Street Beet

Scribbles and Scraps

Fri, 5 Jun 2009 07:48:07 -0500

Last week, I was reading the newspaper online … because why would you pay for it when they give it to you free and you don’t have to go out in the rain to get it?
At any rate, I came across what could be the worst thing ever: a picture drawn by a court sketch artist. Maybe it’s not a bad job, but seriously, it’s 2009 and you make your living with colored pencils?
It could be that I am thinking everyone is as “tech savvy” as I am, but maybe they should look into this new invention … the camera. A cheap cell phone can now replace the courtroom sketch artist, and it would improve the photo quality.
It’s bad enough I have to see this in the paper, but online, too? IT’S THE INTERNET! Google Earth shows me a satellite picture of me in a lounge chair in my backyard, yet I am supposed to infer the prosecutor is deep in thought because of the charcoaled shade lines in his furrowed brow? I think not.
Since I was enraged at seeing this online, I decided to flip through the channels on TV instead. I came across CNN, and they were doing the unthinkable. They were interviewing a court sketch artist about the trial she was drawing for.
That’s right: Instead of filming the trial, they were interviewing a woman who was drawing pictures of it. She was holding up the pictures and describing them. It was like the saddest segment of “Color the Weather” I had ever seen. She actually pointed to a drawing of a man in the witness box and pointed out his confusion as conveyed by the way she drew his eyebrows.
I gave up on TV and went back to the computer – there is always entertainment to be had there – which led me to Craigslist, the site where you can find anything. I noticed something was awry. To my dismay, I discovered that my favorite section was missing, but as it turns out, Craigslist has normal buying and selling forums, too! Who knew?!?
Since I am currently trying to buy a home, I figured I would see what was available. I’m going to need a washer/dryer and a refrigerator, might as well see if I can get a deal, right … as long as I don’t come across some lunatic. Mostly what I found, though, was a lot of junk.
I’d like to give some advice to those would-be sellers out there. Nobody is riding to Ponchatoula for a dining room table you bought at Wal-Mart that now has three mismatched chairs. Also, if the problem with your washing machine is that it has no door and a bad motor, $25 is still not a good price. You aren’t going to sell that 65” big-screen TV you bought in 1987. Open a Mr. Gatti’s Pizza and put in it there, or dump it in a roadside trash pit.
The most important piece of advice is this: If your asking price is $5 or less, throw it away. No ifs, ands, or buts … just throw it away. Sure, that oversized remote control you bought seems like a steal for three bucks, but trust me, nobody wants it. Just let it go.
Now all I can think about is a Mr. Gatti’s pizza with sausage, and since I am no longer bound by the obligations of a weight-loss contest, it’s time to get to the buffet!

Harder on the Outside, Softer on the Inside

Fri, 1 May 2009 07:44:31 -0500

I’ve noticed an interesting phenomenon during my experiences with my workplace’s “Biggest Loser Challenge.” I wasn’t sure what to label it, but it turned out there was already a word: pride. Apparently, this is a condition in which you are made to feel good about yourself.
A few weeks ago, I put a “Before and After” picture on my Facebook page to show my friends my progress. I had lost over 40 pounds from picture one to picture two, and I wanted to show off.
Now, if anyone I know would have posted a picture like that, I would have immediately added the caption “Photoshop!” which is exactly what every one of my friends did.
Instead of laughing and busting chops right back, I called one of my friends and started complaining and saying it wasn’t Photoshop and offering to take off my shirt to prove it … to which my friend replied, “What a great comic response; way to have a sense of humor.”
That was when I realized that it was possible to feel good about yourself. Right after that, I realized it is never good to feel good about yourself, when you have the friends I have.
I think it was harder remembering how to laugh at myself than it was losing the weight. To lose weight, I just had to eat differently and do some exercise … to renew my self-loathing, I had to grow my hair out for a few weeks so I could see the skin yarmulke on the back of my head.
I knew my hair was thinning back there, but I didn’t realize I had crop circles in the front of my head coming in, also. Maybe I should say going out instead of coming in. Either way, it made me feel good about feeling bad about myself again.
While it looks like I won’t win, it does appear I have second place locked up. Although wearing the mantle of “Second-Biggest Loser” somehow seems worse than actually being the “Biggest Loser.” At least it’s something else that can bring my massive ego down a rung or two and maybe keep my sense of comedy in check.
All I know is this: I haven’t had a cookie since the beginning of February, when I accidentally opened a box of Tagalongs and ate them, and then ate another box, too, and at this point, I can’t wait until I can have a cookie again.
The only other thing I miss is pizza. I wouldn’t say I crave it, mostly because crave doesn’t begin to describe my wanting. I can’t think of one word or phrase that can describe it, other than I’d kill at least half the population to have a half-eaten, cold piece of thin-crust, meat lovers’ pizza.
Luckily, it’s almost over. Next month, I will tell you how many days it took me to gain back what it took me four months to lose.

