Bathrooms

It's the last day of July, so one more worthless post to bump my total up. What's that? All my recent posts have been worthless? Touche!

I had a most interesting conversation with a man who owns some gas stations, and he shared this interesting piece of convenience store genius- he refuses to stock the condom machines in the women's bathroom. Why? Since the women are too embarrassed to buy the condoms at the desk anyway, what's the chance they are going to complain about getting screwed *cough* in the bathroom? None. I couldn't pin him to a number, but thousands of dollars a year are made this way. Totally unethical, totally genius.

Lastly, while about to light a match in my bathroom this morning to clear away some noxious fumes, I had a most magnificent idea. Instead of just lighting the match, I first sprayed the inside of the toilet bowl with Lysol disinfecting spray, and then dropped a match in (note: I realize that in no way is dropping the match into the toilet critical to the success of its mission). Not only did the sulfur help take away the stench, but the resulting fireball completely obliterated any remaining nastiness (I'm talking gases, not skid marks) in the bowl while providing a satisfying visceral thrill, and then was cleanly extinguished by the flushing of the toilet. Genius? No, but enjoyable.

Questing for Oblivion

I'd like to say that I just walked into Wal-Mart, picked up an Xbox 360 and a copy of Oblivion, and was home to play by 3 PM the other day, but in reality, it was much more difficult. Purchasing Oblivion and the necessary hardware was actually an eleven-day quest fraught with danger and frustration, which in all actuality, is probably making the game that much sweeter. Here is the rough order of events.

Day 1: I stopped by Wal-Mart, to conduct a visual inspection as to the availablity of an Xbox 360 and Oblivion. Negative. I wanted to ask when a shipment was coming in, but the Wal-Mart Electronics Monkey was engrossed in discussing World of Warcraft strategy with some professional looking man in his mid-thirties. Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, makes me happier than hearing a sentence like, "I found the Helm of Varedoth in the Western Plaguelands, which gave my orc shaman +5 strength" in a public setting. Especially when uttered by a non-traditional gamer, without any sense of embarassment. I repeat, nothing, except for maybe watching these people.

Day 3: Still nothing at Wal-Mart, so on the way back from landscaping, I stopped by Play N Trade, where I found both Xbox 360's aplenty, and a few copies of Oblivion. Jackpot. I held off on purchasing, since I was running dangerously low on coin, and I refuse to purchase things on my credit card without having the cash to back it. I contemplated breaking into some houses here on the Outer Banks to raise some cash, but I'm still a novice in sneak and I couldn't cast a chameleon spell past 25%. So, I went and practiced to get ready for the weekend's Pro-Assistant Championship.

Day5-7: Pro-Assistant Championship down in Myrtle Beach. I ended up winning about half of my future planned Xbox expenditures, and I was visited by a member of the Dark Brotherhood during the night. I was passed out from the vodka and cranberry, but I saw his business card when I got up in the morning.

Oddly enough, that's my hotel in the background.

Day 9: I cashed checks from work and landscaping, and stopped by Play and Trade. Unfortunately, Oblivion is in stock, but 360's are sold out. I reserve a 360 (estimate arrival date tomorrow), but now instead of playing Oblivion the rest of the day, I cry into my pillow.

Day 10: I spend the longest seven hours at work in the morning, and rush back to Play and Trade as soon as I get off. Still no 360's in stock.. I swing by K-Mart on the way back to my house, and purchase the last Xbox 360 they had. Oblivion was sold out, but I picked up some Trident Tropical Twist gum. Not only is it delicious, but I believe the packaging when it says it is good for my teeth.
I pick up my buddy who was staying at the house for the weekend, and we run back to Play and Trade to pick up a copy of Oblivion. He, unfortunately, had fallen victim to the epidemic of conjunctivitis that is decimating the Virginia/North Carolina area, most likely as a result of some minor offense against God. (See, I told you this adventure was full of danger.) Anyway, along with picking him up, I also grabbed a can of Lysol disinfectant spray, which I discharged in his direction along with a string of profanity commenting on his general hygene every few minutes. We walked into Play and Trade reeking of lemony, sterile freshness, only to find that along with the Xbox 360's, Oblivion is now also sold out. I took my name of the Xbox 360 reservation list while I was there, reserved a copy of Oblivion, and then made a vow never to purchase anything in person when it can be obtained through the internet. A vow which to this day is still unbroken.

