So, I was out in Raleigh the other day and a homeless man approached me and my friends asking us for money. Not an unusual occurrence for a big city, until he started making jokes about Michael Jackson in effort to gain our trust and approbation (GRE word!).
While I won’t repeat the jokes here (because ewww), you can imagine that the jokes were about Michael Jackson’s fondness for young boys.
What is surprising and interesting is that this homeless man knows that anyone he comes across will both understand and be receptive to Michael Jackson jokes. He knows that jokes about Martha Stewart, Britney Spears, Tom Cruise, Paris Hilton, Hilary/Bill Clinton, or George W. Bush will not get the same universal acceptance.
People, Michael Jackson has gone from being lauded by the media and public as the King of Pop, to being ridiculed by the homeless. That fact would be sad, if it wasn’t so damn funny.
21 November 2005
18 November 2005
Origins of my Boston Market boycott
At my job the other day, we were having a catered lunch by Boston Market. I’ve never eaten at a Boston Market restaurant, and since I was getting this meal for free, I was fairly excited.
Well, lunch was to be served at 12:30, but a little before that time we found out that the truck would be a little late. No problem, right? Well, at 12:45 we still had no food; same for 1:00. In fact, our lunch did not arrive until 1:15—45 minutes late. Well, as we got in line for our Boston Market, word started to spread that there was no chicken. CHICKEN. Chicken is one of the things that Boston Market is known for, how does anyone who works for this company forget to include the CHICKEN for a catered meal?
Well, despite the late, chicken-less meal, I and everyone else dug in. After gobbling down the ham, stuffing, green beans, and meatloaf at unhealthy speeds (because I was hungry you see, my meal being 45 minutes late and all), I realized that the meatloaf was not so great. I looked down at the meatloaf and what I saw resembled uncooked spam, and so I decided to not finish this lard otherwise known as meatloaf. Then word spread that someone’s meatloaf was a little too red—you know, “undercooked red.”
So, my first Boston Market meal was late (strike 1), chicken-less (strike 2), and undercooked (strike 3, you’re outta here). In addition, when one of my supervisors called the Boston Market that catered the meal, the person on the other hand responded that our experience was “too bad.”
Now, while I understand my experience was the result of some less-than-professional Boston Market employees, I take this as an example of the company’s professionalism, commitment to quality and respect for their customers. As such, I now officially begin my lifelong Boston Market boycott. If you want to go out for a meal with me one day, and you suggest Boston Market, you may go right ahead; I’ll be at the Wendy’s.
They did eventually deliver the chicken.
Well, lunch was to be served at 12:30, but a little before that time we found out that the truck would be a little late. No problem, right? Well, at 12:45 we still had no food; same for 1:00. In fact, our lunch did not arrive until 1:15—45 minutes late. Well, as we got in line for our Boston Market, word started to spread that there was no chicken. CHICKEN. Chicken is one of the things that Boston Market is known for, how does anyone who works for this company forget to include the CHICKEN for a catered meal?
Well, despite the late, chicken-less meal, I and everyone else dug in. After gobbling down the ham, stuffing, green beans, and meatloaf at unhealthy speeds (because I was hungry you see, my meal being 45 minutes late and all), I realized that the meatloaf was not so great. I looked down at the meatloaf and what I saw resembled uncooked spam, and so I decided to not finish this lard otherwise known as meatloaf. Then word spread that someone’s meatloaf was a little too red—you know, “undercooked red.”
So, my first Boston Market meal was late (strike 1), chicken-less (strike 2), and undercooked (strike 3, you’re outta here). In addition, when one of my supervisors called the Boston Market that catered the meal, the person on the other hand responded that our experience was “too bad.”
Now, while I understand my experience was the result of some less-than-professional Boston Market employees, I take this as an example of the company’s professionalism, commitment to quality and respect for their customers. As such, I now officially begin my lifelong Boston Market boycott. If you want to go out for a meal with me one day, and you suggest Boston Market, you may go right ahead; I’ll be at the Wendy’s.
They did eventually deliver the chicken.
14 November 2005
For Nick
While you've never commented on Kanye's predilection for "that one word," you're a white boy who likes Kanye, so this made me think of you. Love ya buddy.
10 November 2005
Kids are awesome, terrorist aren't.
So a few days ago, I decided to try to soak in the unusually warm weather that the southeast has been experiencing. Usually, that would mean that I would go for a run, but on this day, it meant going to the Weaver Street Market and studying the GRE outside. Weaver Street is a community-owned organic foods market with an open lawn full of tables, benches, and a fountain.
