Saturday night, I went to Raleigh to hang out at my friend Jon’s house. It was a good, fun-filled evening that ended with Jon, Al, and I talking briefly on the porch. I mention this because when I went to the porch, I didn’t realize that Jon was about to go to bed. So, all of sudden, the conversation ended, the night came to a close, and Al and I left the porch, heading to our respective cars as Jon headed back inside, locking the door behind him.
As I got into my car, I realized that I didn’t have my cell phone. No biggie, right? So, as Al drove off, I headed back to the house, and knocked on the door. No answer. I rang the door bell. Same (lack of) response. I kept trying, figuring that surely Jon, or two of the other people in the house, will hear the doorbell and let me inside to retrieve my a.w.o.l. phone. Well, I’m guessing since the house is two stories, they didn’t hear the doorbell, because I was still stuck outside.
And it was then that I realized the inherent paradox of my predicament: normally, if I left something in a friend’s house, and needed entry inside, I’d use my cell phone to call them. However, without use of my cell phone to retrieve my cell phone, it was time to use that Furman 100,000 dollar education for something. ”Ha,” I thought, “I’ll use the back door!”
Yeah, the back door is locked.
I stared up at the second floor window, hoping to suddenly develop telepathic abilities. Instead, I resorted to the classic “throw a pebble at the window” trick. But, it being 2:30 in the morning, the moon didn’t quite illuminate the ground well enough for me to find a pebble. What, prey tell, is small enough to be thrown high distances, yet blunt enough to make a sound to get someone’s attention?
So here I am, at 2:30 a.m., throwing my CHAPSTICK at Britt’s window. Yes, chapstick. I can now say that I’ve thrown chapstick at a window. Life=complete.
After about a thousand rounds of chuck-the-chapstick, I gave up. I got into my car and set off for the 30 minute drive back to Chapel Hill, sans cell phone.
Have you ever been without your cell phone? It’s horrible. I felt so incomplete. I was cut off from the outside world. What if my tire blew out and I needed AAA? What if a friend needed me to pick them up from somewhere? What if Engin saw the post and got the urge to call me? Certainly, he needed someone to console him over the 74-72 double overtime lost to Boston College. Trust me, I’m the man for that job. (And how would Engin have my cell number you ask? Um...stop trying to use that logic stuff. He would have my number okay; it's called "destiny" people.)
Anyway, I got home, and used AOL IM to tell Jon about my situation. Don’t you love the multiple ways to communicate nowadays?
Fast-forward to the present: after a drive to Raleigh in the daylight hours, my cell phone is back in my possession, and world order has been restored. Yay.
Hey wait. I just thought of something. Yesterday, I paid $2.19 a gallon for gas, and then saw gas for $2.13 a gallon. That; plus my cell phone catastrophe…umm…when did I cause a “hidden car” situation?
27 February 2006
23 February 2006
The Hidden Car Pledge
We’ve all had this experience:
You’re in a crowded parking lot, wondering where all these other people came from, and why they decided to come to the same place that you need to shop. You drive as slow as your car will allow, keeping a sharp eye out for that elusive vacant parking space so that you may get your errands done. As you drive, you pray to your respective deity for a space, but your hope wanes, and you begin to contemplate parking at the McDonalds across the street.
But then, eureka, there it is! You’ve won. You’re the winner of the parking lot lottery. There’s the space of your dreams. You swear it has a bright aura emanating from it’s…wait…what...there’s a MINI COOPER in your space. You curse, grumble, and move on, wishing you had a voodoo doll for the owner of that blasted “hidden car.”
Yes, the hidden car is the bane of all drivers’ existence. It taunts us, thwarting our noble goal of parking our vehicle. You can (and should) hate a Ford Expedition for its gas-guzzling, planet-killing properties, but at least it’ll never be a hidden car.
So, while a Ford Expedition will never be a hidden car...