Submission Hold the Mayo

Fri, 3 Apr 2009 07:43:08 -0500

A few nights ago, I went to a mixed martial arts event at a local establishment that shall remain nameless … I will simply say it seems like it might be more fitting if it was located in a neighboring state.
We were standing in line, and there was a guy in a wheelchair also waiting in line. Security came up and told the gentleman in the wheelchair that he didn’t need to wait in line, and they took him and his friend and brought them inside early.
Now, normally, I am not against preferential treatment for disabled people … unless it involves you going in early when you aren’t even having to stand there uncomfortably like those of us who have been standing there for 45 minutes. It’s even worse when they go by two people on crutches, who are told that their disabilities aren’t permanent, so they have to continue standing.
I’m not saying it’s bad to help people with disabilities; I’m just saying maybe you should have rules that are open to interpretation.

I don’t know if this is a universal, but for some reason, any time I reach for a bottle of ketchup at a restaurant (one that doesn’t serve it in packets), I just feel like white trash. Everyone knows ketchup goes great with fried fish, yet pouring it out makes me feel like I should be barefoot, wearing a tank top, and chewing on a weed. I can’t even put it on a burger without feeling like I should be snuggling up with a cousin.
I know I have gone on record before about ranch being the white trash of salad dressings, but ketchup definitely takes the crown as the white-trash condiment … unless you mix it with mayo to make a delicious dip for crawfish.

Speaking of mayo, I have been dabbling in the Atkins diet, and one of the allowable foods is mayonnaise. All the mayonnaise you want … but no bread.
Why in the world would you need mayo if you can’t have it on roast beef and sourdough? It’s not like peanut butter. Nobody ever sits down with a jar of mayo and a spoon … and if you do, maybe you should look into your larger dietary concerns.

Is it just me, or are they still discovering new weather? With the bad weather last month, I learned a new phrase: “straight-line winds.” Until that day, I had never heard of straight-line winds, but suddenly, there they were, blowing out windows and knocking down light posts and trees.
A few years back, “microburst” was the new, hot buzzword. I had always thought microbursts were what made Cinnaburst gum so delicious; turns out, they were deadly miniature tornados. (Miniature tornado is what a microburst is, not what makes Cinnaburst delicious; that was flavor crystals).
I miss Cinnaburst gum. There is something environmentally friendly about a gum you could chew with the wrapper still on it. Maybe they wouldn’t have gone out of business if they had had the slogan “Get fresh breath, and save the planet from a fiery death.” Hell, I know I would have bought more.
It breaks my heart that Cinnaburst didn’t make it but Freshen-up, which shoots goo into your mouth when you bite into it, did … it always made me feel creepy. That’s why I had to cut back to only two packs a day of it.

