Test This.

Here I am in a strange public library, waiting for the clock to advance another 45 minutes to go pick up the wife.

The way I see it, why shouldn't I go for a blog update? My last one has only resulted in 'hang-in-theres' and 'follow-your-dreams,' and since I usually don't like inspirational poster advice, I'll just do what I do best on here; complain. This time (probably the first of many) it will be about work.

I took an overly politically-correct test on my company's harassment policy and realized that the only thing I can tease someone about anymore is how they suck at video games, but at Best Buy, that person is me because everyone there eats and breathes video games. Lame. At least I can still pick on people for watching shitty movies or listening to country music. I can't even pick on someone for the way they dress, because everyone at Best Buy dresses the same!

Then, I took another test wherein I found a loophole and achieved a very high score. Here's the situation: A "customer" says a paragraph, and you have to identify the key phrases in that paragraph to pass this quiz. I didn't even read most of them; if you just roll your mouse over the paragraph, you'll notice that sometimes, more than one word is highlighted. When that happens, it's always correct, so click on it. Most of the time, all the answers were comprised of more than one word and thus the test was completely useless, much like whatever it was I was supposed to be learning at the time.

When I thought I was smart for realizing this and shared with a co-worker, I found out that he, too, did well on that test for the exact same reason. At least I didn't have to deal with customers for an hour, which brings me to my next section:

The complaint.

Someone, some lame-o customer told what he thought was my superior, that I was rude and sarcastic. Now, I don't know the whole story yet, as my actual superior didn't meet with me to formally discuss the obvious fact that I use sarcasm to relate to customers and that yes, occasionally, people have no sense of humor, but I was still following all the harassment guidelines I learned earlier that very day.

What really gets to me about this whole thing is that I don't even remember this particular customer interaction, which means I feel I was not overly-ANYTHING and this person was not rude to me. But what can they expect? I work in retail and Christmas music has been on for a month.

The thing I really don't understand is why this person sought out someone to tattle on me. Oh, and I think it's worth noting that the person sought out was not my supervisor, just a gentleman with whom I work who is older than me. He actually started a day after me! As the disgruntled customer told his tale to the 'supervisor,' he told him that he was glad to see someone who wasn't 20 years old working in the store. Last I checked, that's age-based discrimination, and I don't have to take it!

Anyway,

The moral of this story is...

I don't know.

I don't really think this is going to change how I interact with people, because unless people's smiles and eye-contact are lying, I'm doing a pretty good job.

But I should probably stop naming my company in my blog, because I'm probably violating some stupid code of conduct on a quiz I have yet to take.

A Series of Digressions

I'm stuck. Don't get me wrong, my life is very good in many ways. I am happily married and love my time at home, away from it all. But it's not my free time I'm concerned about. It's the stuff I need getting away from that's holding me back.

I have two jobs. They're both good jobs, but they're part-time and vaguely related to what I like to do, but they don't offer me any benefits or the feeling that I'm making a difference. One is in retail, selling mostly digital cameras and MP3 players. Sure, they're both products I'm familiar with, but the most interesting parts of my days there are usually unrelated to the job. When a customer comes in and we shoot the shit about the poor quality of Grade-A beef or when a coworker tells a good joke about his heritage; those are the highlights. I don't usually care about selling an extra $30 in accessories, mostly because I don't see a dime of that even though oftentimes, that's somehow my 'goal.'

At my other job as a librarian, yeah, sure, I like helping people get books. Books are great. It's just that I'm constantly reminded of the problems facing society while I explain the concepts of 'waiting lists' to another person eager to get their hands on the latest by Danielle Steel or Nicholas Sparks. Meanwhile, 'A Prayer for Owen Meany' and 'The Autobiography of Malcolm X' sit on the shelves collecting dust. I guess I have that problem at my other job too, as people seem to need help finding complete seasons of 'Two and a Half Men' or the newest release by Michael Buble, and never want Hitchcock or Tchaikovsky.

I suppose all that makes me an elitist. That's a moniker I can live with. Feel free to lump me in the same category as Barack Hussein Obama. I think I'm just as deserving of a Nobel prize as him anyway, so it all works out.