...my Ford Focus hatchback is. I hadn’t realized this until recently, when two friends brought it to my attention. It seems that the Ford Focus had been the culprit in many a hidden car situation for them. And when I learned that my pride and joy was an evil hidden car, I felt such shame. How could this be? How many people have I thwarted in their attempts to park? How could I go on with life?
So, friends, I make a pledge to you and world:
I, Warren, shall park my car with its hidden car properties in mind. I shall never pull to the very front of the space, so that I may ensure that my car’s back end shall be visible by all who pass by. If I do not adhere to this procedure, may the consequence be dire.
May I get stuck behind a driver going five miles under the speed limit—in the fast lane!
May my grocery store cashier need to do a price check. On. Every. Item. In. My. Cart.
May I get bothered by salesmen of cell phones, European lotions, expensive fragrance and anything else that the mall has in its arsenal.
May the bartender inform me that they do not carry the only beers that I drink, but let them be in amble supply Natty Light.
May I fill up my car’s tank, only to see gas for cheaper down the road.
May I be subject to any and all other punishments that the Parking Lot Gods see fit if I single-handily cause yet another hidden car situation.
Friends, I trust you will keep me accountable with this pledge. Thanks in advance.
You’re in a crowded parking lot, wondering where all these other people came from, and why they decided to come to the same place that you need to shop. You drive as slow as your car will allow, keeping a sharp eye out for that elusive vacant parking space so that you may get your errands done. As you drive, you pray to your respective deity for a space, but your hope wanes, and you begin to contemplate parking at the McDonalds across the street.
But then, eureka, there it is! You’ve won. You’re the winner of the parking lot lottery. There’s the space of your dreams. You swear it has a bright aura emanating from it’s…wait…what...there’s a MINI COOPER in your space. You curse, grumble, and move on, wishing you had a voodoo doll for the owner of that blasted “hidden car.”
Yes, the hidden car is the bane of all drivers’ existence. It taunts us, thwarting our noble goal of parking our vehicle. You can (and should) hate a Ford Expedition for its gas-guzzling, planet-killing properties, but at least it’ll never be a hidden car.
So, while a Ford Expedition will never be a hidden car...
...my Ford Focus hatchback is. I hadn’t realized this until recently, when two friends brought it to my attention. It seems that the Ford Focus had been the culprit in many a hidden car situation for them. And when I learned that my pride and joy was an evil hidden car, I felt such shame. How could this be? How many people have I thwarted in their attempts to park? How could I go on with life?
So, friends, I make a pledge to you and world:
I, Warren, shall park my car with its hidden car properties in mind. I shall never pull to the very front of the space, so that I may ensure that my car’s back end shall be visible by all who pass by. If I do not adhere to this procedure, may the consequence be dire.
May I get stuck behind a driver going five miles under the speed limit—in the fast lane!
May my grocery store cashier need to do a price check. On. Every. Item. In. My. Cart.
May I get bothered by salesmen of cell phones, European lotions, expensive fragrance and anything else that the mall has in its arsenal.
May the bartender inform me that they do not carry the only beers that I drink, but let them be in amble supply Natty Light.
May I fill up my car’s tank, only to see gas for cheaper down the road.
May I be subject to any and all other punishments that the Parking Lot Gods see fit if I single-handily cause yet another hidden car situation.
Friends, I trust you will keep me accountable with this pledge. Thanks in advance.
19 February 2006
16 February 2006
Are you ready for some...basketball?
Football is over, baseball isn’t here yet, and I live in the epicenter of Tobacco Road (seriously, I’m pretty much equidistant from UNC and Duke). Hello college hoops: welcome to my life.
In the past month, I’ve watched the most college basketball that I’ve ever watched. I’ve gone to parties to watch basketball; I’ve gone to sports bars; I’ve called up friends to find out where they’re watching the games; I’ve put Sports Illustrated on my internet favorites list (ok people, pick your jaws off the floor. Frosty, I’m looking at you).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a little confused with the game. My main gripe is, unlike in football, NO ONE EXPLAINS FOULS. The players are all tangled under the key, and suddenly the ref blows his whistle. But, before there can be an instant replay so I can figure out who did what to whom, the fouled-on player is taking his free throw. What the hell, what just happened? Apparently, in this sport, I’m supposed to actually listen to the moronic announcers.