Po-Po Potpourri

Fri, 6 Mar 2009 07:38:59 -0600

The other day, I watched a marathon on truTV. I think it was called “When Cops Beat Ass.” Every clip had the same basic premise: subject encounters officer, subject gets mouthy with officer, subject gets ass beat.
It always, always, always ends the same way. Never in the history of police departments has someone ever yelled at a cop: “I know my rights! Get off me! I ain’t doin’ nothing!” and heard the reply: “Well, you make a convincing argument, citizen … be on your way.”
You won’t win the argument, and you can’t win the fight. They come into the fight with Tasers, pepper spray, night sticks, handcuffs, guns, radios for reinforcements, and helicopters. You and your stolen ’92 Ford Tempo can’t compete with that. A suspect has never pushed an officer and threatened him, and then been let go because the cop didn’t want any trouble. All it gets you is 50,000 volts and dirty underwear.
All that being said, and wishing nothing but the best for my friends in blue, few things make me happier than seeing a video of some mouthy douche getting thrown on the hood while yelling, or my personal favorite, catching a non-lethal beanbag to the gut.

Did you know they make a light bulb now that is guaranteed to last 35 years? How do they know that? I know they didn’t invent this thing in ’74, yet I am supposed to believe this light bulb has the potential to outlive me.
Plus, you know this company won’t be around to refund your 25 bucks in a few years when this thing goes out. How do they expect to sell them for more than a year? Once everyone has them, you aren’t making money anymore for the next 34 years.
What I wanted to do was make a bulb that lasts for two years, slap on a sticker that says 35 years, sell it for 20 months, close the doors, and move to the Bahamas. But now I can’t because I just told you my master plan, but all I probably did was figure out the master plan of those other guys.
More importantly, if the technology to do that has been around for that long, then why hasn’t someone invented a portable jet pack yet? I want my jet pack now!

So, in my house hunt, I assumed I would get great response from Realtors because the economy is slow and houses aren’t moving that well right now. Last week, I received a reply from a Realtor about a house I had inquired about … in October. She informed me that that particular home was no longer on the market, and she was wondering if she could show me anything else. I replied: “Yes, I am hoping you can show me that house five months ago.” Hopefully, she can do that when she gets her DeLorean repaired.

At work, we are having our version of “Biggest Loser,” and as soon as I saw the poster, I knew I would win it. I signed up, walked into the office, and said, “Where’s my prize?” Turns out, it’s a weight-loss contest. I really should start reading the fine print.

Finally, last month I turned 31, and I had the PERFECT birthday … if I would have been 9. I got a new bicycle, and I went to the circus. It was Cirque du Soleil, but being a fancy circus, that still means it was a circus. Thank you to all my friends, family, readers, Facebookers, and MySpacers for the birthday well wishes.

The Lowdown on Down Payments

Fri, 6 Feb 2009 23:21:49 -0600

I’m still in the market for a house, and every day I discover something new about why our country and economy is in the state it is in, and also why the housing industry is in the toilet. It all comes down to rules and restrictions. I am not saying there are too many of them; I am saying they are ridiculous.
I had been under the impression that, when shopping for a home and a loan, saving money for your down payment would be a good thing. If you think about it, it shows that you have a steady income, and you can save and budget. The problem is that, by doing this, you show that you don’t really know how to work the system.
If you save the money yourself, you have to let it “season” in your bank account for 60 days. Yes, you read that right. If you use your own money, after you have proven you can get the money on your own, you have to prove you can hold on to it for 60 days before you can use it.
Maybe that proposition isn’t so crazy, but when compared to the other down payment process, it is ludicrous. If the money is given, or “gifted,” as they call it, then it is available automatically. You can immediately use it. Yup … no muss, no fuss, no waiting. If you do nothing more than ask someone to give you money, it can be used the same day as the down payment on an FHA loan.
Now, I know you must be thinking: Why not just give the money to someone and then have him “gift” it to you? Well, I’ll tell you: The government already thought of that. When you get the money given to you, the “gifter” has to provide two months’ (60 days’) worth of bank statements to prove that you didn’t save the money yourself, give it to him, and then have him give it back.
They are intent on making sure you don’t earn it yourself. You can’t slip one by on them. They will be damned if someone is going to try to show some personal responsibility or initiative in America! That’s not what this country was founded on! Putting your hand out and waiting: That’s what got us through the hard times and made the United States the power it is today. Although I’m not sure how it benefits people by reinforcing the principle of “Don’t work hard; just wait for someone to hand it to you,” but I am sure that it does help in some small way. To me, it ranks right up there with legislating fast food and letting people sue because they spilled hot coffee on themselves.
While I am on the topic of personal responsibility, let me briefly mention something that is truly important: idiot drivers … specifically, the species of Monolighticus jackassicus. When you have only one headlight, you should change it. If you can’t afford to change it, deal with it. What you SHOULD NOT do is turn on your bright lights to compensate. I realize it makes it convenient for you, because suddenly you have one bright light and one normal light, but you are pissing off every other driver you come across.
If you hurt your arm, you go to the doctor and get it fixed. You don’t start injecting steroids into your good arm so it gets twice as strong while ignoring the hurt arm. It should be common sense and common courtesy. That probably explains why nobody does it.
If you are one of these people, and your car gets hit with a handful of pennies, it wasn’t me. I was at a restaurant with friends, and I can Photoshop … I mean, provide real photographs and receipts to back up my alibi.
Also, I turn 31 the same month Red Shtick turns 5. The year I turned 30, there was a leap day added, and an extra second tacked on at the end to keep the calendars accurate. So the year I turned 30 was officially the longest year in the history of the world … just par for the course, I guess. Happy Birthday to us.

