I took some time off last week and I'm taking some more this week. I used to assume that most of the traffic here came from Facebook, but I didn't post anything last week and I still got quite a bit of hits. Thank you. I haven't quit the blog. I'm just dealing with life, I guess you could say. There are two ways to look at it:
1) Life sucks.
2) I'm getting more source material for future hilarious blog posts.
I prefer to believe it's the latter. I mean, be honest. You have to know that most of these stories I tell were originally a pain in the ass while they were happening. It takes time and a very "unique" perspective to be able to tell them with humor.
So right now I'm just processing and two movie quotes come to mind.
1) The Matrix Reloaded--That's for my existentialist side.
"Maybe we did something wrong."
"Or didn't do something."
"No, what happened, happened and couldn't have happened any other way."
"How do you know?"
"We are still alive."
2) Ghostbusters II--Who ever quotes this movie?
"Sometimes shit happens, someone has to deal with it, and who you gonna call?"
I'll be back...eventually.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
How Two Year Old Daddy's Girls Think
My daughter got hungry around 4:30, which is too close to dinner to give her a snack. After our encounter, I decided to jot down my interpretation of the voice that must play inside her head. Here it is, transcribed for your convenience:
I want a cracker.
Go ask Daddy for a cracker.
If Daddy says no, ask again.
If he says no twice, try one more time.
If he says no a third time, wait one minute and ask again.
If he says no the last time, walk to the kitchen and look to see if the crackers are still on the counter.
Come back into the living room and ask for a banana.
When Daddy goes to get the banana, which just happens to be next to the crackers, ask for a cracker.
Refuse the banana at all costs!
Whine.
If whining does not work, command exactly one tear to fall from right eye.
Whine with conviction.
If whining with conviction does not work, go sit in living room.
Ignore impulse to ask for cracker.
Wait two minutes then sit on Daddy's lap.
Say "hug"
Hug Daddy
Stand up, grab Daddy's hand and lead him into the kitchen.
Ignore his statement, "I'll follow you, but you're not getting a cracker."
Push him toward the stove, turn to refrigerator and open refrigerator door.
Say "chicken" and point to raw chicken on bottom shelf.
Wait for Daddy to think that I am really hungry.
Wait for Daddy to gauge his laziness.
Sit on couch and enjoy five crackers and a cup of water as Daddy returns to watching television.
I want a cracker.
Go ask Daddy for a cracker.
If Daddy says no, ask again.
If he says no twice, try one more time.
If he says no a third time, wait one minute and ask again.
If he says no the last time, walk to the kitchen and look to see if the crackers are still on the counter.
Come back into the living room and ask for a banana.
When Daddy goes to get the banana, which just happens to be next to the crackers, ask for a cracker.
Refuse the banana at all costs!
Whine.
If whining does not work, command exactly one tear to fall from right eye.
Whine with conviction.
If whining with conviction does not work, go sit in living room.
Ignore impulse to ask for cracker.
Wait two minutes then sit on Daddy's lap.
Say "hug"
Hug Daddy
Stand up, grab Daddy's hand and lead him into the kitchen.
Ignore his statement, "I'll follow you, but you're not getting a cracker."
Push him toward the stove, turn to refrigerator and open refrigerator door.
Say "chicken" and point to raw chicken on bottom shelf.
Wait for Daddy to think that I am really hungry.
Wait for Daddy to gauge his laziness.
Sit on couch and enjoy five crackers and a cup of water as Daddy returns to watching television.
Formula For Appreciation
Motivational speaker Tony Robbins has a formula for happiness that he shares in his seminars. I don't think I can share it here without being sued, so I came up with my own that I'll gladly share with you now. I call it Ordale's Formula For Appreciation.
Ordale's Formula For Appreciation
Paycheck-($100 Rent Increase +"Over the Fiscal Cliff" payroll tax increase+Verizon "upgrade" fees+Vehicle registration renewal)= Appreciation
By following my formula, you too can learn to appreciate whatever meat is on sale at the grocery store. Can you believe that just five years ago I turned my nose up at the slightly discolored ground beef with the giant $2.00 OFF (Today Only) sticker? I know, crazy! Back then I was lost. I didn't live with a 35 pound two year old who, while advertised to only have a stomach the size of a small fist, secretly bears the soul of a hungry-hungry hippo.
Luckily, fate found me and rescued me from the shackles of disposable income. I now appreciate every single dollar that I find in the pocket of an old coat and I respect the rarity and majesty of an ATM that gives out fives. I'm a changed man. A better man. I don't see week-old meat. I see the unpredictability of life. Is it a chance to feed my family on a budget or a chance to get to know my medical provider better?
Appreciation, ladies and gentlemen. It's the name of the game. I just hope that I don't forget all that I've learned next month when the payroll taxes go back to normal and the registration renewal fees are just a distant memories. May I never turn my nose up at roll of the dice meat again.
Namaste!