My recent focus on basketball is accompanied with actual basketball opinions. So let me say that while Duke is doing very well this year, I think we learned from the Panthers/Seahawks game (which still stings a little) that a team can not count on going all the way based on one tactic. The Seahawks understood that if you shut down the Delhomme/Smith combination, the Panthers have nothing. If someone figures out how to shut down J.J. Redick, or at least limit his impact, Duke is in trouble. I’m not saying that a team will actually figure out how to enervate “the J.J. affect,” I’m just saying that I don’t think that Duke will win the title this year. That seems like an honor that UConn is going to get.
Now, you’d think that this basketball fascination is all roses, but oh no, it comes with a dilemma: Which team to root for. I didn’t go to college here, so I don’t have an allegiance to UNC, Duke, or NC State, but it seems like UNC is in a “rebuilding” year, so I can’t fairly judge their performance this year. I’ve already expressed my issue with Duke’s game this year. As far as N.C. State, it’s not hard to pull for the underdogs, and as far as Tobacco Road goes, that’s the moniker that State holds. Yet, how long can you root for the underdogs? I mean, after a while, you’ll get frustrated with your team almost pulling it together.
My current solution is to simply pull for all three; you know, a sort of “support the area schools” thing. That’s probably going to fly for about another two weeks, and then I’m going to have to pick a team. But until I then, I’m just going to enjoy my sport du jour.
In the past month, I’ve watched the most college basketball that I’ve ever watched. I’ve gone to parties to watch basketball; I’ve gone to sports bars; I’ve called up friends to find out where they’re watching the games; I’ve put Sports Illustrated on my internet favorites list (ok people, pick your jaws off the floor. Frosty, I’m looking at you).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a little confused with the game. My main gripe is, unlike in football, NO ONE EXPLAINS FOULS. The players are all tangled under the key, and suddenly the ref blows his whistle. But, before there can be an instant replay so I can figure out who did what to whom, the fouled-on player is taking his free throw. What the hell, what just happened? Apparently, in this sport, I’m supposed to actually listen to the moronic announcers.
My recent focus on basketball is accompanied with actual basketball opinions. So let me say that while Duke is doing very well this year, I think we learned from the Panthers/Seahawks game (which still stings a little) that a team can not count on going all the way based on one tactic. The Seahawks understood that if you shut down the Delhomme/Smith combination, the Panthers have nothing. If someone figures out how to shut down J.J. Redick, or at least limit his impact, Duke is in trouble. I’m not saying that a team will actually figure out how to enervate “the J.J. affect,” I’m just saying that I don’t think that Duke will win the title this year. That seems like an honor that UConn is going to get.
Now, you’d think that this basketball fascination is all roses, but oh no, it comes with a dilemma: Which team to root for. I didn’t go to college here, so I don’t have an allegiance to UNC, Duke, or NC State, but it seems like UNC is in a “rebuilding” year, so I can’t fairly judge their performance this year. I’ve already expressed my issue with Duke’s game this year. As far as N.C. State, it’s not hard to pull for the underdogs, and as far as Tobacco Road goes, that’s the moniker that State holds. Yet, how long can you root for the underdogs? I mean, after a while, you’ll get frustrated with your team almost pulling it together.
My current solution is to simply pull for all three; you know, a sort of “support the area schools” thing. That’s probably going to fly for about another two weeks, and then I’m going to have to pick a team. But until I then, I’m just going to enjoy my sport du jour.
13 February 2006
Why's life gotta get in the way of living?
You know that adage, “if it’s not one thing, it’s another?” Well, I’ve come to appreciate that statement. Let me start at the beginning.
