A Day In The Life of Manny Malhotra

So as I'm perusing the channel lineup (online, that is) for what tier of service I want to buy for cable at the new place (move-in date 9/15); I'm struck realizing for two channels, alone, I have to go with the whole package.

What two channels? The NHL Network and the NFL Network.

Yep, if they don't screw you with the ticket prices, they'll get ya with the TV stuff.

Oh well, I'll watch the hell out of both of those channels, so to me, they're worth the extra price level.

The NFL is a given ... but damn am I looking forward to the NHL network. Hockey, 24-7-365. Hell to the yes.

I mean, outside of the classic series and classic games and old-time hockey (Can I get a shout of Eddie Shore?), today I'd so watch "A Day In The Life of Manny Malhotra" ... formerly of the Columbus Blue Jackets. (Yes, it's a real show.)

I've not seen the show, but based on the fact training camp invites have been sent to several of his peers, he remains an unrestricted free agent with a telephone that's not ringing, it might go something like this:

"Hi. It's 6:30. I'm Manny Malhotra of the Please-Some-GM-Offer-Me-A-Contracts. I'm a pretty good center. By that I mean the freaking Blue Jackets let me walk away. So it's September, I should be in training camp, but here I am, sitting by the phone."

We cut to the kitchen. Manny is eating some Wheaties. They are the breakfast of champions. One has to admire his optimism. From the left, Mrs. Manny (Joanna, sister of Steve Nash ... for reals) appears. She sits down and pours a bowl. She asks Manny to pass the milk. He misses her hand by about 18 inches, and watches as the milk falls to the table, but somehow, doesn't spill.

You hear a door open. A man wearing a Red Wings jersey walks briskly through the kitchen, not even looking as Manny stands up. The stranger grabs the milk off the table. He slaps Manny in the chops when Manny says "Hey, that's my milk" but never slows down, nor drops the milk.

Manny and Mrs. Manny watch the guy walk away. Mrs. Manny hands her hubby a towel. He sits back down holding it up to his bleeding mouth. Nothing is said about him refusing to challenge his neighbor to a fight, or defend his honor, or get his milk back. Apparently, that's as common at home as a defender stealing the puck, slapping him in the shin and skating away is on the ice.

His wife looks at him. Says "Hey, since I can't eat dry cereal, can you at least put the bowl in the sink?" She watches as Manny walk slowly across the kitchen, all alone, and drops the bowl on the floor, missing a wide-open sink despite having no defense or goalie in the way. Again, his wife looks on as if this is nothing out of the ordinary.

Manny then trips on the hardwood floor as he turns around. Shaking his head, he stands up, looks around for a phantom call from the ref, then heads back to the living room. He sits at the end of his couch, next to the phone.

Which still isn't ringing.

"I don't get it. I was drafted in the first round by the New York Friggin' Rangers. And now the Blue Jerkits won't even sign me?" Sigh.

(Fade)

Hell yeah. I'd watch the shit out of that show. But you Blue Jackets fans saw that all last season ... didn't ya?

Youngstown Style Pizza

Yep ... hit Jimmy's today for lunch.

This, my friends, is a $2 piece of Youngstown pizza.


And yes, that's a full-size Nature Valley granola bar.

A Break for the Home Team?

So back about a year ago I replaced the dead Icey with Ivy ... a 2001 Pine Green Saturn SL2 that came complete with a two-year, 24,000 mile warranty. Well, I said, that should just about keep covered for a year, based on how I drive.

Then ... I started my new (old) job and was finding myself driving to and from Cincinnati or Youngstown once a week, racking up the miles.

Then last week my car nearly overheated ... I looked ... and WOAH ... radiator was nearly empty. So I chuck in some fluids ... didn't notice a leak, but with it being summer and running the AC ... who really knows if that's condensed water or not as you pull out of the parking lot, eh?

So this week, now that the 95% of my stuff is moved, I decided to take the car to the shop and hope I still had some warranty left. Or at least enough that they could charge me $35 to tell me what was wrong so I could struggle through fixing it, or call on friends who could fix it in their sleep.

Turns out, in a stunning break for the home team, I'm still within 2,500 miles of the end of my warranty, so PERHAPS I'm covered. I say perhaps because it's a limited warranty. Limited to drive components, engine, transmission, that kind of big stuff.