I should have quietly admitted defeat, but instead I drove to three seperate video rental joints, where I was finally informed (at the third one) that there is no place on the Outer Banks that rents Xbox 360 games. The only highlight was that at each place (and the rest of the weekend at various fast food establishments) I had a conversation exactly like this:

Me: Do you have Oblivion for Xbox 360? and don't worry about him, his dog just died.
Clerk: Awwww, I'm so sorry.
CB (my friend): My dog didn't die, I'm not crying, I have pinkeye!

So, I drove back to Play and Trade, and told the kid working there that I wanted to be moved to the top of the waiting list for Oblivion, and that he could name his price for this favor. He declined, but promised to bring in his personal copy and sell it to me the next morning, which he did. I then played it twelve consecutive hours, went to sleep, got up and played for five hours, and now I'm at work, counting down the hours until I can go back and resume playing. It's times like these I'm glad that I'm not involved in any interpersonal relationships within a hundred miles of where I live.

Oblivion

Someday, I hope to post something this entertaining on my blog. However, today is not such a day. Instead I'm going to write a post about going to pick up my Xbox 360 and a copy of Oblivion when I get off work around 2 PM today. So, yeah, that's my post.

To Oblivion! and Beyond!

Catching up on Things

I've been gone for a few days, so here is the obligatory bulleted post.

• Where was I? I was down in Myrtle Beach playing in the Carolinas Section PGA Pro-Assistant Championship, we tied for 19th, which earned me $242.50. Not bad, except the entry fees added up to $350. I could have played a whole lot better, except for having the detox shakes durin the final round. However, the rest of my trip was paid by my travel partners- and I made up the difference in $40 entrees, and top shelp vodka (Grey Goose biatch!) and cranberry. I stayed here, and urinated off the 12th floor late Monday night. I remember it being as awe-inspiring as I would have hoped.I played here, and here.
  
• Job offer from here should be coming through in the next couple of days, and depending on job description and compensation, we could have a winner.
• My new house, described in an earlier post, comes with one more important feature I forgot to mention- an outdoor shower. After cutting grass and moving mulch all morning, I can clean up without making the inside shower filthy, which is a huge bonus. Also, each time I shower outside, my ass gets a little tanner.
• I watched Lord of War in the Suburban on the way back from Myrtle Beach. In case you haven't seen it, you should. I really enjoyed it, despite the best efforts of Nicholas Cage. I felt like tying the ending in to some political type post, but we'd most likely just end up arguing about Iran-Contra. I'll be saying something like "The US government should have avenues to effect change in the world outside traditional means," and Charles will be saying, "I'd like to bottle peace and sell it to the whole world, and then give my workers the profits, while taking a giant dump on hegemony." (Gmack- click here)
• If anyone has ever watched Chappelle's Show- the lady from "When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong" just called the golf shop here. The conversation went like this-

*Phone Rings*
Me: Good afternoon, --- Golf Club, This is Jackscolon.
Her: Rabble, rabble, rabble (I couldn't understand)
Me: What?
Her: Rabble, rabble, rabble! (Still no comprehension on my part)
Me: What?
Her (talking slower): Did you just call me?
Me: No.
Her: Your number is on my phone:
Me: Ma'am, no one has called you from the golf shop.
Her: Somebody called me, I don't like people playing on my phone!
Me: *laughing, and then hanging up*

New Job?

The best thing about being a golf professional is the ease of finding employment, anywhere. Yesterday I was investigating a possible position listed on our job posting board, so I sent out a resume and a cover letter and *BAM*, formal job offer came through at 9:54 am this morning.

Formal job offer? Doing what? Good question. As I understand it, I will be employed as an independent contractor attached to a cruise line. Meaning? I live on a cruise ship, giving golf lessons and setting up golf excursions for passengers when we stop at one of the numerous ports.

