the Rockets, but in exchange for Kevin Martin. A microwave who could cook from outside on any given night instead of a guy whose attributes are in limbo between two positions? Sounds right to me. Still, Adelman believes that Budinger is the 2-guard with the fantastic three-point percentage the Timberwolves need to open up their offense. And it doesn't hurt that he was drafted in the second round and will make only $942,000 this upcoming season.
So the Woofie Dogs had just the 58th overall pick in Thursday's draft. They tried moving up, but when that failed, they took a flier on a guy who could have been great until his career got derailed by not one but two ACL injuries, Robbie Hummel out of Purdue. A few years ago he formed a formidable three-headed monster with Jajuan ... Johnson (?) -- and some other guy? Anyway, there's a chance that Hummel's once very promising career will end without him even stepping onto an NBA game. But there's little risk and nothing but potential here if his ACL's are good.
So now to free agency, which started at 11 Saturday night. Michael Beasley and Anthony Randolph were not offered contracts, so they're gone. Darko Milicic might be next. Martell Webster has been resigned, but maybe so he could be moved at a later date. Maybe to make way for Pau Gasol, which would be very interesting ... but for Derrick Williams? He seems like a nice guy, but right now Gasol is a much better player.
In the meantime the Woofs are still looking for swingmen, as well as other roster-padders, so according to Zgoda, the following are names Kahn and Adelman are pursuing: Brandon Roy, Jordan Hill, Greg Stiemsma, Nicolas Batum, and Jamal Crawford.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Expenses Without Receipt
I had to stop the last time on the 10th because for some damn reason I wrote down on my day planner that I went to Pizza Luce on consecutive days, and even though that could happen, I doubt it. I decided that I will leave my previous EWR blog as is because I've decided I went Sunday for two reasons: 1) It looked like I wrote down more specific details about what I bought at Pizza Luce for Sunday, leading me to believe I had the good sense to go home and write them down immediately after eating there; and 2) the 11th was the date the Los Angeles Kings won the Stanley Cup, so I don't think I went, nor would have gone, to Pizza Luce to celebrate.
Instead, I think I went to my first entry for this EWR:
Instead, I think I went to my first entry for this EWR:
- On Monday the 11th, I went to my second free screening of That's My Boy, your run-of-the-mill Adam Sandler flick. (Verdict: I was wrong in thinking it'd be a hit. Sandler still remains a moron with a heart of gold, but even though it wasn't, um, really good, I didn't think it'd flop like it has.) But at least I ate some popcorn and pop for: $8.
- I think -- I think -- that instead of Pizza Luce, I was driving from the movie, heard the Kings clinch the Cup on satellite radio, then went to ... Caffetto, where the girl gave me an iced mocha with cold press instead of espresso because she was cleaning the espresso machine. With tip: $4.75.
- I try not to make only one cash transaction a day because I'm weird like that. But on Wednesday the 13th I wrote down that while I was filling up my gas tank I looked down at the ground and saw two nickels. In The New America, you need to get your money where you can. An infusion of: 10 cents.
- Never mind -- I did remember something else I spent money on on Wednesday: The Twins game. Ticket, hot dog, souvenir pop and scorecard came out to ... fuck me, I'm guessing: $20.
- In filling out the replies to my health insurance application which the state needed, I went to a library in Dakota County and not only made a copy of my pay stubs but produced a letter that I printed out. A total of: 30 cents.
- I then had to go to the post office at MSP to mail this application or else I would lose my health insurance. Oh, by the way: Thank Buddha for Obamacare! Cost of postage: 65 cents.
- And, well, shit, the only thing got on Friday the 15th was the monthly burlesque show I go to. Did I not do anything else that Friday? Whatever; cover, coffee, tipping the onstage babes and, for the first time, trying one of the games in the back: $13.50.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Wishing On 11:11 Is Just Bullshit
I tried this late last summer, when I heard parents' plans for both The Store and Grandmother. So whenever that rolled around (and when you seek to make a wish at 11:11, you notice when it's 11:11, often, so I did it a lot), I would utter under my breath a litany of wishes to keep The Store open and to keep Grandmother at home. I threw in my hopes for Grandmother's help from her, um, absent-mindedness, and if I had extra seconds I wished to get laid and to get a good job, respectively.