Street Beat-Downs

Fri, 2 Jan 2009 00:25:41 -0600

I don’t know about you, but I am always looking for something to ponder between the lather, rinse, and repeat. This time, I came up with one that men everywhere can use to judge themselves against the masses. It’s a real, feel-good, hypothetical situation for the New Year.
What percentage of the population could you beat up? Women, children, old people, military, cage fighters, football players, fry cooks … the entire population of the world, Thunderdome style: Two enter, one leaves.
I’d have to say at least 82% for myself.
Fifty percent of the world is women. Ladies, I will give you 1% just because I have watched enough “Girl Fight” videos on YouTube. So right off the bat, I am almost at .500.
Next, you have the very young (under 15) and the old (over 65). Originally, I said 60, but then I remembered Clint Eastwood in Heartbreak Ridge. If you are born or breathing, you count, even if it’s on a ventilator.
You know who can’t dodge a punch very well? Coma patients, that’s who. This should put me comfortably in the 70% range.
Finally, you get to the true tough guys of the world: military, police, inmates, football/hockey/UFC/NBA guys, and savages from the jungles. While I don’t have solid numbers, I’m guessing it will be about 10%, give or take. I will chalk those up as losses, not that I ever plan on getting that far. I will die of old age before I get to them.
I want to start with children and the infirm to pad my stats. Intimidation can be a big part of it; lots of people will be scared to go against a guy who is 940,000 and 1.
The rest of the population is just guys like me. I am betting I could at the very least split those. Sure, there is some sociopath who is 40 and still bagging groceries with nothing to lose, but for every one of those, there are five guys who sit in cubes and stare at statistics. They are mine.
It makes me feel good to be confident that I could kick the crap out of that much of the planet. Figure out your percentage: It is guaranteed to make you stand a little taller and feel a little prouder.
After I worked all that out, I came across another astounding fact: Insects make up about 90% of life on Earth! 90%! That means I could single-handedly destroy most of the life on Earth!
I may be the most dominant force on Earth. I could crush an ant and strangle a giraffe. You put a great white on the dock and he is mine, too, but that’s another story for another shower.
Happy New Year, everyone!