Heavenly huh?
What made this afternoon more heavenly were all the little kids playing on the lawn. As I was re-teaching myself Pythagorean Theorem, the sounds and sights of two to five year olds playing tag and climbing trees put me in a good mood. They played with such unadulterated pleasure; such abandon, that I couldn’t help but smile and feel warm by their joy. Ahhh, the youthful spirit is so contagious.
I also realized that when I become a father, I want to give my child(ren) all my energy, attention, and focus. That means that I need to experience what I think life can give me before I start raising a family. I need to get to that point where the fact that my life is no longer my own doesn’t matter. I need to get to that point where I’m comfortable and content with my life being all about fostering someone else’s life. That point lies somewhere in my 30s I suppose. I hope my future husband is okay with that.
So I spent the next 24 hours reveling in the warm mood that those kids playing put me in, and then I turned on CNN Wednesday afternoon and watched Wolf Blitzer report on the terrorist attack in the capital of Jordan. The warm mood officially ends as I am informed of the three hotels bombed and the innocent civilians hurt and killed. I watch as a city is gripped in chaos and its people are scared, confused, angry, and vengeful. I’m utterly disgusted by the fact that one of the suicide bombers detonated himself near a wedding reception—of all the inhumane, sick, despicable things to do. (To add insult to injury, the attack came on November 9th, and since the people of Jordan write the date as "the day then the month," the attack occurred on 9-11.) All of it just confirms my suspicion that terrorist are the lowest carbon-based life forms on Earth; they somehow got the opposable thumbs but missed the evolutionary jump of a conscience or the higher mental functions.
The attack on Amman also reminded me of the seriousness of the current terrorist situation. As I’m looking at grad schools, I am considering schools in Washington D.C., and while I certainly don’t want terrorist to control my life and dictate how I live it, I also like not having to particularly worry about being the victim of a terrorist attack. If I move to D.C., that’ll change, and while such worry wouldn’t dominate my daily actions, I will know every day that I live in a city that terrorist would love to strike. Do I even want to deal with that? I don’t know yet, it will require some soul searching I suppose.
So that I don’t end this post on a somber note, can I just bring up one thing? The three hotels attacked in Amman, Jordan were all American hotel chains: Radisson, Grand Hyatt and Days Inn. Who knew Days Inn was international? I mean, the only reason you go to a Days Inn in America is because the Red Roof Inn has no vacancy and the Motel 6 didn’t leave their light on for you. But internationally, the Days Inn is apparently a posh place to stay. WTF, mate?
Heavenly huh?
What made this afternoon more heavenly were all the little kids playing on the lawn. As I was re-teaching myself Pythagorean Theorem, the sounds and sights of two to five year olds playing tag and climbing trees put me in a good mood. They played with such unadulterated pleasure; such abandon, that I couldn’t help but smile and feel warm by their joy. Ahhh, the youthful spirit is so contagious.
I also realized that when I become a father, I want to give my child(ren) all my energy, attention, and focus. That means that I need to experience what I think life can give me before I start raising a family. I need to get to that point where the fact that my life is no longer my own doesn’t matter. I need to get to that point where I’m comfortable and content with my life being all about fostering someone else’s life. That point lies somewhere in my 30s I suppose. I hope my future husband is okay with that.
So I spent the next 24 hours reveling in the warm mood that those kids playing put me in, and then I turned on CNN Wednesday afternoon and watched Wolf Blitzer report on the terrorist attack in the capital of Jordan. The warm mood officially ends as I am informed of the three hotels bombed and the innocent civilians hurt and killed. I watch as a city is gripped in chaos and its people are scared, confused, angry, and vengeful. I’m utterly disgusted by the fact that one of the suicide bombers detonated himself near a wedding reception—of all the inhumane, sick, despicable things to do. (To add insult to injury, the attack came on November 9th, and since the people of Jordan write the date as "the day then the month," the attack occurred on 9-11.) All of it just confirms my suspicion that terrorist are the lowest carbon-based life forms on Earth; they somehow got the opposable thumbs but missed the evolutionary jump of a conscience or the higher mental functions.