Well, The Store's just about gone and Grandmother's been packed away to just across the river. So I just wanted to let y'all know that if you make a wish on 11:11, it ain't gonna fuckin' work.
Well, The Store's just about gone and Grandmother's been packed away to just across the river. So I just wanted to let y'all know that if you make a wish on 11:11, it ain't gonna fuckin' work.
A Double Shot Of, "I Didn't Get Back To You?"
Well, my day's shit. I just got fucked two ways today.
First, I went down to this research center because no one returned my calls inquiring about some studies I was eligible for. After a few minutes, the lady which I think I left a message with came out and said that, even though I am healthy, I am not eligible for the "Healthy Research Participants" studies because ... um, I have a pre-existing medical condition, let's put it that way. So that's one potential work avenue closed to me.
Then I called my contact for this production company that's doing Saturday night's Twins game. I usually work for them when they're in town. But the contact that I thought would be here is not, and the person who is hiring for the game went with someone else. He didn't follow the protocol of calling this list where my number's at, he said, but I don't know if there is such a list. All I know is that I was a rookie once, and the only reason I'm working for these guys is a friend of mine from college decided to break protocol and hiring his own people. And now, sadly, someone's doing it to me. I feel like I'm getting pushed out. At any rate, that's another potential work avenue closed to me.
The worst thing about this is I had to contact them in order to find out my work status with them. The latter thought he texted me, which is alright. The former just flat-out didn't get back to me, which I don't care for.
Now what the fuck do I do?
First, I went down to this research center because no one returned my calls inquiring about some studies I was eligible for. After a few minutes, the lady which I think I left a message with came out and said that, even though I am healthy, I am not eligible for the "Healthy Research Participants" studies because ... um, I have a pre-existing medical condition, let's put it that way. So that's one potential work avenue closed to me.
Then I called my contact for this production company that's doing Saturday night's Twins game. I usually work for them when they're in town. But the contact that I thought would be here is not, and the person who is hiring for the game went with someone else. He didn't follow the protocol of calling this list where my number's at, he said, but I don't know if there is such a list. All I know is that I was a rookie once, and the only reason I'm working for these guys is a friend of mine from college decided to break protocol and hiring his own people. And now, sadly, someone's doing it to me. I feel like I'm getting pushed out. At any rate, that's another potential work avenue closed to me.
The worst thing about this is I had to contact them in order to find out my work status with them. The latter thought he texted me, which is alright. The former just flat-out didn't get back to me, which I don't care for.
Now what the fuck do I do?
Printer Fail
Are printers supposed to be so high-maintenance and temperamental?
Last night Father urgently needed me to type out a letter for him that needed to be sent the next day, which was this morning. I wrote some stuff out, he okayed it, but even before I banged out the letter, I remembered that the magenta ink pack needed to be replaced. So, even though it was past 9 o'clock and Wednesday night was a furnace outside (heat temperature around 95, felt like 102 with the humidity), I went out to get new ink.
I used my parents' minivan. I asked for their permission, but why couldn't I use my car? My only explanation is that Father and I used it around 6:30 that evening to go to a FedEx Kinko's. The package that I didn't answer and sign for on Tuesday, along with more packages that came (which I did answer and sign for) Wednesday morning, contained stuff that he wanted sent to Las Vegas. So he hurriedly repackaged them while I looked for the day's drop-dead times for pick-up, and then we went to send them. That meant that the minivan's engine was hotter than mine, which meant that their car could more easily burn the contaminants in the oil, as opposed to mine, where the short trip, combined with the relatively cool engine, meant that a lot of impurities would remain in my car's engine.
Or, maybe I asked because I didn't want to "hurt" my car by taking it out for a short drive. Because I'm a dick.