Bipolar Express

Fri, 5 Dec 2008 19:31:53 -0600

I know, normally, you wouldn’t post a retraction in a made-up article in a comedy and satire magazine, but I would feel remiss if I didn’t at least say: So, that whole economy thing … yeeeeeeah, um, looks like I was wrong. Good thing I was already stockpiling dog food for my retirement.
Let’s keep this upbeat – how ’bout them Tigers?!?!? While the realist in me says that we (and yes, I say “we” as if I am actually part of the team; I have lived and breathed and cried and died, even when Curly Hallman was running the show – I have EARNED the moniker of “we”) have been a Top 25 team, and mostly Top 10 for the last eight years, and we have TWO National Championships in the last five years … We can handle a down season; it’s a rebuilding phase, no need to panic. We will learn from this season and be ready to conquer all again next season…
Unfortunately, I AM NOT A REALIST!!!! I AM A FAN!!!! FIRE EVERYBODY! Even the water boy; kick him and steal his wallet! Bring me the heads of the defensive coordinators! Burn the TAF to the ground! They have failed me! ME – that’s right, me!
I have no ties with that terrible program! I can’t believe they are even allowed to have a football team! I never went to watch them play, anyway; you just can’t get hot dogs and nachos like that anywhere else.
They need Pete Carroll as head coach, Spurrier on offense, and Saban on defense! They will never win again unless they do that!
At least we have the Saints. That’s right, the Black and Gold, your team, my team, OUR team! Through thick and thin, Saints fan since day one!
We have the best quarterback in the entire NFL! Even though I can’t figure out how you are the NFL MVP quarterback, leading in every stat imaginable, but you can’t seem to get it done in the end. MVP? PFFFFT! Maybe between the 20s, but not in the red zone where it counts.
Ride them all out of town on a rail! They need a coach with fresh ideas! They should look at that Haslett guy; he got the Rams to show signs of life as their interim coach!
What about the quarterback? Sure, we have the best fantasy quarterback, but we need a reality quarterback! How come the Titans get a guy like Kerry Collins?
What they need is a running game! I think the Saints should sell out everything in the draft and try to get the next big-name running back! If they would listen to me, they could be in the Super Bowl!
At least we got the Hornets…
Eh, maybe we will be better in 2009…
See you next year! CHEERS!

Chickin Little

Fri, 7 Nov 2008 01:43:53 -0600

OK, I need to get something off my chest, and I don’t know whether it makes me want to laugh or cry. It makes me laugh because it reflects the stupidity of individuals, but it makes me want to cry because it’s also a statement on the stupidity of humanity as a whole.
For as far back as I can remember in my life, there has always been at least one Chick-fil-A in town. Other than delicious waffle fries and fantastic chikin sandwiches, Chick-fil-A is known for one thing above all else: THEY ARE CLOSED ON SUNDAYS! They always have been; they always will be. Everyone knows this … everyone!! Yet for some reason, when I pass by a Chick-fil-A on a Sunday, invariably there is some dope sitting at the drive-thru window, wondering why nobody is taking his order.
Even if you are from Mars and have no idea what the place is, the fact that there are no cars in the parking lot at noon should tell you that either (A) this is a place you don’t want to eat, or (B) they are closed. Hell, the fact that the lights are off should be the primary indicator.
So, apparently, the economy is in a shambles and society as we know it is on the verge of collapse. Civilizations are failing and the world is quickly heading back to a Stone Age existence. Thankfully, we have the media here to tell us all about how bad everything is. I didn’t know all of this until I started looking for a house. I don’t watch the news very often, and other than looking for people I know in the police and fire briefs and obituaries, I don’t read the newspaper, either, so I had no idea just how bad we were doing.
I didn’t notice, because I still had to wait an hour when going out to dinner on a Friday night. You would think, with a total economic failure, I could walk right in and get a table for hibachi (nothing makes me happier than onion volcano). I didn’t notice, because the mall is still packed; so is every sporting event and even the interstate – and not just at 5pm: Get on the road about 2:30 on a Sunday, and there are people out and about, running errands and having weekend outings.
Seems to me, if the news outlets weren’t telling me how terrible things are, I just might still be enjoying life instead of hiding under the covers, waiting for it to all come to a fiery end. If only we could get a few of them to start “predicting” a turnaround like they did this collapse, I bet this whole thing could be resolved by Tuesday. I might be wrong, but every economic downturn I remember was always preceded by the media saying how they thought everything was getting bad, and recovered when they started talking about how it was all turning around. Nothing ever seemed truly different before or after.
So, in summary, if you want to buy something, do it. Especially if you ladies out there are looking to remodel your homes … I might be able to take some of that old furniture off your hands … at a large discount, of course – I mean, after all, we are entering a recession.
A quick fill-in-the-blank since, as of this writing, we haven’t had the election yet:
I can’t believe (candidate of your choice) got elected! Looks like it’s going to be four years of (expletive of your choice).
It works for Democrats and Republicans!