Compensation is based on a strict commission basis- meaning I'm guaranteed to make at least $0 dollars a week (although generally people average $300-$400, and generally people aren't as dynamic and engaging as I am). Also, here is a quick list of things I have to pay for while on the ship: my bar tab. I get three meals a day, a complimentary cabin, and I will not need to purchase costly gasoline for my truck, since it will be sitting idle in some parking lot. However, after a couple months I should be getting bumped up to busier and busier ships, where $1500-$3000 a week is not uncommon.
Here are the pros and cons as I see them-
Pros: International Travel, Exciting work environment, and I get to stop with morally bankrupt activities like answering the freaking phone six hundred times a day, plus I have to consider the dollar bills, ya'll.
Cons: I live on a glorified houseboat (a very glorified houseboat), I really don't get days off or days away from the office, I don't have a guaranteed income, and well, the whole thing is really weird.

Decision? I told them I was undecided, so as an incentive, they offered to take me out on a week-long cruise just to observe, to see if I want to do it. Free cruises? Yes, please.

New Home- Kinda

Because our landlady is a complete bitch, my roommates and I are being kicked out of our apartment for a month while her family comes up, so something. However, because the realtor-lady we know is not a complete bitch, we've been hooked up with a new residence without our rent increasing. The new house is, well... tits, figuratively and literally.Curb appeal = lacking, but a 1200 square foot house with a yard you can spit over retails for about 300k down here. We, however, are paying 1200 a month. Not bad.Walking through the front door, you're greeted with 18 foot ceilings, and a naked mermaid statue about 12 feet up in the air. Just so you know, her breasts are amazing. I named her Gaia Earth Mother (narrowly beating out Sophia, and Tiamat) and she is the new patron saint (demigod) of our abode on West Eden Street. The statue is really old, judging by the "Made in Pangea" sticker on the base.The kitchen is brand new, with a sweet island in the middle containing a dishwasher, and a couple of sinks. Everything is brand new, including the 12 pk of courtesy beer in the fridge, and the lone bottle of Robert Mondavi Cabernet Savignon aging the wine rack. It will still be aging when it comes time for us to leave, the beer however, will be long gone.Lastly, our living room has some sweet fake plants, some sweet old books, a sweet comfy couch, and the best chair ever (located just out of sight at the bottom left of the picture). The chair will soon be broken in by my sweet ass, once I pick up an Xbox 360 and Oblivion, courtesy of the $1100 I saved by filling out a four page application that changed my residency to got me in-state tuition, and landscaping at $35 an hour. Speaking of landscaping, I can't help but think that if Pharoah had given the Hebrews I-pods, they'd still be toiling in Egypt.

Internet Homages

You wanna know what I love? I love when I see little things on TV shows, commercials, etc... that reference little known internet esoterica. For example, if you read the henchman's shirt in this- -you can see a reference to this- -Things like this give me a warm, fuzzy feeling, like when I beat my computer at chess, which is really freaking hard, or really easy, depending on the setting. It either trades pieces like crazy, or it turns into Deep Blue.

Hooters- Worst Restaurant Ever

First off, I deleted that stupid video post that always plays even though I turned the "autoplay" value in the html from "true" to "false". So, good riddance.

Second, Hooters is the worst restaurant ever. The food is terrible, the atmosphere worse, and unless you're in California, Texas, or Florida, even the industrial strength nylon can't keep your waitress' ass from sliding its way down the back of her legs. I went last night because it was late, I was meeting someone, and I needed a place that had beer and food. The Outer Banks is limited when it comes cheap food and beer, so we ended up at Hooters by default. We walked in, it was karaoke night, and our waitress sat us the table closest to the speakers. If she looked like any of these girls-

"We have MBA's from Columbia! Just kidding, but she nailed a guy in the back of a Tahoe once."

- I still would have been mad. Unfortunately for both of us, she doesn't. I'd like to say that I was a total asshole and got us moved to a new table, but I wasn't. I was exceptionally polite, and got us moved to a new table. With the exception of employees of college registrar offices, I'm a complete gentleman, regardless of the incompetence of service personnel. Even when my Red Stripe with Lime turns into a Red Stripe with Lemon.

Hooray terrorism!

Anyway, I'm totally uncomfortable interacting on any kind of level with Hooter's waitresses, and I'm sure I'd be even less comfortable if I ever wandered into a strip club. Why? Internal conflict. On one hand, I try to give extra consideration that these are people first, but they're so totally objectified, and I'm also addicted to boobies. As a result, the social dynamics of the situation are a slightly more complex version of elementary school, when you let that one girl know you liked her by tripping her when she wasn't looking, and then making fun of her in front of everyone else.