What I'm trying to say (I think) is that my jobs offer no challenge and they depress me. It depresses me to be reminded that people don't mind whatever version of 'Halloween' they go home with and have no problem spending $150 on an HDMI cable while their children stare at me open-mouthed with Kool-Aid stained smiles and a pile of DVDs that subliminally advertize more than they entertain.

So what do I do about it? Absolutely nothing. I guess I could try and ignore it, the problems specific to the American way of life. These problems that contribute to my misguided anger, depression and feeling of hopelessness. If I lived in an African village, where an extra pair of pants is considered a luxury item, would I be depressed about my neighbor who has chosen to trade for a goat instead of a cow? Probably not, but the chances of me making it to the age of 27 and in good health would not be very good. I don't think I'd make a very good hunter or forager anyway.

And now to the reason I sat down and wrote this blog... the Zombie Walk, going on in Utica tonight. It's an event that I will regretfully miss, but it's something I see every day, when more and more people wander aimlessly into stores seeking goods they cannot fully explain the reason for purchasing, and under the banner of 'helping the economy,' making the distance between the rich and the poor that much greater.

I wanted to film the Zombie Walk and edit a short piece for freelance work, now that I have my own camera and want to get my production company off the ground, but I couldn't because I finally decided to get more work using another of my tools, the tenor saxophone.

I was a music major once, but between flunking out and not being completely in love with music, I chose a different path. Now, it seems, I can't get away from it because it comes easy to me. And it has gotten in the way of what I want to do with my life. You see, I just started with this big band and then agreed to play this Salsa gig on Tuesday. Now, for that, I need to practice with the small ensemble, and we rehearse tonight, during the Zombie Walk.

I was reluctant to join this band, because I'm already spending time with my party/disco band and that gets in the way enough. I no longer find too much joy in music, aside from listening to it, and between two jobs and two bands, my free time has been slaughtered. That was the time I was supposed to spend getting used to using my camera and filming pieces to bulk up my portfolio to get me a job to get me benefits to make me happy. Right now, I use that time to sleep and stare blankly at the wide screen TV that was given to us as a wedding gift, not caring which 'Halloween' I could get my hands on.

It seems I, too, am a victim of brainwashing. The fact that I'm aware doesn't make it any better, it just depresses me more. I don't know what I want to be, but I don't want to be what I am now.

I need to blog more often. This is an okay post, but I need to be more specific. There's too much I want to say right now and as a result, my point is lost somewhere in the confusion. Oh well.

Take care. Be aware.

-Travis.

Best Buy, Worst Test

I need a job.

I need a job so badly, I'm seriously considering a career in retail. But apparently, Best Buy isn't quite as desperate for employees as I am for a job. This has nothing to do with my qualifications or experience - it has to do with my inability to pass a test.

You see, it's become common for national chains like this one to submit applicants to a long personality survey before they even look at your application. I guess since it's run by a faceless boardroom at an unknown location, a personal touch isn't really necessary if you can weed out perspective employees by asking them ridiculous questions for an extended period of time, and grade them by unknown standards.

Ask anyone who works at Best Buy, they can't tell you the answers to this 25-page survey. Not because they don't know the answers, but because they have NO IDEA how they even passed the thing in the first place. Many of them have taken it a number of times in the hopes of landing a position on the Geek Squad (a position that they probably already held by choosing to sit at a certain table at the cafeteria - they just wanted an embroidered shirt to prove it to those of us who didn't go to High School with them.)

I, myself, have failed this test three times now. I am aware of this not by any e-mail notification, but because I know an employee there. Had it not been for her, I'd still be waiting for my first answer.

The questions aren't right-and-wrong, two-plus-two-equals-five questions; they're the kind that assume a quality about yourself and give you the same four options to choose from every time.

a) Strongly Agree

b) Agree

c) Disagree

d) Strongly Disagree

I'm pretty sure there are only about five questions, worded differently for 25 fucking pages. There are about fifteen alone that can be answered by just asking 'Are you outgoing or shy?'