Anyway, after I came home from Target, I thought things would all be hunky-dory and I'd be able to print out this letter for him. But after I change the magenta cartridge and hit print again, I saw that now the yellow ink cartridge had to be replaced. Are you fucking kidding me? What could have prompted that was the fact that there was a print job that was still in the printer queue that fired off as soon as I changed the magenta one. That job was mine, namely coupons for the Command adhesive hangers by 3M that I need to buy to hang up my hat rack. This printer prints in color and the coupons were colored, so I guess there wasn't a whole lot of yellow left in the old cartridge and it was used up by printing out these coupons.
I asked Father if he somehow had a yellow cartridge. He said no, but the letter can wait till tomorrow, or even the next day. I thought it had to go out this morning, Father!
Whatever. I had time to buy a yellow cartridge (and just to save myself another trip I bought a triple cartridge containing yellow, magenta and cyan packs) today, and I would get things all fixed after I got home from "work" (actually going to the North Stars Alumni Reunion in Roseville, followed by going down to Hooters Mall of America to watch the NBA Draft [aside: my waitress was a trainee with a barebelly shirt, massive tits and cleavage I so wanted to stick my penis into!], then catching a concert by a band I recommend, Cory Chisel and the Wandering Suns [aside: I wanted to buy a CD there, but it was $10 and all I had was a $50 I resolved earlier this evening to deposit and not break because ... I didn't want to "ruin" a good $50 bill. Yes, I'm stupid weird).
So I get home, replace the yellow, and then I print. In fact I had another letter Father wanted me to work on almost two months ago to the motherfuckin' day, and since I felt fully fortified I gave myself permission to be a rebel and print out both. But after turning to the printer to see how it went, I saw ... virtually nothing. One, maybe two sentences -- actually more like half-sentences -- were stranded amid white space I anticipated would be filled in with words I typed. Fuck.
This means I need to give the printer a head cleaning. Actually, I just push a button -- the printer head-cleans itself. Then I printed out a nozzle check, where it prints wavy lines of each of the four colors it has. All of a sudden the black doesn't show up. I tried one, two, three more times, but each time there were very little, if any, black lines on the test. I tried printing out the letter one more time, but still, barely two lines were even legible.
So now what? Get a black cartridge? I might need to just take my flash drive, load those pages onto it, take it to the fucking library and print it out there. At least theirs works. All this for a fucking letter. ...
Last night Father urgently needed me to type out a letter for him that needed to be sent the next day, which was this morning. I wrote some stuff out, he okayed it, but even before I banged out the letter, I remembered that the magenta ink pack needed to be replaced. So, even though it was past 9 o'clock and Wednesday night was a furnace outside (heat temperature around 95, felt like 102 with the humidity), I went out to get new ink.
I used my parents' minivan. I asked for their permission, but why couldn't I use my car? My only explanation is that Father and I used it around 6:30 that evening to go to a FedEx Kinko's. The package that I didn't answer and sign for on Tuesday, along with more packages that came (which I did answer and sign for) Wednesday morning, contained stuff that he wanted sent to Las Vegas. So he hurriedly repackaged them while I looked for the day's drop-dead times for pick-up, and then we went to send them. That meant that the minivan's engine was hotter than mine, which meant that their car could more easily burn the contaminants in the oil, as opposed to mine, where the short trip, combined with the relatively cool engine, meant that a lot of impurities would remain in my car's engine.
Or, maybe I asked because I didn't want to "hurt" my car by taking it out for a short drive. Because I'm a dick.
Anyway, after I came home from Target, I thought things would all be hunky-dory and I'd be able to print out this letter for him. But after I change the magenta cartridge and hit print again, I saw that now the yellow ink cartridge had to be replaced. Are you fucking kidding me? What could have prompted that was the fact that there was a print job that was still in the printer queue that fired off as soon as I changed the magenta one. That job was mine, namely coupons for the Command adhesive hangers by 3M that I need to buy to hang up my hat rack. This printer prints in color and the coupons were colored, so I guess there wasn't a whole lot of yellow left in the old cartridge and it was used up by printing out these coupons.
I asked Father if he somehow had a yellow cartridge. He said no, but the letter can wait till tomorrow, or even the next day. I thought it had to go out this morning, Father!