A month after I moved to Chapel Hill, I felt that I was settled enough with work and living arrangements to start studying the GRE. If you don't know, the GRE is an entrance exam for graduate school—it’s akin to the LSAT for law school and the MCAT for med school.
I figured I’d study for about a month and take the test at the beginning of November. Well, I soon found an obstacle thwarting my goals—money. The GRE cost $115. Granted, I could have easily had that much money, if it weren’t for that pesky car payment; but if I didn’t have that pesky car payment, I’d be walking everywhere, so…
My only choice was to try and save money while continuing to study for the GRE. I figured working 35 hours a week at $13.50 an hour; I’d have the money in no time. To my dismay, North Carolina had other plans. Friends, N.C. taxes the hell out of you, consider yourself warned. (And don’t even get me started on how I’m still paying for social security when it’s clear that the money won’t be there when I get old).
Skip ahead a few months, and I finally have enough money to take this damn test. Woohoo, GRE, I come! Wait, no, not so fast. It’s January, and my contract job is scheduled to end at the end of February (I knew it would end in February before I moved, so I can’t be mad). Thus, I started another dreaded job search. Meanwhile, the contract job got an extension, so it looked like I could count on it to last until April--sweet. However, it seemed wise to continue the job search in order to transition from one job to another smoothly.
The job search came to an end two weeks ago when I got a part-time job at Triumph, a community-based treatment service for people afflicted with behavioral, emotional, and mental difficulties. I figured I could work both jobs, and when the contract job ended, I could find an inconsequential retail position (read: not dealing with the seriousness of people’s lives).
So finally, with enough money in my checking account, and no concerns about finding a job, it was looking like the GRE was within my grasps.
Then, Friday came. The boss at the contract job said that because data had been trickling in from the field (long story, don’t ask), we were now only allowed to work 20-25 hours a week. And while not explicitly said, this also meant that the job would be lucky to last until early March. Looks like I'll be hunting for that inconsequential retail position sooner than expected.
So, here it is, mid-February, and I still haven’t taken the damn test. In fact, because job hunting is a part-time job itself, the amount of time that I can dedicate to studying has dropped significantly. Thus, I’ve probably forgotten whatever math I learned back in October (btw, I hate math with a fiery fiery passion that knows no bounds, if you didn’t know).
All of this aggravation has resulted in a very difficult realization: I’m probably not going to grad school this fall. Even if I found a job, and took the GRE by mid-March, I’d have to scramble to get applications turned in, and pay the applications fees (or see about getting them waved), travel for interviews on the campuses, etc. All of that seems pretty much impossible when I have car taxes due soon, and I have to think about buying a mattress, other furniture, and finding a new place when my current lease expires in May. That would be just too much happening all at once.
Friends, I have this wonderful, altruistic goal of counseling people afflicted with mental illness, but Life is thwarting me at every turn from taking the first steps towards that goal. I’m exacerbated, but I gotta keep on keeping on.
(At least my poll numbers aren’t at 39%, so that’s something for which to be thankful. I mean, with everything that's been happening lately, I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.)
A month after I moved to Chapel Hill, I felt that I was settled enough with work and living arrangements to start studying the GRE. If you don't know, the GRE is an entrance exam for graduate school—it’s akin to the LSAT for law school and the MCAT for med school.
I figured I’d study for about a month and take the test at the beginning of November. Well, I soon found an obstacle thwarting my goals—money. The GRE cost $115. Granted, I could have easily had that much money, if it weren’t for that pesky car payment; but if I didn’t have that pesky car payment, I’d be walking everywhere, so…
My only choice was to try and save money while continuing to study for the GRE. I figured working 35 hours a week at $13.50 an hour; I’d have the money in no time. To my dismay, North Carolina had other plans. Friends, N.C. taxes the hell out of you, consider yourself warned. (And don’t even get me started on how I’m still paying for social security when it’s clear that the money won’t be there when I get old).