First, I answered honestly to the questions. Second, I answered in a way that I assumed they wanted me to answer, and third, I did a mix of the two. I am about to embark on a fourth journey into the depths of Bestbuy.com, not because I particularly want this job, but because it pisses me off to no end that I have a college degree and cannot pass a test that high school dropouts would have no problems getting through. This time I'm not reading the questions at all and answering randomly. That's gotta help.

Stocky's Guide to Life. And Maff.

Being a smaller high school, Waterville only had one upper-level math instructor. Since one of the courses he taught was a required course, pretty much everyone had to take at least one math course from Mr. Stockwell.

Affectionately known as 'Stocky' by his students, he was a great teacher and a strange, strange person. It is a fact that he licked his fingers after using the chalk board, nearly every time. Upon hearing mention of this once in class, he bit the chalk in half and may or may not have mentioned something about protein. My memory's a little foggy on that one, but I definitely remember him biting the chalk. Obsessed with sharks, he would often warn students who received low quiz scores that "the Math Shark" had gotten the best of them.

Little is known of Stocky's actual home and lineage, but students speculated anyway. Because of his alopecia, it was difficult to figure out his age. Looking at old yearbooks, it seemed the man looked exactly the same for decades. Among the rumors circulating about the man, which I highly doubt to be accurate, were that he was part shark, immortal and slept in a fold-out bed in one of the many portable storage closets in his room. In addition to sharks, he also had what appeared to be an unhealthy obsession with Texas Instruments calculators, specifically the model numbers upwards of 80, which had graphing capabilities. (Those calculators also were great for chemistry and physics classes; not for assisting but for storing memory and formulas for cheating.)

Stocky had a slight speech impediment, which had little effect on the class itself, but which explains the spelling of some of the words below. For example, instead of 'Fourth,' he would pronounce it 'Fourf.'

I really mean no offense to Mr. Sharkwell. He was a great teacher, and I learned a lot from him. I'm sure many people can agree with me on that.

Also, he had the BEST Freudian slips. We all called them 'Stockyisms,' and thanks to Jennie Swanberg for compiling a list on her Food King book cover. Her grade may have suffered for devoting so much time for paying more attention to this list then the class, but looking back, I think it was all worth it.

The terms 'fruit salad' and 'chopping' had something to do with math, but it would take Stocky's input to explain the terms any further than that. I was a big fan of the terms at the time, and they make repeated appearances in the list.

That list is now, for the first time, offered below in no particular order.

STOCKYISMS:

Don’t tell me it’s hard – it’s not.

You can’t touch anything further.

Does it make it any harder? Heck no!

I’m a sneaky son of a gun wif that.

They slam each other away.

Shh…darn!

I’m a decimal freak.

Radical 24 is doable. You can do it.

Don’t go changing signs around, that’s ugly.

If it acts like a duck, it is a duck.

I’m a decimal nut.

People get tripped up at the last second.

Some of you are gonna be cardiac sharks.

Don’t work yourself too hard.

Find me and do me.

Gotta do more of those mixed messy things.

Who just made fruit salad?

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. This is the Ugly.

I’m doing it anyway. Take that!

The more you see, the better you be.

Don’t be the limp noodle.

I don’t like chaos.

I’m cutting back on how much I do wif you.

You don’t FOIL the world, the world FOILs you.

I’ve already got 10 in the hole, I need 40 more.

Four has nofing to do wif it, it’s just hangin’ out.

The dog ate your average too.

I’ve hit about every ugly thing I can think of.

The exponent doesn’t change just because it’s smelly.

Ugly as it is, we have to figure it out.

You just have to keep the dog tied up so he won’t go anywhere.

You’re gonna get nailed.

That’s my little trick.

No one is unrecoverable. We can get you all up to snuff.

I’m very clean with my thoughts most of the time.

You can flip it, spin it, hit it…it won’t change size.

There’s no restrictions on what I can stick in there.

I’m just trying to stuff it in here!

Boy, did we kick the living poop out of this one.

Mr. Negative Number Man.

Take one result and stuff it in the next one.

How to draw them, how to play with them.

Cut the noise.

B.C. = Before Calculators.

Put the talking away.

I don’t want the Boonville Woodsman job here.

Doesn’t matter how ugly it gets.

Now all of a sudden I freak somebody out.