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Metro...Les Miserables
Like most "inner city" children, I went my entire life without the slightest clue about Les Miserables. I knew it was a play because there was a big ad for it on the page opposite the movie showtimes in the Style section of The Washington Post. With my elementary level Spanish, I took a stab at translating the French title to "The Miserables." I guessed that it was about a bunch of unhappy people. After seeing the trailer over the holiday weekend, I think I was right. Good job junior-high-school-me!
Speaking of the trailer...It was the first time I ever heard that song "I Dreamed A Dream." My wife told me I'm slow, but my knowledge of show tunes doesn't extend beyond It's A Hard Knock Life and I'll give you one guess as to when I first heard that. Just to show how strangely my mind works, as soon as I heard the song I thought about the metro. Part of my PowerPoint presentation to convince my wife to move up here was dedicated to transportation. "We don't even need a car! You can get everywhere on the metro and it's extremely reliable!"
I dreamed a dream of days gone by.
When hope was high.
Metro now charges you a dollar if you use a paper fare card. Not a dollar for the card. They charge you a dollar for every trip that you take using that paper card. When I left this city, the base fare was $1.10. It's now $1.70. But, the sixty cent increase does come with perks. There's now a gym inside most metro station--A stair machine actually. It's called "Club Escalator/Elevator Outage." During the summer months, they convert 50% of their cars into saunas, so that's a plus for the Bikram Yoga crowd. I'm not a big fan of their self defense classes. They're kinda advanced and they really just throw you into it without warning.
My all-time favorite though...the enrichment programs. You don't really appreciate how little time you have on this earth until you're stuck in a station or tunnel due to a "situation up ahead." Take this morning, for example. There was a 40 minute "delay" due to a switch malfunction. They really need a thesaurus down at WMATA headquarters. Delay sounds too nice. On the other hand...detainment, hindrance, obstruction. Those sound perfect! If I'm stuck in a tunnel for an hour, that's not a delay. That's imprisonment or captivity.
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed
Speaking of the trailer...It was the first time I ever heard that song "I Dreamed A Dream." My wife told me I'm slow, but my knowledge of show tunes doesn't extend beyond It's A Hard Knock Life and I'll give you one guess as to when I first heard that. Just to show how strangely my mind works, as soon as I heard the song I thought about the metro. Part of my PowerPoint presentation to convince my wife to move up here was dedicated to transportation. "We don't even need a car! You can get everywhere on the metro and it's extremely reliable!"
I dreamed a dream of days gone by.
When hope was high.
Metro now charges you a dollar if you use a paper fare card. Not a dollar for the card. They charge you a dollar for every trip that you take using that paper card. When I left this city, the base fare was $1.10. It's now $1.70. But, the sixty cent increase does come with perks. There's now a gym inside most metro station--A stair machine actually. It's called "Club Escalator/Elevator Outage." During the summer months, they convert 50% of their cars into saunas, so that's a plus for the Bikram Yoga crowd. I'm not a big fan of their self defense classes. They're kinda advanced and they really just throw you into it without warning.
My all-time favorite though...the enrichment programs. You don't really appreciate how little time you have on this earth until you're stuck in a station or tunnel due to a "situation up ahead." Take this morning, for example. There was a 40 minute "delay" due to a switch malfunction. They really need a thesaurus down at WMATA headquarters. Delay sounds too nice. On the other hand...detainment, hindrance, obstruction. Those sound perfect! If I'm stuck in a tunnel for an hour, that's not a delay. That's imprisonment or captivity.
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed
Monday, January 14, 2013
10 Signs That You Have A Small Child
In no particular order
1. You catch yourself unconsciously singing cartoon theme songs when you're alone.
2. The absence of a car seat is the thing that tips you off that you're walking up to the wrong car.
3. You've become accustomed to not eating food while it's still hot.
4. Sleep?
5. You know at least one board book by heart.
6. Glory be to Elmo.
7. You either spell things a lot or use synonyms because someone is listening.
8. Silence makes you suspicious.
9. You're critical of every labor and delivery scene in movies, especially the squeaky clean 6 month olds they pass off as newborns.
10. If none of the above applies to you, there's a 75% chance that you're probably paying child support.
1. You catch yourself unconsciously singing cartoon theme songs when you're alone.
2. The absence of a car seat is the thing that tips you off that you're walking up to the wrong car.
3. You've become accustomed to not eating food while it's still hot.
4. Sleep?
5. You know at least one board book by heart.
6. Glory be to Elmo.
7. You either spell things a lot or use synonyms because someone is listening.
8. Silence makes you suspicious.
9. You're critical of every labor and delivery scene in movies, especially the squeaky clean 6 month olds they pass off as newborns.
10. If none of the above applies to you, there's a 75% chance that you're probably paying child support.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Think Like A Man
So I finally got around to watching Think Like A Man. Meh. It was okay. I'm not really into romantic comedies, but if I had actually paid to see it in the theater, I wouldn't have been bored. Considering it had a shoestring budget, I think it was very well executed. A $12 million budget these days will get you a movie shot on betamax and the sound mixed on a My First Sony. I did laugh out loud at one part that had nothing to do with the movie really.