Power Hungry

Fri, 3 Oct 2008 22:34:31 -0500

September sure was a slow month. I thought, with the elections coming up, there would have been more coverage of them, but for most of the month, I didn’t hear a peep. I guess the Republicans cancelled their convention.
The little bit of TV I did see consisted mainly of a bunch of people standing there, trying not to laugh or pick their noses, while somebody else told lies with a sprinkling of truth and just a dash of hope. I never could figure out what the hell all those other people were doing.
I did learn lots of sign language, though, which was a bonus, even though I’m not sure if it was all right. Jindal was talking 90 mph; there’s no way the translators could keep up. Not that trying to follow the words of Bozo … I mean, the Entergy spokesperson … was any easier; all I know after watching him are the signs for “Um, uh, eh” and “what I mean by.” To make it easier, the translator should have just done the universal sign for a Handie. At least then we would have known their “expectations” were so much garbage.
I thought my generator was a blessing; however, I never knew that not having electricity could have been so expensive. Thankfully, they managed to get the power restored to “critical infrastructures” quickly. It was nice to be able to go to the JC Penney at BOTH MALLS the DAY AFTER the storm and get some new khaki shorts and polo shirts so I could look fashionable at the air-conditioned casinos or while getting the tree off the roof. I was also relieved to know concerts at the Shaw Center could resume so quickly while over 80% of us were still guarding our generators at night … It’s good to know Entergy had their priorities in order.

Pining for Gold

Fri, 5 Sep 2008 14:45:18 -0500

Apparently, I am missing out on a new trend. I’m not quite positive what the trend is, but I have it narrowed down to two possibilities:
(A) People are keeping dead bodies in their cars, or
(B) Having 490 pine-tree-shaped air fresheners in your car is suddenly cool.
I can only assume it is Option A. Option B is too ludicrous to consider on its own. Pine-tree air fresheners stink. I don’t know how Pine-Sol® has managed to con people all these years; pine is an awful scent. It smells like a nursing home – not a nice nursing home, either. It’s the aroma that’s associated with stolen Social Security checks and not getting to watch Matlock.
More importantly, it’s tacky. You shouldn’t have one air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror, much less a dozen there and one on each hook above the door. Take a shower if you stink that bad. If you really do have a dead body, get rid of it; that’s what your neighbor’s garage is for.

The Olympics are finally over. I won’t say anything bad about China, because I love being able to buy things for next-to-nothing at Wal-Mart. Sure, they are undermining our economy and will eventually conquer us because of it, but I’m sure I will be dead by then.
Michael Phelps made America proud by winning eight gold medals, and then he made us pray for our Chinese overlords to take charge swiftly by wearing his hat sideways. Usain Bolt was thought to be unsportsmanlike because he gloated while winning, but then we remembered that’s what jocks do: win and rub it in. That’s why Jocks are Jocks and Mathletes are Bully Magnets.
Thankfully, we won gold in basketball once again. I was really impressed when they said it was the first time the U.S. has won gold in basketball since 2000 … and then I remembered that the Olympics only happen every four years. That means they didn’t win only once. Or, if the Olympics happened every day, that’s like saying they haven’t won since Tuesday. (If you read this on a Tuesday, pretend that says Sunday).

A little update on my life to close: It turns out I am rich! Yup, that’s right: I am rolling in the cash. I know this might be a shock to some of you who know me; hell, it was a shock to me.
I discovered I was rich by accident. As someone who is in the market for a house, I was searching for first-time homebuyer deals available in Louisiana, and I found out I don’t qualify for any of them, even though I am a first-time homebuyer. I thought I was living paycheck-to-paycheck; however, I must have dump trucks of money rolling up to my door, since, to qualify for an even lower interest rate, I would need several people with no income to depend on me. I wonder if that guy with the dog that stands at Siegen and the Interstate needs a roommate …
If you read this and you are a realtor, or a mortgage lender, email me. Even though it might seem like a bad idea, I could give you a plug … tens of people read my column every month … Think about it.