The attack on Amman also reminded me of the seriousness of the current terrorist situation. As I’m looking at grad schools, I am considering schools in Washington D.C., and while I certainly don’t want terrorist to control my life and dictate how I live it, I also like not having to particularly worry about being the victim of a terrorist attack. If I move to D.C., that’ll change, and while such worry wouldn’t dominate my daily actions, I will know every day that I live in a city that terrorist would love to strike. Do I even want to deal with that? I don’t know yet, it will require some soul searching I suppose.
So that I don’t end this post on a somber note, can I just bring up one thing? The three hotels attacked in Amman, Jordan were all American hotel chains: Radisson, Grand Hyatt and Days Inn. Who knew Days Inn was international? I mean, the only reason you go to a Days Inn in America is because the Red Roof Inn has no vacancy and the Motel 6 didn’t leave their light on for you. But internationally, the Days Inn is apparently a posh place to stay. WTF, mate?
04 November 2005
02 November 2005
Halloween, Chapel Hill style
I hope everyone’s Halloween was fun and safe, and fun. Mine was all three. I would have posted about my Halloween night earlier, but Halloween did a number on my sleep schedule, and I still haven’t recovered. Why you ask? Well, because Chapel Hill likes Halloween a lot.
You see, every year for Halloween, Chapel Hill shuts off Franklin Street (the main road in downtown) so people can walk around in their Halloween best. This isn’t a few people mind you, but rather close to 50,000, according to Town Hall. From what I understand, it’s one of the biggest parties in the nation, and people come from all over to attend. While I didn’t meet anyone from North Dakota or anything, I still had a grand ol’ time.
After a 25 minute walk from where I parked (because I’m not paying $7 for parking), I arrived on Franklin Street, and was immediately bombarded by costumes of every kind. Some were good, some were great, and some deserved mention:
-10 or so guys, dressed all in white, running in a straight line, with the words “Fallopian swim team” emblazoned on their chest. That’s right, they were sperm.
-A guy dressed as a picture. He had a very large frame surrounding a picture of a general of something, and his head and hand stuck through. I’m not describing it very well, but it was cool.
-A walking Haunted House.
-a guy dressed as a Red Bull can.
-Two guys: one as someone’s facebook profile, the other was someone’s facebook “wall” with all the quotes. I probably like this one so much because I just got addicted to facebook, as some of you know.
Back to my night—so there I was, walking up and down a street I’ve driven on a million times, feeling a little weird because I knew I shouldn’t be able to stand in the middle of Franklin and Columbia, the busiest intersection in Chapel Hill. I mean, when the traffic lights turned from red to green, I had to fight the instinct of getting the hell out of the way of nonexistent oncoming traffic.
It was also a little weird because of the makeup of the crowd. Before this night, I thought Chapel Hill was diverse, but I now realize that this perception was based on the fact that I’ve never been around so many people of Asian or Indian/Pakistani decent. However, when I’m a little shocked from Chapel Hill’s sudden increase in Black and Latinos, I decided that Chapel Hill is quite homogenous ethnically. What the hell am I talking about? Yeah, I don’t know either, ignore me.
So, all during this night, I was awaiting calls from two friends. However, when it was 11:30, and I hadn’t heard from either of them, I decided to call. Come to find out that my calls could not be completed because all the lines were busy (that’s what thousands of people, in one area, trying to use their cell phones, will do). No incoming or outgoing calls would be going through the cell anytime soon. Damn.
"Can you hear me now? What, 'call can not be completed,' what the..."
Eventually, I got in contact with Andy R., and eventually I met up with him. I should mention that I haven’t seen Andy since high school graduation, but through the glory of facebook, I got to see him this night. And whenever you get to see a friend dressed as a right breast (or was he the left), it’s a good day. Plus, he bought me a beer, so go Andy.
After seeing an almost-bar fight and watching a guy climb a light post, Andy, his crew, and I made a late night run to Time Out Chicken. This is the local 24 hour “greasy spoon,” which was also Michael Jordan’s favorite place back when he went to UNC. How he stayed in shape AND ate there is a mystery to me. What’s also a mystery is why I decided to actually eat something at 1:30 am, but oh well.
Remember how I said I haven’t seen Andy since high school? Well, let me transcribe a little conversation for you:
Me: Andy, I need to tell you something.
Andy: Yeah?
Me: Um…I’m gay.
Andy: Okay. And?
Me: Um…yeah, that was it.
Yeah, that’s an awesome response. I’ll say it again, go Andy.
After walking back to Andy’s friend’s house, I had my first experience of holding someone up while they did a (pitiful) keg stand. How did I make it through four years of college without ever doing that? Oh yeah, I went to Furman.