Halfway through I thought to myself, "Wow, they really made a black movie without Morris Chestnut. He's like Microsoft Works. I thought he came preinstalled with every black cast." Act II, who climbs out of a Porsche? Ricky! Climbing out of the car he could've been driving if only he'd scratched those lottery tickets in the store.
So anyway, not a bad movie. It definitely left me with some...observations. The kind where you won't be able to stay married nine years if you don't learn to keep to yourself. I'll just say this: Taraji P. Henson is 42 years old. Regina Hall (the girl from Scary Movie) is 41. Gabrielle Union is 40. Infer from that what you will. I need to change my diet. At 30, I look about 44 and a half.
In other news, my grandmother has a copy of that book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like A Man. I don't even wanna know.
Halfway through I thought to myself, "Wow, they really made a black movie without Morris Chestnut. He's like Microsoft Works. I thought he came preinstalled with every black cast." Act II, who climbs out of a Porsche? Ricky! Climbing out of the car he could've been driving if only he'd scratched those lottery tickets in the store.
So anyway, not a bad movie. It definitely left me with some...observations. The kind where you won't be able to stay married nine years if you don't learn to keep to yourself. I'll just say this: Taraji P. Henson is 42 years old. Regina Hall (the girl from Scary Movie) is 41. Gabrielle Union is 40. Infer from that what you will. I need to change my diet. At 30, I look about 44 and a half.
In other news, my grandmother has a copy of that book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like A Man. I don't even wanna know.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Scandal Recap
Just like it was with The Game and Grey's Anatomy, I can tell what's popular on TV by checking Facebook statuses. It's kinda like watching a flock of birds. Right before a thunderstorm, there was a surge of statuses about someone named Huck. Close up the shutters because Scandal's on.
One of my friends tried to get me to watch it last year, but after looking at only one commercial I surmised that it was for women. A year went by and twenty seven women tweeted "OMG Fitz" and "Huck was set up" and I felt reassured that it wasn't for me. Then I found myself over the same friend's house about a month ago and, as soon as we walked through the door, she handed me an iPad. "Don't say anything, just watch this."
So the first thing I see is a bunch of people getting out of a limo to go to some gala or something. BAM! Some Asian lady gets shot. (internal dialogue: "Damn.") BAM! Some man gets shot. ("Is that a sniper?") BAM! Some other lady gets shot. "Holy shit! What is this?" I said that part out loud. She told me it was Scandal. If they'd put this in the commercials, I would've started watching it a long time ago.
With all that's happened in recent weeks it's very dangerous to write about my enjoyment of violence on television, particularly gun violence. I like it when it's fake, but not when it's real. (This CYA brought to you by, Ordaleco!) Anyway, the next few scenes involved some talk about rigging an election (Where have I heard that before?) and the main character sleeping with the President. I'm guessing one of those is the scandal. I enjoyed how Kerry Washington's character acknowledged the parallel between Jefferson and Sally Hemings.
I still wasn't certain that it was the show for me. I gave it another episode. Grey's Anatomy tricked me like that once. Somebody blew up inside a hospital and I was on board then the next show was nothing but people staring at each other teary eyed for 42 minutes. The next episode was even colder. I don't have any background on these people, but I'm assuming Huck is like a mentally challenged GI Joe/Jason Bourne type who stalks this random family for a sense of normalcy.
He meets some woman in AA or somewhere and she turns out to be a spy and sets him up for the president's assassination. Then the two of them decide to shack up. He changes his mind and tries to turn her in, so she murders the whole family of people that he likes and leaves a recording of him trying to set her up. <Insert Rick James> "That was coldblooded!" They had a new fan.
Then came yesterday. After being off for a few weeks for Christmas, I was eager to see what they'd blow up or shoot next. Nothing. They tortured Huck, but that's about it. Most of it was Kerry Washington running around. Then there was some nonsense about the First Lady and some other guy lying to the world that the President was awake and ready to retake office. It was like Weekend at Bernie's minus the dancing corpse. I think I've been duped.
Yesterday marked the first time I've watched something on TV since I cut the cord. Without DVR, I was forced to sit through commercials. When I think back, I realize that I never saw a single commercial for a pickup truck. That's the easiest way to determine the target demographic for a show. Don't believe me, think back to Oprah. Ever see a commercial for a Ford F150? Did you see a toilet paper commercial? There you go. Last night's commercials were for Quilted Northern, Tampax and cereal.
I've been duped.
One of my friends tried to get me to watch it last year, but after looking at only one commercial I surmised that it was for women. A year went by and twenty seven women tweeted "OMG Fitz" and "Huck was set up" and I felt reassured that it wasn't for me. Then I found myself over the same friend's house about a month ago and, as soon as we walked through the door, she handed me an iPad. "Don't say anything, just watch this."
So the first thing I see is a bunch of people getting out of a limo to go to some gala or something. BAM! Some Asian lady gets shot. (internal dialogue: "Damn.") BAM! Some man gets shot. ("Is that a sniper?") BAM! Some other lady gets shot. "Holy shit! What is this?" I said that part out loud. She told me it was Scandal. If they'd put this in the commercials, I would've started watching it a long time ago.