So with trepidation I dropped the car off at the dealer this morning, and lo and behold they call me with the news that it's not a leaky radiator, nor a blown hose, but the water pump that's all jacked up.

Hmmm ... water pump ... water pump ... sounds expensive.

NO! In yet ANOTHER STUNNING DEVELOPMENT, the water pump is one of the few items that's covered under my limited warranty and they'll be done fixing it in about two hours.

Oh, and it won't cost me a DIME!

YAY! I caught a break. In fact, I've caught several this week ... work stuff has gotten significantly less stressful and I'm finally mostly moved and know I won't have much left ... and all my stuff fit into my storage unit.

Oh, and I'm going to look at house next week ... so things are looking up in my world.

Finally.

Please Pre-Grammar Check in Advance

So as I'm pumping gas into the uHaul truck, I saw this zinger on the gas pump.

Maybe because my brain was totally in shut-down mode I just took a picture and drove away.

However, this is just wrong on so many grammar levels:

How exactly do you pay before you pay? How can you prepay ... in advance?

You can prepay, or you can pay in advance. Without dividing by zero and unleashing all that is unholy and forcing us to watch Rick Moranis mate with Sigourney Weaver, again, you can't.

Oh, by the way, this was a Circle K ... with BP Gas ... so it wasn't some Mom and Pop shop. That there's a corporate sticker, on each and every pump in exactly the same place.

So because my brain is in shut-down mode, I have a new idea: I'm gonna make a shirt that says "Please pre-purchase me a beer in advance."

And when I'm asked "In advance of what?"

In advance of you buying me a beer the first time.

Happy drinking for me!

Damn you, Captain Quint

I think I need a bigger boat. I got 14 feet of shit shoved into a 10 foot truck. And I still have some other stuff. I did leave enough room to get the matress and box springs in, the computer desk might take some shoehorning. And my other table. Oh.

Man, I hate hate hate hate hate moving.

Oh, and now I can't sleep.

More random Eric weirdness

So I have two absolute rules when buying furniture:

1. It has to come in black.
2. It has to be something I can carry myself.

I remembered the second as I was dragging my food pantry to the truck today. It is one of those "build-it-yourself" pressboard things. And weighs about 90 pounds.

And I've determined I'm going to find somewhere I can live a damned long time this time, and have money to pay for movers next time.

How stressed out have I been? Today, I got the moving truck with the car carrier to tow Ivy and promptly drove halfway home before I realized I forgot to put the car on the carrier.

Yeah. I'm that smooth.

And tonight, about 75 minutes ago, the battery in the clock in my bedroom died. It's been 9:55 for a while.

Oh, and since I moved last time in February in freezing, icy conditions with a ton of snow in NEOH, it's only fitting I move this time in August, when it's 80 degrees at 10:30 with 80 percent humidity. And tomorrow is going to be 91 degrees. Yep, I can pick the days and time to move.

Talk to you next time from the Mahoning Valley!

Dear Columbus ...

Dear Columbus ...

Once again, I find myself packing my shit and leaving you.

I wish we could just commit to each other.

I mean, really, I like you. I believe you like me.

But this job thing ... it just doesn't last.

Twenty months here, then gone. Then back, for 16 months, nine of which were in Columbus. Now ... after 6 months on a new job .. gone again. Back to Youngstown for the same job I left you for the last time.

Sigh.

Oh well. Looks like I'll be hitting up my good friend I-71 again as I come back to visit you.

Hitler finds out Michael Jackson has died. O.M.F.G

Dear Comfest ...

Thanks for kicking my ass for three consecutive days.

Quick highlights ... I'll have some photos and videos of all that and more later this week:

Friday:

• Hanging with friends all day! I love you people.
• Ryan Smith and Miss Molly on the Gazebo.
• A very ill Leah-Carla Gordone fighting off a summer cold to rock the Solar Stage.
  
• Help Is On The Way and Happy Chichester on the Main Stage. Help Is On The Way looked and sounded great ... they're either dead on or dead awful.
  