Standard dialogue-
Her: "Welcome to Hooters, can I get you anything to drink?"
Me: "Yeah, an apple martini, and can I buy you back your dignity?"

Bono: Sanctimonious Ass-Clown

Recently, Mair reacted to a general dislike of the Bono with this,

Why is there all this hating on Bono? Give him your money - he'll give it to starving children in the third world who also happen to be dying of AIDS. So what if you don't like his music - he wasn't nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize for nothing!!!!!

Why? Here's why-

1) The band was founded in 1976, the same year as Apple Computer. Not suprisingly, Bono's mother died of a brain hemorrhage (most likely self-inflicted) around the same time. How long ago is that? Here's what things looked like in 1976:

Look at my classy moustache, hard collar, and amazing black and white photography. The computer in the background is calculating body weight vs. pubic hair weight ratios, which averaged around .3 for the 1970's.

Here's a quick list of bands I don't hate that have formed, rocked, and broken up or faded into obscurity, all in less time than it took U2 to become both ubiquitous, hollow, and self-serving: Nirvana, Rage Against the Machine, Pearl Jam, Dispatch, Wu-Tang, The Fugees, etc... What's that you say? All of these bands are from the last decade-ish? Exactly, it was some TWO DECADES after the inception of U2 that I was finally old enough to even being having an opinion on music, and luckily my parents were both discerning enough to avoid leaving (or having) U2 cassettes around.

2) Quick question- what appeared in the 1970's, spreads quickly but ravages slowly, and is at the forefront of every discussion involving world aid? That's right, AIDS and U2. Not suprisingly, the careers of both these plagues run roughly parallel to each other, with AIDS causing pain and heartache for poor, underdeveloped nations, and U2 laying waste to white suburbia. Obvious conclusion? U2 caused the AIDS epidemic. Evidence? Bono is so potent with the virus that he has to wear special glasses lest he infect someone with a glance, and up until recently, the band member known as "The Edge" was known under a different name, "The HIV".

3) What was going to be my favorite episode of Entourage was ruined today by none other than, you guessed it, Bono and his plague spreading band. Why was this almost my favorite episode? Two words: Comic book convention, porn stars, Mandy Moore, and the actor better-ly known as Dwight Schrute. Not suprisingly, the Entourage star most enamored with U2 was the annoying Johnny Drama, played by Kevin Dillon.

More Registrar Goodness

I'm not much of a believer in predestination, but I've come to realize that certain people are doomed to certain fates, and mine is to be continually harassed and abused by the offices of the registrar for various colleges, lesser colleges, and scumbag community colleges.

Here's my current situation- I need two classes left to complete my undergraduate degree, Intro to Computers and an English Lit, any English Lit. Seeking to circumvent the inevitable hassle of filling out a visiting student letter and getting it approved at the Methodist College (the nexus of registrar hell) I found both classes at a community college in NC, and they're preapproved for tranferable goodness thanks to an articulation agreement.

Before I could take them, I had to fax in a transcript to the new community college. No problem, I faxed a transcript request to Methodist college. Like every other transaction of any importance that ever occured between me and the Methodist College registrar, this one had little chance of success. It's been two weeks, and the transcript still hasn't arrived. Luckily, I also talked to my advisor, and had her fax an unofficial to me directly. I then faxed this one to my new academic advisor at Butthole Community College, who told me I now need one from Grove City to attest that I completed Calc 1 and Calc 2 with a C- or higher. Why? Because I need a math prerequisite before taking Intro to Computers... the conversation on the phone went something like this.