With all that's happened in recent weeks it's very dangerous to write about my enjoyment of violence on television, particularly gun violence. I like it when it's fake, but not when it's real. (This CYA brought to you by, Ordaleco!) Anyway, the next few scenes involved some talk about rigging an election (Where have I heard that before?) and the main character sleeping with the President. I'm guessing one of those is the scandal. I enjoyed how Kerry Washington's character acknowledged the parallel between Jefferson and Sally Hemings.
I still wasn't certain that it was the show for me. I gave it another episode. Grey's Anatomy tricked me like that once. Somebody blew up inside a hospital and I was on board then the next show was nothing but people staring at each other teary eyed for 42 minutes. The next episode was even colder. I don't have any background on these people, but I'm assuming Huck is like a mentally challenged GI Joe/Jason Bourne type who stalks this random family for a sense of normalcy.
He meets some woman in AA or somewhere and she turns out to be a spy and sets him up for the president's assassination. Then the two of them decide to shack up. He changes his mind and tries to turn her in, so she murders the whole family of people that he likes and leaves a recording of him trying to set her up. <Insert Rick James> "That was coldblooded!" They had a new fan.
Then came yesterday. After being off for a few weeks for Christmas, I was eager to see what they'd blow up or shoot next. Nothing. They tortured Huck, but that's about it. Most of it was Kerry Washington running around. Then there was some nonsense about the First Lady and some other guy lying to the world that the President was awake and ready to retake office. It was like Weekend at Bernie's minus the dancing corpse. I think I've been duped.
Yesterday marked the first time I've watched something on TV since I cut the cord. Without DVR, I was forced to sit through commercials. When I think back, I realize that I never saw a single commercial for a pickup truck. That's the easiest way to determine the target demographic for a show. Don't believe me, think back to Oprah. Ever see a commercial for a Ford F150? Did you see a toilet paper commercial? There you go. Last night's commercials were for Quilted Northern, Tampax and cereal.
I've been duped.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Can't Buy Me Love
You know me, I'm all about giving roses while people can still smell them. I was on a website forum where someone asked readers to submit stories of the nicest thing a friend ever did for them. This is what came to mind:
Freshman year of high school was off to a very rough start. Those first few months are critical, in my opinion. That's where friendships are born and first impressions are made. In my case, nobody knew who the hell I was. I was awkward and by myself half of the time. All of the girls I liked had no interest in me whatsoever. Even my second round picks weren't interested.
So one day when I was having a really, really, REALLY bad day, we went outside and took a huge panoramic school photo. It was while standing outside for this that I caught the attention of this girl in the twelfth grade. As I'd learned earlier in the month, most of the assholes in the upper classes seek to dehumanize the incoming class by referring to them simply as "Hey Freshman!" So of course, when angry little me heard someone yelling from behind him, "Hey freshman, you ain't in Texas!" This voice, that I'd yet to match a face to, was referring to my Dallas Cowboys coat. People in DC see the logo (the star) as a target to throw insults (and sometimes bullets).
I turned around and saw what to this day remains the singular representation of puberty. My pupils dilated, heart raced and jaw dropped. At the time, I'd seen nothing more beautiful in my life. Her insults at that point were irrelevant. She was talking to me!!! (Be still, my heart) She rambled on about the Cowboys sucking (they did and still do) and other upperclassmen joined the fray. The next day, she came to me at breakfast and offered a semi-apology acknowledging that it was probably an embarrassing and potentially emotionally scarring way to start high school. She said that she would make it up to me.
She sat down and ate breakfast with me. At lunch, she came to my table and, in front of all my irrelevant freshman friends, batted her eyes and asked me why I was sitting with "all these guys" and not over at the table with her. We ate lunch together, to the intrigue of a few of my friends. This went on for a few days. Then one day she asked me to walk with her to the subway and we passed a bunch of girls from my class that I liked. Being the haters in training that they were, I heard em cackling amongst themselves, "Watch this. Ordale, is that your boo?"
To my surprise, and most certainly theirs, she turned around and said, "What do you think and why do you care?" Not technically an answer, but it was better than an ego-deflating, "Hell, no this freshman isn't my boyfriend!" My memory gets hazy after that, because I was in heaven at that moment, but I THINK she held my hand and said something along the lines of, "Go get your own man." She said it jokingly, so they didn't get offended. And the way it was presented, they couldn't really tell if she was really with me or not.
As a 30 year old, all of this sounds silly. I know people who had kids by 14, so the fact that I was excited that some 12th grader held my hand just highlights how much of a late bloomer I was. The point is that, when she said she was going to make it up to me, I wonder if that's what she had in mind. In that moment, I became relevant. Now I'm not gonna lie and say that my life became an Axe commercial, but, in keeping with the whole "my second round picks weren't interested" analogy, let's just say that I started to get some letters of intent.
In a way, she endorsed me. It was like a radio promo. "Hey, I'm a 12th grade girl and when I'm not kicking it with guys my age, I listen to Ordale J Allen." Beyond the whole "it helped me get girls" thing, it was nice to have someone help me navigate the social and political mess that is high school. And for that, I'm forever grateful.