• Oh, and there was this little alt-country act called Two Cow Garage who left such an impression that EVERYONE was talking about that show all weekend. They blew up the main stage to end the day. Wow.
  

Saturday:

• Again, - hanging with friends all day ... all but two were different from Friday ... but again ... I love you people.
• Hanging out at the Offramp Stage with Jessie and Casey and Phil and Amber and Jamie and random Treehouse Friends.
• FINALLY seeing Jen Miller on the Jazz Stage when it wasn't raining on her.
• Bookmobile and the Kyle Sowashes and The Receiver rocking up the Offramp Stage.
• Colin Gawel and Ghost Shirt owning on the Gazebo Stage.
• Willie Phoenix rocking the hell out the Main Stage.

Sunday:

• Walking around enjoying the last day of my fifth Comfest just taking it all in.
• Watching some amazing performances on the Gazebo Stage while hanging with Quinn and Jess, and Andy and Alli, and Ron and Elliot, and Shane, Micah, Bernadette, Anissa, et.al.
• Ukulele Man and Jason Quicksall and Megan Palmer and The Randys were amazing.
• Lydia Loveless put on a great show on the Offramp Stage that had punk rock chicks dancing with their dogs. Anytime you intro a song with "This next song is for all the sluts and whores in the crowd" it's a good time.
• The Spikedrivers on the Main Stage.

Top Three Comfest Moments:

1. Two Cow Garage
2. The Receiver
3. Willie Phoenix
   

Lowlights:

• Dude getting stabbed to death. Always a bummer.
• HUGE blister on my toe (granted, not the same as above, but that's a tough act to follow).
• The amount of trash I (and my fellow Cleanup and Recycling crews) cleaned up during Saturday night cleanup shift. It's not the damn dirty hippies at Comfest, it's the apathetic kids and white trash that make the messes. Hippies know enough to clean up after themselves. Hell, they started the environmental movement.
  
• Trying, once again, to like a certain band because a friend does, only to realize, I don't.
• Missing Erika Carey.
• Not finding the Nye's on Friday.
• Not able to walk well enough to do cleanup and recycling on Sunday because of the blister on my toe that's huge.
• Having to wait another year for Comfest 2010.
  

Sigh.

THIS ...

is why I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE ComFest

Two Cow Garage ... with friends ... rocking the fuck out of the main stage.

Yeah.

Overstating the Obvious

Found at a movie theater in Virginia:

Good lord that's a sammich

No, this wasn't my lunch ... no way in hell I could have eaten this and not taken a nap.

But it did look good. It's the All In Burger from Red, Hot and Blue in Herndon, Virginia.

I took a ... hey, look, it's shiny

Dear BW3 in Norwood, Ohio

Fuck you.

Seriously. Fuck. You.

Now, having said that, let me tell you the ways:

1. Lying bartenders.
2. Shitty service.
3. Clueless manager.
4. Lying managers.
5. Clueless bartenders.

Let me explain.

1. Lying Bartenders

I walk into BW3's at 6:50 p.m. I would love to play some Buzztime Trivia, get ready to watch hockey, and suck down some iced tea because I'm on call for work and won't drink. Which is good, because they're out of the beer I normally drink, anyway. I ask for a trivia box. Bartender says "They're broken." I say, "What?" She says, "All the boxes are broken. Nobody can play."

Now last week when I was in there, same bartender told me that most of the boxes they had were in disrepair and she didn't have any that worked behind the bar, however, I managed to snag one from a server on the restaurant side. And yes, her tip reflected that, and her lack of service.

So her telling me that this week was even lamer. So I order an unsweetened iced tea, take a seat and read the USA Today since trivia doesn't work.

But wait. I look around. There are people playing trivia. And poker, too, which operates on the same server.

Hmmmm. Lying whore.

So I continue reading the paper, sending text messages to one of the managers at the BW3 I play at and give him the torrid details of this disaster in the making.
Which brings us to:

2. Shitty Service

So after an hour of sitting there with a single (now empty) glass of iced tea, the other server, who was very nice, comes up and asks if I want a refill. I say yes, and would like to order food. She says, "Oh, let met get (other bartender)." I say "No. I'd much prefer you and she's already lied to me once tonight and ignored me after my initial order. And you've not lied to me yet. And noticed me sitting here with an empty glass. So you win." She laughed. The kind of laugh that people laugh when you point out one of their co-workers sucks and they can't agree, but acknowledge that you are correct by a) laughing and b) not denying or defending. So I ask her if she can put the hockey game on and she says "Oh, sure. What channel?" I tell her, she puts the game on instead of Women's Tennis and all is good.