Whatever. I had time to buy a yellow cartridge (and just to save myself another trip I bought a triple cartridge containing yellow, magenta and cyan packs) today, and I would get things all fixed after I got home from "work" (actually going to the North Stars Alumni Reunion in Roseville, followed by going down to Hooters Mall of America to watch the NBA Draft [aside: my waitress was a trainee with a barebelly shirt, massive tits and cleavage I so wanted to stick my penis into!], then catching a concert by a band I recommend, Cory Chisel and the Wandering Suns [aside: I wanted to buy a CD there, but it was $10 and all I had was a $50 I resolved earlier this evening to deposit and not break because ... I didn't want to "ruin" a good $50 bill. Yes, I'm stupid weird).
So I get home, replace the yellow, and then I print. In fact I had another letter Father wanted me to work on almost two months ago to the motherfuckin' day, and since I felt fully fortified I gave myself permission to be a rebel and print out both. But after turning to the printer to see how it went, I saw ... virtually nothing. One, maybe two sentences -- actually more like half-sentences -- were stranded amid white space I anticipated would be filled in with words I typed. Fuck.
This means I need to give the printer a head cleaning. Actually, I just push a button -- the printer head-cleans itself. Then I printed out a nozzle check, where it prints wavy lines of each of the four colors it has. All of a sudden the black doesn't show up. I tried one, two, three more times, but each time there were very little, if any, black lines on the test. I tried printing out the letter one more time, but still, barely two lines were even legible.
So now what? Get a black cartridge? I might need to just take my flash drive, load those pages onto it, take it to the fucking library and print it out there. At least theirs works. All this for a fucking letter. ...
Thursday, June 28, 2012
The Time Of The Year Where NPR Whores Itself
Pledge drive is almost over, thank God. I find it almost unlistenable these times of the year.
I don't know when I took to National and Minnesota Public Radios. I know it was after college, because I was talking to one of the people I considered a friend while I was in college, a fellow journalism student, who wretched at his assignment of listening to NPR, and I remember sympathizing with him. So I guess it's old age that prompted me to turn away from the local Top 40 station after it ran, like, the same goddamn Christina Aguilera song the third time in three hours and listen in on an important story going on in some other part of the world.
But, of course, the difference between public radio and private radio is the way they make their money. Private radio, like that Top 40 station, advertise. But public radio doesn't advertise; they solicit donations from "members." So in a tradeoff for commercial-free news and entertainment, several times a year they do these pledge drives, where they openly solicit cash. Sometimes donations will be matched by N/MPR's corporate sponsors, and sometimes they offer little gifts as incentive.
I never have donated. I should, but the asshole in me thinks that once I sign up, they're just going to hound me every pledge drive to donate a little more. If they promise not to do that, I can give, oh, a dollar a month. But I think that's something they just won't do. And if they're not going to leave me alone, I will turn away once they go into their pledge spiel.
And it's kind of weird to see that the people soliciting fronting these drives are the very reporters who deliver the news I hear every day. It really is jarring to hear, say, Tom Crann or Cathy Wurzer go from talking about the massacre going on in Syria or the debate over Obamacare one segment during the hour to shilling tote bags and thanking new and sustaining contributors over the air. In fact, I will say it's unbecoming. It's downright unprofessional for these reporters who put on a dignified air for, say, 340 days of the year, and then once it comes to pledge time, they get all happy and folksy, like they want to put their arms around you and buy you a beer, just so they can get some money from you. Not only is it strange, it feels incredulous.
Now, I understand that this is the only way National and Minnesota Public Radios are going to survive. I really do appreciate the unbiased reporting work they do. But beyond the fact that I don't have money to spare, I find it a little weird to hear people totally change their attitude on-air. Hopefully, since the fiscal end of the year for MPR is ending on the 30th (I think), this will all be over ... until the next pledge drive, some two or three months from now.
These are just some thoughts about something I noticed.