"I can't tell what you actually got in these math classes, the transcript just shows that they transfered in as Pass."
"Yeah, they don't accept anything as tranfer credit lower than a C-, it's in their policy. Will that work?"
"No, this won't go through since there is no way to prove you didn't get a D in these classes."
"Well, except for the fact that if I had gotten a D, they wouldn't show up on the trancript as credit hours, because they wouldn't have been accepted."
"You're going to have to get me an official transcript from Grove City."
"Ma'am, what is the closest grade to a D you see on the rest of that transcript?"
"Umm... a B+..."
"Right, so judging by the fact that I've got a 3.95 for those other 100 credit hours, do you really think I got a D?"
"I'm going to have to get a transcript from Grove City..."
"Ok, but it will probably take a few days, and then the classes I need will most likely be filled, right?"
"Maybe, but I can't get you in unless you get me that transcript or pass our math placement test."
"What's on this math placement test?"
"You have to test out of at least algebra one, the test consists of numeric problems, and some basic algebra..."
"Fine, whatever. I'll take it, does it cost money?"
"Yes, the test is $50 and the next one is Thursday afternoon..."
"So, by then my classes will probably be filled right?"
"Mayb..."
"I'll try to get a transcript faxed in the morning."

Chance of me graduating ever? Unlikely.

Entourage

During my *cough* flight back from China, I watched the first few episodes of Entourage.

Why am I in the back? because I think my finger is a gun.

Verdict... Decent, but not great. It's what I would call a guilty pleasure show. Yeah, I'll sit down and watch it, and I'll even enjoy watching it, but I'm not going to pretend the acting is great, the formula isn't predictable, or that the Dillon brother not lucky enough to star in Wild Things and thus score a staged threesome with Denise Richards and, you know, that other girl, doesn't grate on me from time to time. (Note to Kevin Dillon- I'm not saying you're a bad actor, I'm saying your character is supposed to be a loser and somewhat annoying, and you are doing a really great job making him that way, so yeah, he's totally pissing me off.)

Watching Entourage is like listening to the radio in your car when Enrique Iglesias comes on the radio. You smile inwardly, look around, see that no one else is in the car, and then sing along. Anyway, I'm flying back to China tonight to pick up the rest of Season One, and then, well, I'll probably be tired of it tomorrow.

Sounds Like a Case of the Mondays

Bullets anyone?

• My Powerbook is totally tits, except for a few things. 1) It can't play Oblivion. 2) Safari can't handle Blogger, so I had to get Firefox. 3) It can't play Oblivion 4) I don't have a freaking delete key, or a home key, or an end key
  
• I'm not sure if this started before or after I decided to buy a Mac, but I have the urge to go backpacking... for at least a week, although a month sounds better. I think most of that stems from my current existential crisis-ing, and consequently, the rest from my unconscious assimilation of society's view that nature and solitude will help me A) recharge my batteries or B) find my center, but I'm not unwilling to consider the effect of my Mac's groovy hippy powerness on my psyche. We'll know if I pull up to some National Forest in a brand new Jetta. Or maybe it's just because Charles called me a social liberal the other day...
  
• I bought a video I-Pod, the sixty gig model. Go big or go home I say. Anyway, my purchase is probably proof that I-Pods have now jumped the shark, since I run at least a few years behind mainstream adoption of any technology. (For example, me finally getting a real cell phone last year, or a MySpace account like two weeks ago, which I don't really use because, well, I have Facebook, and I don't use that much either). Anyway, I'm not really looking foward to my next plane ride, since between my Mac laptop and I-Pod, I'll probably have to buy an extra seat to fit my bloated sense of self-satisfaction.
• I'm currently *cough* flying to China to pick up the first season of Entourage. I keep hearing that it's good, and I know GMack has a man crush on Jeremy Piven, and I'm bored at work, and I haven't decided if I'm going to start playing World of Warcraft yet to pass the time, and if you've played WoW you should tell me if it's worth my time (or not), or tell me if Entourage will really rock my face off or just seem kinda cool until you realize that it actually sucks balls like Rome.

• 

Blogger, Pictures and Bullets working seamlessly? No way, Jose.

• 
  

New Toys

I finally joined the dark side with the purchase of my first non-pc computer. It's a Powerbook G4, 1.25 GHz, 512 mb RAM, 80 Gig machine of pure madness, and it could be here either this afternoon or most likely, Monday. I've been watching it's progress with the Fed-Ex tracking system and it should have arrived today, but it got held up in Virginia Beach, where it ate someone's puppy, and then washed it down with a drum of diesel fuel. That's how tough it is.

However, when I bought my Mac on Wednesday, I made sure to buy it off of eBay so it doesn't directly violate my number one personal maxim- Always support companies you own stock in. Since then, I've unloaded my MSFT today for a tidy gain, doubled down again on PSUN (the bane of my existence, I'm down roughly the value of two powerbooks on it since the spring), and realized that a host of my current peripherals will no longer work. This is in no way a bad thing.