And so, finally, around 3am, after a night of Halloween craziness and 4.5 hours on my feet, my head hit the pillow. Two last things. First, much love to the Chapel Hill Police Department; they were everywhere, and I felt safe, even if their restrictions on plastic pitchforks and knifes was a little Nazi. Second, for Halloween, I went as Jay-Z.
People enjoyed the costume, except probably all the guys I passed who were wearing something similar, but weren’t wearing costumes. Awkward.
You see, every year for Halloween, Chapel Hill shuts off Franklin Street (the main road in downtown) so people can walk around in their Halloween best. This isn’t a few people mind you, but rather close to 50,000, according to Town Hall. From what I understand, it’s one of the biggest parties in the nation, and people come from all over to attend. While I didn’t meet anyone from North Dakota or anything, I still had a grand ol’ time.
After a 25 minute walk from where I parked (because I’m not paying $7 for parking), I arrived on Franklin Street, and was immediately bombarded by costumes of every kind. Some were good, some were great, and some deserved mention:
-10 or so guys, dressed all in white, running in a straight line, with the words “Fallopian swim team” emblazoned on their chest. That’s right, they were sperm.
-A guy dressed as a picture. He had a very large frame surrounding a picture of a general of something, and his head and hand stuck through. I’m not describing it very well, but it was cool.
-A walking Haunted House.
-a guy dressed as a Red Bull can.
-Two guys: one as someone’s facebook profile, the other was someone’s facebook “wall” with all the quotes. I probably like this one so much because I just got addicted to facebook, as some of you know.
Back to my night—so there I was, walking up and down a street I’ve driven on a million times, feeling a little weird because I knew I shouldn’t be able to stand in the middle of Franklin and Columbia, the busiest intersection in Chapel Hill. I mean, when the traffic lights turned from red to green, I had to fight the instinct of getting the hell out of the way of nonexistent oncoming traffic.
It was also a little weird because of the makeup of the crowd. Before this night, I thought Chapel Hill was diverse, but I now realize that this perception was based on the fact that I’ve never been around so many people of Asian or Indian/Pakistani decent. However, when I’m a little shocked from Chapel Hill’s sudden increase in Black and Latinos, I decided that Chapel Hill is quite homogenous ethnically. What the hell am I talking about? Yeah, I don’t know either, ignore me.
So, all during this night, I was awaiting calls from two friends. However, when it was 11:30, and I hadn’t heard from either of them, I decided to call. Come to find out that my calls could not be completed because all the lines were busy (that’s what thousands of people, in one area, trying to use their cell phones, will do). No incoming or outgoing calls would be going through the cell anytime soon. Damn.
"Can you hear me now? What, 'call can not be completed,' what the..."
Eventually, I got in contact with Andy R., and eventually I met up with him. I should mention that I haven’t seen Andy since high school graduation, but through the glory of facebook, I got to see him this night. And whenever you get to see a friend dressed as a right breast (or was he the left), it’s a good day. Plus, he bought me a beer, so go Andy.
After seeing an almost-bar fight and watching a guy climb a light post, Andy, his crew, and I made a late night run to Time Out Chicken. This is the local 24 hour “greasy spoon,” which was also Michael Jordan’s favorite place back when he went to UNC. How he stayed in shape AND ate there is a mystery to me. What’s also a mystery is why I decided to actually eat something at 1:30 am, but oh well.
Remember how I said I haven’t seen Andy since high school? Well, let me transcribe a little conversation for you:
Me: Andy, I need to tell you something.
Andy: Yeah?
Me: Um…I’m gay.
Andy: Okay. And?
Me: Um…yeah, that was it.
Yeah, that’s an awesome response. I’ll say it again, go Andy.
After walking back to Andy’s friend’s house, I had my first experience of holding someone up while they did a (pitiful) keg stand. How did I make it through four years of college without ever doing that? Oh yeah, I went to Furman.
And so, finally, around 3am, after a night of Halloween craziness and 4.5 hours on my feet, my head hit the pillow. Two last things. First, much love to the Chapel Hill Police Department; they were everywhere, and I felt safe, even if their restrictions on plastic pitchforks and knifes was a little Nazi. Second, for Halloween, I went as Jay-Z.
People enjoyed the costume, except probably all the guys I passed who were wearing something similar, but weren’t wearing costumes. Awkward.
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