I don't know when I took to National and Minnesota Public Radios. I know it was after college, because I was talking to one of the people I considered a friend while I was in college, a fellow journalism student, who wretched at his assignment of listening to NPR, and I remember sympathizing with him. So I guess it's old age that prompted me to turn away from the local Top 40 station after it ran, like, the same goddamn Christina Aguilera song the third time in three hours and listen in on an important story going on in some other part of the world.
But, of course, the difference between public radio and private radio is the way they make their money. Private radio, like that Top 40 station, advertise. But public radio doesn't advertise; they solicit donations from "members." So in a tradeoff for commercial-free news and entertainment, several times a year they do these pledge drives, where they openly solicit cash. Sometimes donations will be matched by N/MPR's corporate sponsors, and sometimes they offer little gifts as incentive.
I never have donated. I should, but the asshole in me thinks that once I sign up, they're just going to hound me every pledge drive to donate a little more. If they promise not to do that, I can give, oh, a dollar a month. But I think that's something they just won't do. And if they're not going to leave me alone, I will turn away once they go into their pledge spiel.
And it's kind of weird to see that the people soliciting fronting these drives are the very reporters who deliver the news I hear every day. It really is jarring to hear, say, Tom Crann or Cathy Wurzer go from talking about the massacre going on in Syria or the debate over Obamacare one segment during the hour to shilling tote bags and thanking new and sustaining contributors over the air. In fact, I will say it's unbecoming. It's downright unprofessional for these reporters who put on a dignified air for, say, 340 days of the year, and then once it comes to pledge time, they get all happy and folksy, like they want to put their arms around you and buy you a beer, just so they can get some money from you. Not only is it strange, it feels incredulous.
Now, I understand that this is the only way National and Minnesota Public Radios are going to survive. I really do appreciate the unbiased reporting work they do. But beyond the fact that I don't have money to spare, I find it a little weird to hear people totally change their attitude on-air. Hopefully, since the fiscal end of the year for MPR is ending on the 30th (I think), this will all be over ... until the next pledge drive, some two or three months from now.
These are just some thoughts about something I noticed.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
A Waste Of A Drive To WBL
I was up by 10. I got on the Internet by 10:15 I think, and, of course, by 10:30 I was beating off to porn. Is it an addiction or a hobby?
I hear a knock on the door. Probably one of those door-to-door salesmen letting me know there's a new contractor in the area and hey, would you like a free consultation? If it were important he or she would knock again, but he or she didn't.
After spilling my seed and doing a very little bit of cleaning, I went out the door in order to catch the noon showing Men In Black 3. (Verdict: Not bad. Surprisingly touching and wistful. Jemaine Clement is a forgettable bad guy, but Josh Brolin is a perfect facsimile as a young Tommy Lee Jones, who obviously was paid a lot of money only to appear in half the movie. Reportedly the script was being made on the fly, but besides a couple leaps in logic, I liked it. There were a ton of writers on Casablanca, too.) I see a piece of paper taped on the screen door. Shit -- the guy who was knocking was Federal Express; he needed someone to sign for a package.
So, now what? I could just leave it up and tell my parents that I left before FedEx arrived. But I felt guilty for missing it just because I was furtively masturbating in my room. So, even though they could have come back with the package the next day (do they do that? I don't know), I decided to pick up the package ... which is in suburban St. Paul, just down 694.
It was almost 20 miles each way, and I heard once that the average person drives about 40 miles a day, and after driving almost 64 miles round-trip for three weeks I was looking forward to not drive so damn far. But yesterday I found myself just driving over and over until I drove 60 miles, so deciding to pick up a package I could've gotten just by answering the front door is something I really regret.
The only thing I could do is make a day of it. I tried finding the address of this stripper who does naughty massages on the side, but failed. I went to the local comics shop to look at some porn, but they're at least a month old, leading me to believe they've stopped shipments and might, might, shut down; at least I know that now. And last week's Rolling Stone had a main cover story about Electronic Dance Music, or EDM. I read that until 4, which, according to the ticket, is the earliest I could pick it up. I tried picking it up at a quarter to 3 once I got in the area, but I had to wait till 4.