Freshman year of high school was off to a very rough start. Those first few months are critical, in my opinion. That's where friendships are born and first impressions are made. In my case, nobody knew who the hell I was. I was awkward and by myself half of the time. All of the girls I liked had no interest in me whatsoever. Even my second round picks weren't interested.
So one day when I was having a really, really, REALLY bad day, we went outside and took a huge panoramic school photo. It was while standing outside for this that I caught the attention of this girl in the twelfth grade. As I'd learned earlier in the month, most of the assholes in the upper classes seek to dehumanize the incoming class by referring to them simply as "Hey Freshman!" So of course, when angry little me heard someone yelling from behind him, "Hey freshman, you ain't in Texas!" This voice, that I'd yet to match a face to, was referring to my Dallas Cowboys coat. People in DC see the logo (the star) as a target to throw insults (and sometimes bullets).
I turned around and saw what to this day remains the singular representation of puberty. My pupils dilated, heart raced and jaw dropped. At the time, I'd seen nothing more beautiful in my life. Her insults at that point were irrelevant. She was talking to me!!! (Be still, my heart) She rambled on about the Cowboys sucking (they did and still do) and other upperclassmen joined the fray. The next day, she came to me at breakfast and offered a semi-apology acknowledging that it was probably an embarrassing and potentially emotionally scarring way to start high school. She said that she would make it up to me.
She sat down and ate breakfast with me. At lunch, she came to my table and, in front of all my irrelevant freshman friends, batted her eyes and asked me why I was sitting with "all these guys" and not over at the table with her. We ate lunch together, to the intrigue of a few of my friends. This went on for a few days. Then one day she asked me to walk with her to the subway and we passed a bunch of girls from my class that I liked. Being the haters in training that they were, I heard em cackling amongst themselves, "Watch this. Ordale, is that your boo?"
To my surprise, and most certainly theirs, she turned around and said, "What do you think and why do you care?" Not technically an answer, but it was better than an ego-deflating, "Hell, no this freshman isn't my boyfriend!" My memory gets hazy after that, because I was in heaven at that moment, but I THINK she held my hand and said something along the lines of, "Go get your own man." She said it jokingly, so they didn't get offended. And the way it was presented, they couldn't really tell if she was really with me or not.
As a 30 year old, all of this sounds silly. I know people who had kids by 14, so the fact that I was excited that some 12th grader held my hand just highlights how much of a late bloomer I was. The point is that, when she said she was going to make it up to me, I wonder if that's what she had in mind. In that moment, I became relevant. Now I'm not gonna lie and say that my life became an Axe commercial, but, in keeping with the whole "my second round picks weren't interested" analogy, let's just say that I started to get some letters of intent.
In a way, she endorsed me. It was like a radio promo. "Hey, I'm a 12th grade girl and when I'm not kicking it with guys my age, I listen to Ordale J Allen." Beyond the whole "it helped me get girls" thing, it was nice to have someone help me navigate the social and political mess that is high school. And for that, I'm forever grateful.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Keep the Lottery to Yourself
Are you kidding me!?
I don't know how much you fine folks follow the news, but per CNN.com a nice fellow won a million dollars in the lottery out in Chicago and died a month later. Although initially ruled "natural causes," following the insistence of an anonymous relative, a further investigation deemed it a homicide by cyanide poisoning.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is why I'm not telling a single soul when I win (AOL KEYWORD: WHEN). I'm not even telling my wife. The first thing she's gonna do is go to work the next day, which in and of itself makes no sense to me. We had this conversation a long time ago when NC finally got a lottery and she said something along the lines of, "I'd still work." Depending on how I feel at that moment, I might be so inclined to at least call and tell them I'm not coming back. But to actually go in and do stuff...please.
Anyway, she'll go to work and then she'll tell someone. She's from The South and still believes in the kindness of strangers, hope for mankind and all of that jazz. I've tried to shake her off that whole "happiness" thing, but it's stuck. She's the kind of person who shows up to work in the morning smiling and singing sans-coffee. Weird. The next thing you know, someone's gonna be holding her for ransom and my little bit of money will be gone. So, she can't know.
I'm signing my ticket, taking a picture with it, putting it in a Zip-loc bag, then putting that bag inside a CD Jewel Case and then putting that inside a fireproof safe. Then I'm gonna stand watch in front of that safe all night with a shotgun. The next day, I'm calling a lawyer and having him go with me to a better lawyer who will set up a blind trust so that we can claim the ticket anonymously.
Days will go by and you'll keep getting the same Broke Phi Broke blog posts that you're used to, but they will ever so slowly diminish in quality. That's because I'm gonna write about a year's worth of them during that night that I'm sitting up with the shotgun standing guard. The next thing you know, there will be a message saying the domain name for this site has expired and you'll just be left to wonder if things got so bad financially that I couldn't scrape together $10 to renew the domain.