Twosies & twosies make foursies.

Oranges and oranges make more oranges, not grapefruits.

If you have to do it the hard way, that’s what you have to do.

File the gap fast.

The term is the basic nuts and bolts of mathematics.

You still have to do it the hard way.

People, you’re making a mountain out of a mo’ hill.

Slam it through here no problem.

I’m gonna do it the hard way now.

There are some swimming fish ninning around.

You can do it by looking at it.

I don’t know what that is, it’s a schizoid thing.

Don’t chop wood.

Don’t make fruit salad.

I like doing ugly things.

I don’t need a comedy act here, put a lid on it.

You have to work inside out, otherwise you say ‘what the heck do I do now?’

I wanna teach you to be lazy properly.

No verbal diarrhea back there.

We’re still doin’ baby guppies yet.

It’s gonna be strenuous today, I can guarantee that.

It’s sharkingly possible.

I got a few tricks to show you that you haven’t seen before.

I don’t want to clear the brackets now because I can still do some housekeeping inside.

He who fools around stays around.

Chew on your words for a while + calm down.

You’re in T.I. territory.

These problems sometimes do themselves, if you let them.

Boonville woodchopping expert.

Like terms, no fruit salad here.

Don’t do this half-chop stuff.

I’m about to be a big time bad boy.

Leave it ugly.

The Chopping Society of America could have a field day wif that one.

If you wanted to go nuts today, you could.

Hey! Don’t do it my way.

You can do FOIL in your sleep.

Cuff ‘em & stuff ‘em.

I’ll cut to the chase here.

There’s FOIL in all its glory.

Upper-level mathematics FOIL is passe.

I works like a charm every time.

Take the first one & FOIL it & you’ll go over the moon wif it.

Hang on a second, I’ll even get worse.

Show and tell here.

Bang! It’s done.

Those kinds of problems drive students crazy.

If you foil first you get yourself in a whole lot of hot water.

Monday is a day where we have to do a LOT of housekeeping.

Chopping is one of the biggest crimes in mathematics.

Don’t look to FOIL first.

I was raised in a society where we didn’t have calculators. I did everything on my feet.

As Usual, I'm Missing Something.

Yeah, so this Swine Flu thing is getting out of control. How many people have died so far? 100? That's pretty serious. But you know what's just as serious, if not more so?

THE REGULAR FLU.

According to a Public Service Announcement I just played on the radio, 36,000 people will die this year from the REGULAR FLU. Not the that crazy swine variety, but the regular, run-of-the-mill, good old-fashioned 1918 Flu that was the largest pandemic in history and killed tens of millions of people.

Why are we all concerned with this new disease? It's all over the news right now, kind of like SARS or Avian Bird Flu. Or Anthrax in the mail. Remember them? Why aren't we hearing about those any more? I just get this eerie feeling that they're only reporting on this because they're trying to avoid covering something that actually matters.

Here in Central New York, the Swine Flu Scare has even prompted Dean of Students, Ken Kelly, to send a campus-wide e-mail on the issue. In the e-mail, which I hastily deleted and now want to quote it directly and cannot, he basically says not to worry. Oneida County only has had one possible case that has not been confirmed. Kelly goes on to say that the symptoms of the Swine Flu are

-Fever (over 100 degrees Fahrenheit)
-Vomiting
-Loss of Appetite
-Diarrhea

This all sounds oddly familiar. Oh, yeah, those are the symptoms for the REGULAR FLU. Kelly's advice: If you get flu symptoms, go home and rest. Take some antibiotics or something. Don't go near people. It appears the treatment is the same as the REGULAR FLU as well. I wonder if the ratio of people that have lived to people that have died from the Swine Flue is the same as the Regular one. I wouldn't be surprised, as EVERY OTHER ASPECT is the same.

But maybe I'm missing something.

MAN.

Givin' Off the Vibe

Disclaimer: If you finish reading this and are mildly offended, you can blame Drew and Kelley for requesting an update. This is pretty much the only interesting thing that's happened to me since my last post.



Here's one of the reasons I don't go to bars any more.