Next time she comes around, she says "Oh, you wanted food, too, right?" and takes the order, makes sure my iced tea is kept filled and eventually brings my food over. That's when I ask to speak to her manager. Which leads us to:

3. Clueless Managers

Josh comes over and introduces himself nervously. I tell him about outright lie from the bartender; the total lack of service, the sitting there for 25 minutes with an empty glass, how I spend three or four nights at various BW3's and tip accordingly.

He says, "I'm sorry. Thanks for letting me know" and walks away.

I look around the bar, I count heads. There are 52 people there. All the bar seats are full, four guys are playing poker (on the allegedly broken Buzztime Trivia system) There are 9 people in Red Wings jerseys, 2 in Red Wings hats; 5 in Pens jerseys, 3 in Pens t-shirts and 1 with a hat; compared to two people wearing Reds hats. No Reds jerseys, no Reds t-shirts.

So what's the sound in the bar? Game 51 out of 162 games the Cincinnati Reds will play during the 2009 Major League Baseball Season. Hey, I understand I'm in Cincinnati. But a smart bartender / bar manager / etc. will look at the crowd, determine what they're there for, and adjust televisions accordingly. Even if it's not for the home team. The popular overrides the local, especially when the local is 2-1/2 games out of first place. I've been in bars in Cleveland that show Steelers Games. Bars in Columbus that show Bengals games. Bars in Columbus that show Steelers games. They base it on the crowd.

Except the BW3's in Norwood. Who had sound for the Reds game.

So I ask Josh about it. This brings on:

4. Lying Managers

So the other manager on that night, who's name I didn't get, was working the AV equipment. He walks past, I ask him why he has the sound on for the Reds game, not the STANLEY CUP FINALS. He says, "Someone asked for the sound on the Reds game." So I ask him to look around and judge the crowd and see who's watching what. He says, "I have to go with what Josh wants on the sound." And walks away.

Josh walks past again. I catch his attention, again, and he, again, nervously approaches me. I ask him why I had to ask for hockey on TV versus women's tennis when it's the Stanley Cup Finals. He says, "Oh, I didn't realize it was the finals." Really? How is that possible that you run a sports bar and don't know that? Oh, you're lying. You get a daily sheet of what's on the various sports channels that your bar pays for. I know this because I've seen it.

He then says, "Oh, and I talked to the server about the trivia. She said the server needed rebooted, and the other manager did that. She should have gotten you a box, though." Yeah, ya think? Again, he walked away offering nothing more than an apology.

And, unknown to Josh, if you reboot the server, you kick all the people playing off the server. I know this. I manage about 3,000 servers, and if I reboot one with a user connected and using an application on that server, they get disconnected. So, Josh, you, too, are a lying whore.
And finally, we wind up with ...

5. Clueless Bartenders

Now me being me ... I decided to share my lack of enjoyment of the 90 minutes I spent at the BW3 in Norwood with the bartender who lied to and then ignored me. Because I'm all about the customer service.

In my wallet I have the receipts from my Saturday night at BW3 playing music trivia and watching hockey; and my Sunday night at BW3 playing trivia and watching hockey. Both show a bar tab of about $35 with a 20% and 30% tip (sorry, service on Sunday was significantly better than Saturday). If I'm spending 4 hours at your bar, I tip like I'm spending 4 hours at your bar. I was a bartender. I know the system.

So after I tell her what a total opportunity she blew, she looks at me and says, "Well, people who normally drink iced tea don't tip well." I said, "Yeah, I know. But when you assume that and ignore accordingly, and lie to your customers, and act like you don't really care about your job, all that is reflected in your tips that you receive from all your customers who recognize shitty service and tip accordingly. Or don't tip. Perhaps you should learn that the phrase TIPS actually stands for To Insure Proper Service ... meaning, I get proper service, I tip accordingly to the time and service, not the bill. I'm sorry you work in a BTW’s in a shitty college-level neighborhood bordered by a ghetto ... but we're not all like that." Or something close to that, hitting all the highlighted points there I made. But I did use the 'BW3's in a shitty college-level neighborhood bordered by a ghetto' part.