By the way, the package, a big but light one, seems to be a gift from Father to Mother. Aw.
This waste of gas might continue. I wanted to use public transportation to go down to the Mall of America to see the Euro semifinal between Spain and Portugal tomorrow. But it's supposed to be the hottest day of the year -- air temperature of at least 95, humidity making it feel like at least 100 -- and I'm worried if that means more aggression as people are being transported together in the heat. Then again, I could encounter road rage if I just drive all the way down there. I'm fucked.
I hear a knock on the door. Probably one of those door-to-door salesmen letting me know there's a new contractor in the area and hey, would you like a free consultation? If it were important he or she would knock again, but he or she didn't.
After spilling my seed and doing a very little bit of cleaning, I went out the door in order to catch the noon showing Men In Black 3. (Verdict: Not bad. Surprisingly touching and wistful. Jemaine Clement is a forgettable bad guy, but Josh Brolin is a perfect facsimile as a young Tommy Lee Jones, who obviously was paid a lot of money only to appear in half the movie. Reportedly the script was being made on the fly, but besides a couple leaps in logic, I liked it. There were a ton of writers on Casablanca, too.) I see a piece of paper taped on the screen door. Shit -- the guy who was knocking was Federal Express; he needed someone to sign for a package.
So, now what? I could just leave it up and tell my parents that I left before FedEx arrived. But I felt guilty for missing it just because I was furtively masturbating in my room. So, even though they could have come back with the package the next day (do they do that? I don't know), I decided to pick up the package ... which is in suburban St. Paul, just down 694.
It was almost 20 miles each way, and I heard once that the average person drives about 40 miles a day, and after driving almost 64 miles round-trip for three weeks I was looking forward to not drive so damn far. But yesterday I found myself just driving over and over until I drove 60 miles, so deciding to pick up a package I could've gotten just by answering the front door is something I really regret.
The only thing I could do is make a day of it. I tried finding the address of this stripper who does naughty massages on the side, but failed. I went to the local comics shop to look at some porn, but they're at least a month old, leading me to believe they've stopped shipments and might, might, shut down; at least I know that now. And last week's Rolling Stone had a main cover story about Electronic Dance Music, or EDM. I read that until 4, which, according to the ticket, is the earliest I could pick it up. I tried picking it up at a quarter to 3 once I got in the area, but I had to wait till 4.
By the way, the package, a big but light one, seems to be a gift from Father to Mother. Aw.
This waste of gas might continue. I wanted to use public transportation to go down to the Mall of America to see the Euro semifinal between Spain and Portugal tomorrow. But it's supposed to be the hottest day of the year -- air temperature of at least 95, humidity making it feel like at least 100 -- and I'm worried if that means more aggression as people are being transported together in the heat. Then again, I could encounter road rage if I just drive all the way down there. I'm fucked.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Expenses Without Receipts
I haven't done this shit since the turn of the month. Fuckin' A:
- OK, Friday the 1st ... so according to my Franklin Quest, I started off my afternoon going to this place called Saba Flowers in order to order two sets of bouquets to rest on the graves of my junior prom date and my Grandmother. Total cost: $8.57.
- Exercise in the evening -- cover: $3.
- Then, My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). Tips only: $8.
- Saturday was the first day of six volunteering for the web series. I bugged out early to attend the Minnesota RollerGirls/Surly fan tour. I tipped a lot because volunteers were pouring the beers: $5.
- Stripclub, tips only: $8.
- Then My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, with tip: $9.50.
- Sunday I also bugged out of the shoot early so I catch some part of this locally-made picture I was an extra in. It was a scintillating thing to see myself on the screen. Too bad it was in a disastrous, poorly written, poorly acted, dumb plot. It was a part of the local LGBT film fest, and it won. Wonder how bad the others were. Anyway, I paid a ticket, popcorn and pop to see it: $16.75.
- I snuck in a trip to see Grandmother (shhh, don't tell my folks), then remembered it was Grand Ole Day in St. Paul, where her nursing home is. Stepped into a well-known ice cream place I've never been to, the Grand Ole Creamery. Great ice cream, though a little expensive, especially if you get their homemade cone. With tip: $6.25.