So, I'm standing outside of Utica's most expensive hot-spot, Space 25 or something, I forget, and I'm just waiting for Marissa and reading the paper on my iPhone. (Sidenote, this kind of goes against everything I stand for, but the iPhone is fucking SWEET!) And this tall, I guess we'll call him attractive, exTREMEly gay black dude starts talking to me while he smokes a cigarette. His questions are probing, to put it lightly, and all the while he's loooking me up and down.

His opener - "are you in the army?" (because I was wearing an army-fatigue jacket, as per usual).
My response - "um, no. I'm into garage sales. This was a dollar."

I know what he's thinking. I don't know why I give off a gay vibe, but it happens sometimes, I guess. Does it show that I recently had a dream about Vice-President Tom Cruise asking me to shave my ass when I was pantsless at an important meeting, possibly a debriefing of some kind? I guess it does now. Maybe you, dear reader, can tell me what exactly it is about me that both repels women and attracts men.

Anyway, here's something NOT to say to a person you're not interested in, regardless of their sex.

Me - "So....what's your name?"
Him - "Kirkland."
Me - "Oh, I live in Kirkland."

I didn't think about it at the time, but I definitely should have gone with Clinton. Or Paris. Or ANYWHERE. When is it too early to tell someone you're not attracted to them? I didn't want to be rude to the guy, so I just let the uncomfortable conversation finish of its own accord.

He finally realized I was the way I was when he asked if I was here with anyone, and I excitedly proclaimed, "YES. YES, I'M HERE WITH MY FIANCEE!" He promptly said it was nice meeting me and bade me farewell.

I have nothing against those of us who happen to be gay. I think that's great, and I think Iowa and Vermont and Sweden and that other place that is doing great things human rights for homosexuals is great. I'm just not gay myself.

Would it help if I was bald again? And I don't mean my ass, Vice-President Cruise.

The Curious Case of the Shit on the Side of the Box

I don't know how it happened, but I'll try to describe it as best I can.

All night we smelled it. Marissa already cleaned up what we thought to be the source of the stench, but very rarely does cat shit linger like it did this fateful night. But really, it was a few hours before we saw what has since boggled my mind.

Earlier that day, I had purchased sixty books for a dollar, but that's not what this blog is about. They came in these cardboard boxes and were taking up prime real estate in our living room. The kitties usually enjoy a good cardboard box - full or empty - and these were no exception.

Mayfield and Prudence spent a good part of the night playing 'King of the Boxes,' a game which I doubt needs a description as many cat games go. At some point, one of them smeared shit horizontally on the corner of the box, about a foot and a half above the floor.

Just try to picture that. Now, cat asses are usually about six inches off the ground, and if they happened to smear shit on the side of a box, you would naturally assume it would be at their usual height or from some form of jumping, which would create a vertical line as opposed to a horizontal one.

So just how did this happen?

Here's my theory:

One of the cats, let's say Mayfield, because he's usually the culprit of catshit-related mishaps, was hanging off the box in an attempt to take over the summit from Prudence. As he was hanging, he somehow managed a sideways maneuver which in turn left a smear of crap across one side of the box and continued onto the other.

But that just doesn't make sense. Any thoughts?

This is just one more reason my cats fucking rule.

Computer BaSUCKS

This class sucks. I would have tried to test out of it, but I didn't want to waste ten dollars. Now I'm stuck here learning how to copy-and-paste files in Microsoft XP (which stands for the eXPerience - the only information in this class that was new to me so far).

First - I'm primarily a Mac user.
Second - XP is no longer the newest Microsoft operating system.

Why is this class being taught?

Why is this class required for me to graduate? Can't they just assume that through my college career I will eventually learn the basics of the programs covered in the class (the Microsoft Office bundle)? The two students in front of me are checking facebook and e-mail, and I'm obviously typing something...

And he wants me to spend $140 on books. Ha! I'll try and figure out everything on the fly on the final.

I guess I should have paid ten dollars.

I kind of hope I fail.

Worst case scenario - I get a few hours of internet use every Thursday night.

Yours,
Travis

Utica's Roots

Sometimes, things just seem right - almost as if they were meant to be. Asking why will not bring me closer to any reason, be it divine or otherwise, but rather than pondering the deeper meaning of coincidences, I'll just try and sum up what gave me the chills today.