Consequently, I now require a new mp3 player and digital camera. I worked out a deal with my brother where I'm trading him my old computer, camera, and mp3 player and in return he is reimbursing me for the roughly the cost of an IPod, minus the cost of shipping my old desktop up to PA. It's a win-win situation. I no longer have to haul some 400 odd cubic feet of vacuum tubes, cathode rays, and cast-iron transistors in the bed of my truck when I move every five months, and he gets a machine that can actually burn cd's.

Buying an IPod presents a whole new set of challenges though. I have to 1) figure out a way to get one with in any way condoning the music of the Bono

"I'm Steve Jobs corporate monkey!"

2) decide whether or not I really need one that plays video (I don't, I think) and 3) find one that does have Tetris.

Coworkers

I've been starting to make plans to get out of the golf business, and one of the main reasons is because of other golf professionals. Take one of the guys I work with for example, he's a third generation golf pro, and he's close to having forty years in as a golf professional. He is by far the most bitter, disenfranchised, sarcastic, miserable human being I've ever met. Need proof? This nugget of joy was delivered no less than two minutes ago (brought on by seeing that I brought Paul Johnson's A History of Christianity with me to work today)-

If all that I've been told by the Catholic Church about heaven is true, with the no pain, peace, loving everybody and the whole big family thing, then fuck it, I don't want to go. I don't want to go to hell either, with all that, but I don't want to go to heaven. I want to go to Purgatory. I want to sit out at the end of some field with a bunch of beat up range balls, a seven iron and my dog, where no one will come fuck with me.

He's a multi-millionaire, been divorced twice, hates his job, and loves surfing through porn here at work. He is without a doubt, one of the greatest people I've ever met. He's me, only thirty years down the road (if I stay in the business). Every once in a while, he'll make some statement so random and accurate that it blows my mind. Yesterday, it was this-

So, have you been having much luck with the ladies down here? Yeah, that's what I would have figured. You're just like me, you can't stand associating with women of that level just to get laid anymore than I can. You'll end up falling for some girl who is on your level or above, and she won't even notice you, which will just make you want her all the more.

Amazing, and totally true. Anyway, besides being an astute observer of people, he's one of the driest, funniest people I've ever met- and since he doesn't care about anything, he pulls off things I can only dream about.

Today, for instance, some douchebag walked back into the shop after playing a five hour round of golf (it's the Fourth of July- the busiest three days of the year) and started bitching right when I walked in the door to work today.

"Look, I just wanted to say that this was the worst experience I've ever had on a golf course. Your ranger staff was incompetent, we must have waited for five minutes on every shot. This place is..."

Before he even finishes, the man I work with goes into a perfect stutter, trying to apologize for the experience but just struggling to get anything out, and the whole time staring straight down and off the side. He finally expresses that he'll give the guy a raincheck to make up for it if he'll just wait for him to fill it out. After walking over and grabbing a raincheck, he tries to fill it out, but his hand is shaking so much and he's pushing the pen so hard that it rips a gash in the raincheck, the whole time apologizing profusely through this stutter. The guy, who hasn't noticed that I'm standing off to the side barely suppressing my laughter, just deflates, thinking that my coworker has just been overwhelmed by some psychosomatic illness carrying a tidal flood of cortisol and epinephrine into his now stress-addled brain. Instead of complaining, he's now trying to calm the man I work with down and saying things like, "It's ok, don't worry about it. No, seriously, it wasn't that bad, I really appreciate that you're trying to help, but seriously, don't worry about it" before finally just giving up and walking outside, without his raincheck. As soon as he was out the door, I just lost it, nearly wetting my pants.

As soon as I recovered, my coworker then started telling me that he's been going to the same gas station for three years, and every time he goes he pulls his pants up to his chest, making a Tom Jones inspired cameltoe (I'm not even going to attempt to Google a picture for that), and from time to time putting his slip on deck shoes on the wrong feet. He said at first he could see people just trying to suppress laughter, but now everytime he goes he gets ushered to the head of the line.

One New Post for the Next Tally

I thought this was funny...