- Stripclub. Tips as well as coffee and a dance from a, ahem, mature woman named Angelique: $26.
- Finished up my night at Caffetto. Iced mocha with tip: $4.50.
- Tuesday the 5th started three consecutive days of going to St. Louis Park to be part of a taste test that eventually would give me $100. Little did I know that after the three days, which consists of drinking four mini-shots of whisky each day, that I would not get cash but instead a gift card. Hmmm, I've gotten more gift cards when I do experiments at the U. Is this a trend? Anyway, between work in Apple Valley and the time the drinking started, I decided the car needed washing. There was a lot of gravel on both floormats, I tell ya. Had to charge for the wash, but the tip was straight cash, homey: $1.
- Then, to make sure my lone cash transaction had a friend, I decided to store some new pennies, dimes and quarters. It added up to: 99 cents.
- Wednesday, after the taste test, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) again. Tips and coffee: $6.
- On Friday the 8th I exercised: $3.
- Then Stripclub (tips only): $8.
- Saturday the 9th ... did I get a receipt for Jamba Juice? In case I didn't, tip only: $3.75.
- Then, Late-Night Italian (with tip): $6.25.
- Sunday the 10th ... after the shoot I decided I needed to exercise, so cover for the gym: $3.
- I then tried to veg out at the Stripclub, but this was the night the waitress fucking flipped out at me. It is also the last time I have stepped into the place. Tips, plus making up for past coffee slights: $9.
- Then I went to Pizza Luce, mainly to buy an MNRG ticket. Did I use my free pizza coupon/pick? Anyway, I have the total for the ticket, the pepperoni pizza and the Summit Saga (with tips) already written down on my day planner: $18.66.
Monday, June 25, 2012
So Far, It's Not Working Out
I signed that contract under protest. Why? Because both of my fucking parents still aren't listening to a goddamn word I say. One of the provisions was that I can't get mad whenever they say something.
"But what happens if you get mad at me?" I told Mother.
"We never get mad at you," Mother said. What fucking bullshit. Either she's too stupid to be living, or that bitch is a goddamn liar.
Case in point: Sunday. I busied myself; when I told them earlier in the weekend that I had "work," what I really meant was that I was going to go out and see the Italy-England Euro 2012 soccer match. (Hell of a game, BTW, too bad England is still damned with those penalty kicks.) I come back to see a pile of branches in the front lawn. Apparently Father took the afternoon to cut off parts of the tree in the front yard. I remember him telling me a couple years ago. I didn't do it because 1) it's a large tree, 2) it was a large saw, and 3) there's no telling what damage I could do if I decided to cut branches willy-nilly. I have a bad feeling what Father did is going to kill the tree.
So, because it was there, naturally I had to go help throw the leaves into the minivan. I thought My Fucking Father told me I couldn't dump yard waste anymore? Anyway, it only took the first branch I laid hands on before My Fucking Father whined something under his breath, something in Chinese, something I was lucky not to understand, but still it bothers me because the asshole was judging me, again. Later he brusquely and rudely took a tree stalk from me just as I started grabbing it. A stronger grip and my fingers would be full of splinters, you fuck.
---
Before I left for "work" that day I put my laundry in the washer and dryer. My Fucking Father always steps into my room and takes my dirty laundry down, whether or not I need it to, and I don't, I could go two even three weeks without doing it, but he comes in every fucking week, so I decide to preempt him this time.
But the fucking dryer doesn't dry, so after dinner I go down and see that my clothes aren't dry. So I give it another spin. If anything, I left it in there too long. I was going to go down there to retrieve my load after My Fucking Father would stop ... doing what he was doing down there. But around midnight I hear him stomp upstairs and throw the hamper I left downstairs just outside my door. While he was trundling about upstairs I opened the door and said thanks, but he didn't hear me, because he's an asshole.
I signed the contract and it is he who isn't holding up the spirit of it. He's angling to get me thrown out, I can feel it.
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