So I'm sitting in the radio station at Utica College for my weekly show and being comfortable with the music set for the remainder of the show, I decided to relax and to finish Alex Haley's book, 'Roots,' which I found quite difficult to put down. On page 713, I read something that required a second look...

"I was asked to speak at a seminar at Utica College..." Haley wrote. He was attempting to research where exactly his great-great-great-great-grandfather came from and found some success in Upstate New York, very close to where I am now sitting. He also visited nearby Hamilton College, where he had a little more success.

Being Martin Luther King, Jr.'s 'Birthday,' I knew I had to say something over the airwaves before playing my next song by Queen, when I realized that the name of that band is the title to another of Haley's books. I meantioned these coincidences over the airwaves and not too long thereafter a caller informed me that not only did Haley give a seminar, but also the commencement address at UC around 1979, when the 'Roots' miniseries was being released.

I can't wait to look up his speech in our archives and read more about it in the local newspapers and in the school newspaper, 'The Tangerine.'

I have had a similar experience like this, which you can read about in this very blog. Look for the blog titled, 'Nutrocker' from 10 March, 2008 to see what I mean.

The Neverending Story Alternate Ending

Bastian enters the book shop and the bell above the door announces his presence. The old shopkeeper enters through another door in the back to the sound of a flush and is drying his hands on his shirt.
"How did you like that book you stole from me?" the shopkeeper asks.
"Did you know?" Bastian responds.
"Did I know what, that you would steal my personal belongings? Did you enjoy your trip?"
Bastian knew that they were on the same wavelength at this point. He removes the book out from its secret hiding place beneath his sweater and offers it to the old man.
"Just as I suspected," the shopkeeper says, inspecting the pages of the book. "The entire tablet is gone."
Bastian looks confused, and looks again at the cover of the oversized book, the title of which now reads, "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." This story, it seems, is getting stranger by the minute. Perhaps the book takes on a different form in daylight, Bastian thinks to himself. Then Bastian thought about the last thing the old man said about a tablet. Before he could come up with a question in response, the old man chimes in.
"Yeah," the old man says. "To make sure punks like you don't just take books from me, I like to teach them a lesson they won't soon forget. I pretend that there's this all-important book that 'isn't for everyone' and just affix small amounts of acid to the top right corner of a few early pages. This way, if you lick your finger before turning every page, like all little bastards do, you're tripping balls by page ten."
Bastian furrows his brow in confusion. After a few moments, he considered what the old man had just told him and innocently asks, "Acid?"
"Ask your father," the old man quickly replies.
Bastian nods his head and exits the shop with another jingling of the bell above the door. Waiting for him outside are the three bullies he was hiding from earlier in the film.
"Aren't you supposed to be in a dumpster?" the head bully asks, and without any further question from Bastian, he walks to the dumpster, opens the lid, and gets inside.

The End.

True Story.

So, this one time I'm on this airplane and the flight attendent offers a little more than just drinks and pretzels. For some reason, perhaps due to an advertising campaign, the lady has some shampoo on her cart. Herbal Essences, to be exact.

So anyway, this chick next to me, who looks like she needs a makeover a la 'She's All That,' which was one of my favorite movies at the time, skips the drinks and goes straight for the shampoo. This chick must have known something I didn't, as she had a mischevious smile on her face as she headed towards the bathroom.

Man oh man you wouldn't believe what happened next. We're all sitting in the cabin, minding our own business, when this 'Sarah Plain and Tall' starts moaning in ecstasy in the airplane bathroom, as if we're all like a mile away or something. All us other passengers were glancing at each other, thinking 'WTF,' or something. I especially remember this old chick with a smirk on her face like she knew what was up, but I may have misread her look.

So after a few seconds that felt like, well, seconds, the orgasming chick from the bathroom emerged and she was totally smoking hot. I don't know what went on in there, but her hair was dry, so forgive me for sounding like a pervert, but I don't think she used that shampoo on her hair. But her hair looked totally different! I went to the bathroom later to investigate and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

This happened a few years ago, and I've been trying to figure out what went on since then. If you have any theories on this mystery, please comment.