I'll tell my wife that I applied to a job for her. A few days later she'll get a call from some actor who'll direct her to an office space that I will have rented out and staffed with other actors. She'll accept the job that she gets and have a going away party at work. I'll offer to drive her to her new job for her first day and we'll go straight to the airport. We'll fly away to a beach somewhere and figure out a lie to tell our friends and family, because I don't trust them either. lol
I don't know how much you fine folks follow the news, but per CNN.com a nice fellow won a million dollars in the lottery out in Chicago and died a month later. Although initially ruled "natural causes," following the insistence of an anonymous relative, a further investigation deemed it a homicide by cyanide poisoning.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is why I'm not telling a single soul when I win (AOL KEYWORD: WHEN). I'm not even telling my wife. The first thing she's gonna do is go to work the next day, which in and of itself makes no sense to me. We had this conversation a long time ago when NC finally got a lottery and she said something along the lines of, "I'd still work." Depending on how I feel at that moment, I might be so inclined to at least call and tell them I'm not coming back. But to actually go in and do stuff...please.
Anyway, she'll go to work and then she'll tell someone. She's from The South and still believes in the kindness of strangers, hope for mankind and all of that jazz. I've tried to shake her off that whole "happiness" thing, but it's stuck. She's the kind of person who shows up to work in the morning smiling and singing sans-coffee. Weird. The next thing you know, someone's gonna be holding her for ransom and my little bit of money will be gone. So, she can't know.
I'm signing my ticket, taking a picture with it, putting it in a Zip-loc bag, then putting that bag inside a CD Jewel Case and then putting that inside a fireproof safe. Then I'm gonna stand watch in front of that safe all night with a shotgun. The next day, I'm calling a lawyer and having him go with me to a better lawyer who will set up a blind trust so that we can claim the ticket anonymously.
Days will go by and you'll keep getting the same Broke Phi Broke blog posts that you're used to, but they will ever so slowly diminish in quality. That's because I'm gonna write about a year's worth of them during that night that I'm sitting up with the shotgun standing guard. The next thing you know, there will be a message saying the domain name for this site has expired and you'll just be left to wonder if things got so bad financially that I couldn't scrape together $10 to renew the domain.
I'll tell my wife that I applied to a job for her. A few days later she'll get a call from some actor who'll direct her to an office space that I will have rented out and staffed with other actors. She'll accept the job that she gets and have a going away party at work. I'll offer to drive her to her new job for her first day and we'll go straight to the airport. We'll fly away to a beach somewhere and figure out a lie to tell our friends and family, because I don't trust them either. lol
Sunday, January 6, 2013
The Expo
My head hurts. I went to a charter school expo at the convention center Saturday which served no purpose whatsoever. Every school said the same thing. "We have a play-through-learning approach. We cater our lessons around the kids' needs. We have an aftercare program." Just once I want someone to be honest and say, "I hate children. I took this job because of the recession. We need your child for the tax dollars."
I started judging the schools based on factors that make no sense whatsoever. One school had a really nice display and handed out fact sheets on bond paper. They were handing out Reese Cups and M&Ms. The woman I spoke with seemed very proper and well to do, while the other three people just stood behind the desk and let her talk. I scratched them off my list. I know all too well what it's like to put the ace out in front and let them carry the team. Plus, if you have money to print stuff out on bond paper at a public school then something is amiss.
The school next to them had a display that looked like they found out about the expo that morning. It was an old science fair project board that was in the same condition as one of those beat up boxes you get from Costco to carry your stuff out to the car. They had handwritten messages from the kids that I couldn't read because the kids' handwriting looked like Sanskrit. They were handing out that church candy with the wrapper that looks like a strawberry. All of the people ran up to talk to me because I made the mistake of making eye contact with them. They kept asking questions about my daughter and passing me from person to person so that I could meet this person who teaches X and that person who runs the aftercare program. They made my list. They seemed kid-centric and reminded me of teachers I had growing up.
So now that we know which schools made the playoffs, it's time to move on to open houses where I can see some of the teachers in their natural habitat. Of course they'll all say the same thing, so I'll be checking out little things in my own Sherlock Holmes way. I'll take pictures of the chalkboard and have their handwriting sent to the lab for a personality assessment.There are seven open houses that I plan to go to over the next two weeks. Then, we'll move to the conference finals...School Tour during a regular day.
Sadly, none of this will mean much as it all comes down to a lottery. To be continued...
I started judging the schools based on factors that make no sense whatsoever. One school had a really nice display and handed out fact sheets on bond paper. They were handing out Reese Cups and M&Ms. The woman I spoke with seemed very proper and well to do, while the other three people just stood behind the desk and let her talk. I scratched them off my list. I know all too well what it's like to put the ace out in front and let them carry the team. Plus, if you have money to print stuff out on bond paper at a public school then something is amiss.
The school next to them had a display that looked like they found out about the expo that morning. It was an old science fair project board that was in the same condition as one of those beat up boxes you get from Costco to carry your stuff out to the car. They had handwritten messages from the kids that I couldn't read because the kids' handwriting looked like Sanskrit. They were handing out that church candy with the wrapper that looks like a strawberry. All of the people ran up to talk to me because I made the mistake of making eye contact with them. They kept asking questions about my daughter and passing me from person to person so that I could meet this person who teaches X and that person who runs the aftercare program. They made my list. They seemed kid-centric and reminded me of teachers I had growing up.