Skip ahead a few months, and I finally have enough money to take this damn test. Woohoo, GRE, I come! Wait, no, not so fast. It’s January, and my contract job is scheduled to end at the end of February (I knew it would end in February before I moved, so I can’t be mad). Thus, I started another dreaded job search. Meanwhile, the contract job got an extension, so it looked like I could count on it to last until April--sweet. However, it seemed wise to continue the job search in order to transition from one job to another smoothly.
The job search came to an end two weeks ago when I got a part-time job at Triumph, a community-based treatment service for people afflicted with behavioral, emotional, and mental difficulties. I figured I could work both jobs, and when the contract job ended, I could find an inconsequential retail position (read: not dealing with the seriousness of people’s lives).
So finally, with enough money in my checking account, and no concerns about finding a job, it was looking like the GRE was within my grasps.
Then, Friday came. The boss at the contract job said that because data had been trickling in from the field (long story, don’t ask), we were now only allowed to work 20-25 hours a week. And while not explicitly said, this also meant that the job would be lucky to last until early March. Looks like I'll be hunting for that inconsequential retail position sooner than expected.
So, here it is, mid-February, and I still haven’t taken the damn test. In fact, because job hunting is a part-time job itself, the amount of time that I can dedicate to studying has dropped significantly. Thus, I’ve probably forgotten whatever math I learned back in October (btw, I hate math with a fiery fiery passion that knows no bounds, if you didn’t know).
All of this aggravation has resulted in a very difficult realization: I’m probably not going to grad school this fall. Even if I found a job, and took the GRE by mid-March, I’d have to scramble to get applications turned in, and pay the applications fees (or see about getting them waved), travel for interviews on the campuses, etc. All of that seems pretty much impossible when I have car taxes due soon, and I have to think about buying a mattress, other furniture, and finding a new place when my current lease expires in May. That would be just too much happening all at once.
Friends, I have this wonderful, altruistic goal of counseling people afflicted with mental illness, but Life is thwarting me at every turn from taking the first steps towards that goal. I’m exacerbated, but I gotta keep on keeping on.
(At least my poll numbers aren’t at 39%, so that’s something for which to be thankful. I mean, with everything that's been happening lately, I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.)
06 February 2006
Steelers win, 21-10
Congrats to Pittsburgh for their Superbowl win!
While I’m happy for them, it does mean that another year of football is over (except for the Pro Bowl). And no, my recent enthusiasm for football has not been the result of me liking a guy and trying to get him to like me (for shame, those who thought otherwise…you know who you are). I’ve simply enjoyed watching the pure athleticism, strategy, and ebb and flow of the game.
You see, basketball moves too quickly for me, points are relatively easy to come by; but in football, there’s an amazing build-up to a potential score, with the occasionally long run that gets you screaming your head off. In other words, you can sit there on your lazy duff and watch a bunch of guys run, kick, pass, intercept, strategize, and screw up. Then, you can criticize or praise said guys for said actions, depend on if it was good for your team. Plus, if you missed something while conversing with a friend, no worries, there’s always the instant replay.
Now, if only there were more male cheerleaders, the game would be perfect.
While I’m happy for them, it does mean that another year of football is over (except for the Pro Bowl). And no, my recent enthusiasm for football has not been the result of me liking a guy and trying to get him to like me (for shame, those who thought otherwise…you know who you are). I’ve simply enjoyed watching the pure athleticism, strategy, and ebb and flow of the game.
You see, basketball moves too quickly for me, points are relatively easy to come by; but in football, there’s an amazing build-up to a potential score, with the occasionally long run that gets you screaming your head off. In other words, you can sit there on your lazy duff and watch a bunch of guys run, kick, pass, intercept, strategize, and screw up. Then, you can criticize or praise said guys for said actions, depend on if it was good for your team. Plus, if you missed something while conversing with a friend, no worries, there’s always the instant replay.
Now, if only there were more male cheerleaders, the game would be perfect.
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