So ... to sum up this missive ...

BW3 in Norwood ... Fuck you.

Reasons I hate TV #433

So in the rare event I watch TV, I tend to stick to live sporting events or stuff on the DVR so I can avoid the tripe that comes with flipping channels passing by what is passed off as entertainment or infotainment.

Like "The Cougar" ... the "hit" show on TVLand (wait, isn't that the network that plays Hogan's Heroes, and Gunsmoke, and M*A*S*H* and all those great classic shows? Yes, yes it is. Oh, and isn't that the network that's a spin-off of Nickelodeon, the kids' network? Yes, yes it is.) So WTF is this show? Oh, here's their short take:

Meet "The Cougar": Stacey, a beautiful, blonde mother of four from Arizona. As the star of TV Land PRIME's new reality competition dating series, Stacey -- who's a successful and determined real estate agent -- is eager to shatter dating stereotypes. She believes society has placed a double standard on women who date younger men and wants to prove that age is simply a number.

The average age of her Cubs, as they're called, is 24.8. Including one 23-year-old pool boy. Does this sound like a bad porn, or what? But pool boy didn't make the final four, however.

So why is a "successful and determined real estate agent" competing on some second-rate cable network that I wasn't even aware produced original shows for the love of a younger man? Again, I go to the website for that answer:

"Stacey's dating experiences have led her to believe that men her age and older live under the pressure of a "ticking clock" that dampens their spontaneity and zest for life. Her personal success is based upon upbeat optimism, and she believes that younger men have a similar spirited tempo, a demeanor that Stacey finds crucial for her future love interest to possess -- a love interest that she plans to find on The Cougar."

Oh, really?

Please. I dated woman younger than me who had the ticking clock thing and who were quite content with their decreased spontaneity and zeal for life. I've had my share of those types, too. So rather than settle, I keep looking.

But lets long-range-view this: On the RARE event she and her successful cub do get married (none of the 13 men who were The Bachelor married said bachelorette from their show; of the four completed series of The Bachelorette, one couple is married and has two kids; two were engaged but broke it off, one declined the proposal) .. what's the future going to hold? Let's just look at what she's setting up: in 15 years, she'll be 55, probably post-menopausal, less beautiful, and with a 40-year-old guy who's going to want the red convertible and arm candy.

And as she sits there on the couch wondering where did it all go wrong and where did he learn that from ...one of her grandkids shows her a rerun of the TV show where she picked him. Oh, yeah. Pot. Kettle. Black.

But anyway, that's not the purpose of this rant. The purpose is "What if this were reversed and a 40-year-old guy was on TV picking over 25-year-olds?"
The show would be called "The Pervert."

[and for the record, don't mention Rock of Love or whatever-the-hell-that-freak Flavor Flav and his car-grill of a mouth TV show was. Yes, I'm aware, they're both over 40 and were chasing the young women ... but the concept is significantly different. Flavor Flav and Brett Michaels are, for whatever reason, celebrities. Sure, C-level or D-level celebs, but both were famous (for reasons that go beyond me) and therefore have that certain level of reality-star-show-in-the-making lifestyle that lends itself to women wanting them for the status that comes with celebrity, regardless of how many years past their prime they are. Yeah, Boooooy.

[Stacey is just a regular, beautiful, successful, twice-divorce, mother of four who sells real estate. So prior to the show, she was just anyone else in the dating pool. ]

So again, you'd never see that kind of show on the air without NOW and other feminist groups picketing, Oprah beguiling it, The View skewering it and so forth. Because it is kind of a sick way to find someone. Especially with that much pressure and differences in life. Is a 25-year-old who's used to going out on a moment's notice going to want to settle for a 40-year-old with four kids and a busy career? And be happy? Unlikely. Especially after their circuit of fame on the infotainment shows and all the eye-candy he'll be paraded by and introduced to.

Which goes back to my original statement of why I watch little but sports and selected series on my DVR. TV sucks.