So now that we know which schools made the playoffs, it's time to move on to open houses where I can see some of the teachers in their natural habitat. Of course they'll all say the same thing, so I'll be checking out little things in my own Sherlock Holmes way. I'll take pictures of the chalkboard and have their handwriting sent to the lab for a personality assessment.There are seven open houses that I plan to go to over the next two weeks. Then, we'll move to the conference finals...School Tour during a regular day.
Sadly, none of this will mean much as it all comes down to a lottery. To be continued...
Saturday, January 5, 2013
McPig
If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were telling me that, in order to make sausage, all they do is just grate up a pig. Actually, now that I think about it, that sounds about right.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Cutting the Cord...Again
You know, I often find myself revisiting the past, 2007-2008 to be specific. That's the era that historians refer to as The Financial Renaissance. It was during this time in a little state called North Carolina that my credit was born. A strapping young lad, it grew quickly because I fed it nothing but disposable income. It would later die a horrible fiery death in a tiny overpriced town called Washington, DC, but let's not dwell on the negative.
I remember a phone call I had back then with the cable company. I can't remember exactly what it was about. Perhaps I forgot to mail off a payment and they were charging me a late fee. Whatever it was, I just remember saying something along the lines of, "It's only $20. I'm not going to get all up in arms about it. I'll know next time though." Back then I could say silly things like that. Fast forward to today and a much poorer me is on the phone with the cable company feeling like Claude McKay:
Like men, we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack
Pressed to the walls, dying.
But fighting back!
I'm ready to go to war over this $23 increase in my cable bill. They just mailed me a new price as if it was okay. No heads up or anything. I opened the bill and there it was: "Hey, your cable is now $23 more. No, they're no new features. You still have to watch commercials. Yeah, the Tivo is still set up so that you have to pass the beginning of your show by like 15 seconds or else it'll snap back into the commercials you're trying to bypass. Huh? Can we cut you a deal? We can cut it off. That's about it."
Back to our history lesson. We were all sad to see the Financial Renaissance come to an end, but it gave birth to a new era, The Age of Discovery. If necessity is the mother of invention then "being broke" is its father. I learned how to cook during the new era, so much so that I actually prefer my own food over the restaurant quality fare that I was trying to replicate. I didn't really know what "open source" was until my computer crashed and I couldn't find the product keys for any of my programs. That's when I became aware of GIMP, OpenOffice, Kompozer, etc. It's also when I discovered Yelp Elite (free food and booze), Film Metro (free movie premieres) and several marketing research firms that pay me $75 to $200 a pop to give my opinion on things.
The point of all of this is that I see RCN's latest price increase as a challenge. My bill was $80 a month two years ago. This new one is $135. A novice would pay it. No, that's not right. A fool would pay it. A novice would try to see what Comcast is offering. I'm a doctoral degree candidate in being broke and for my dissertation I'm canceling my cable, installing MythTV and a TV Tuner on the Mac Mini that's hooked up to the big TV, which will give me my own subscription-free DVR. As for the cable channels, I only watch the Food Network, HGTV and Comedy Central. All of those have PLEX channels, which is already on my computer.
I remember a phone call I had back then with the cable company. I can't remember exactly what it was about. Perhaps I forgot to mail off a payment and they were charging me a late fee. Whatever it was, I just remember saying something along the lines of, "It's only $20. I'm not going to get all up in arms about it. I'll know next time though." Back then I could say silly things like that. Fast forward to today and a much poorer me is on the phone with the cable company feeling like Claude McKay:
Like men, we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack
Pressed to the walls, dying.
But fighting back!
I'm ready to go to war over this $23 increase in my cable bill. They just mailed me a new price as if it was okay. No heads up or anything. I opened the bill and there it was: "Hey, your cable is now $23 more. No, they're no new features. You still have to watch commercials. Yeah, the Tivo is still set up so that you have to pass the beginning of your show by like 15 seconds or else it'll snap back into the commercials you're trying to bypass. Huh? Can we cut you a deal? We can cut it off. That's about it."
Back to our history lesson. We were all sad to see the Financial Renaissance come to an end, but it gave birth to a new era, The Age of Discovery. If necessity is the mother of invention then "being broke" is its father. I learned how to cook during the new era, so much so that I actually prefer my own food over the restaurant quality fare that I was trying to replicate. I didn't really know what "open source" was until my computer crashed and I couldn't find the product keys for any of my programs. That's when I became aware of GIMP, OpenOffice, Kompozer, etc. It's also when I discovered Yelp Elite (free food and booze), Film Metro (free movie premieres) and several marketing research firms that pay me $75 to $200 a pop to give my opinion on things.
The point of all of this is that I see RCN's latest price increase as a challenge. My bill was $80 a month two years ago. This new one is $135. A novice would pay it. No, that's not right. A fool would pay it. A novice would try to see what Comcast is offering. I'm a doctoral degree candidate in being broke and for my dissertation I'm canceling my cable, installing MythTV and a TV Tuner on the Mac Mini that's hooked up to the big TV, which will give me my own subscription-free DVR. As for the cable channels, I only watch the Food Network, HGTV and Comedy Central. All of those have PLEX channels, which is already on my computer.
-Dr. Ordale J Allen
Brokeologist
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Technology Dependent...There's An App For That
A few weeks ago I wrote a very heartwarming piece about giving my wife my iPhone 4 when her's died. It was very nice, people wept and love won. One day someone will write a song about it, I'm sure. At the time, I thought it was no big deal. I'm a child of the 80s after all. I grew up with the modern day equivalent of tin cans and a string. Surely I don't need a smartphone to function in society.
Those were the longest two weeks of my life. Every time I came home I felt like I emerged from a cave or something. I needed a fix, another hit, from the internet. It didn't take long to grovel at the feet of an Apple employee and get a new phone. What happened to me? You have to understand that it took a feat of Hercules to get me to buy a cellphone in the first place. Electronic leashes, I used to call them. I got my first one in 2002 at the behest of my girlfriend at the time. I went to the Sprint store where one of their sea-witches made me sing into a seashell in exchange for a phone and the contract from hell.
Back then you got like 25 daytime minutes and 18000 night minutes. The only thing I hated more than the overage charges was the notion of being readily accessible to everyone. I enjoy my freedom and constantly being asked "Where are you? Can you do ____?" got old real quick. After going over my minutes for the third straight month, I called to cancel. The sad thing is that the termination fee was actually less than my average monthly bill.
Fast forward to today and I don't know what happened. I think it has less to do with the phone functionality and more to do with everything else. My wife and I have shared a 700 minute phone plan for the last eight years and have never gone over. We don't talk much on them. At first I thought the 80s baby thing made me impervious to the need for a high tech gadget. Now I realize that it's because of that era that I cling to it for dear life.
I grew up watching Penny on Inspector Gadget talk to Brain on her prototype iPad-book-thingamajig. Back then five-year-old-me was just happy to play with a solar powered calculator. "I wonder what happens when I put my finger over the solar panel. Oooh, it cuts off!" Minor leaps in technology from Tiger LCD Handheld games to Gameboy were viewed as milestones that wouldn't be exceeded until long after I was gone. The idea that not only would things get better, but they would be merged into one singular device was unfathomable. I mean, yeah it's a $500 phone but it's also a digital camera, a video camera, a calculator, word processor, voice recorder, portable video game console, music player, etc, etc, etc.
Do you understand that I would've sold half of my internal organs as a child for a digital camera? Am I the only person who remembers taking PERFECT pictures at school only to wait a week for "Peoples Drug Store" (CVS) to develop them and find out that the flash was off, my finger was in the way or it just looks bad? I remember when I first saw a digital camera. "You mean you can see the picture before you get it developed!!! How many kidneys does it cost? I probably should keep at least one, but I'll try to make do without them."
I have a lifetime of memories that no one could afford to rent a video camera for me to record. Now there's one on my phone. I can't even remember the last time I held a CD in my hand, let alone wiped one with alcohol and prayed that the laser could read through the braille-like scratches on the bottom. Every song I own is on my phone. My five favorite movies are on my phone. The video of my daughter's first steps is on my phone. It may be sad that we've gotten to a point where we feel we need to carry all of this around with us, but frankly I don't care. I enjoy it and I think I've earned that right.
Those were the longest two weeks of my life. Every time I came home I felt like I emerged from a cave or something. I needed a fix, another hit, from the internet. It didn't take long to grovel at the feet of an Apple employee and get a new phone. What happened to me? You have to understand that it took a feat of Hercules to get me to buy a cellphone in the first place. Electronic leashes, I used to call them. I got my first one in 2002 at the behest of my girlfriend at the time. I went to the Sprint store where one of their sea-witches made me sing into a seashell in exchange for a phone and the contract from hell.
Back then you got like 25 daytime minutes and 18000 night minutes. The only thing I hated more than the overage charges was the notion of being readily accessible to everyone. I enjoy my freedom and constantly being asked "Where are you? Can you do ____?" got old real quick. After going over my minutes for the third straight month, I called to cancel. The sad thing is that the termination fee was actually less than my average monthly bill.
Fast forward to today and I don't know what happened. I think it has less to do with the phone functionality and more to do with everything else. My wife and I have shared a 700 minute phone plan for the last eight years and have never gone over. We don't talk much on them. At first I thought the 80s baby thing made me impervious to the need for a high tech gadget. Now I realize that it's because of that era that I cling to it for dear life.
I grew up watching Penny on Inspector Gadget talk to Brain on her prototype iPad-book-thingamajig. Back then five-year-old-me was just happy to play with a solar powered calculator. "I wonder what happens when I put my finger over the solar panel. Oooh, it cuts off!" Minor leaps in technology from Tiger LCD Handheld games to Gameboy were viewed as milestones that wouldn't be exceeded until long after I was gone. The idea that not only would things get better, but they would be merged into one singular device was unfathomable. I mean, yeah it's a $500 phone but it's also a digital camera, a video camera, a calculator, word processor, voice recorder, portable video game console, music player, etc, etc, etc.
Do you understand that I would've sold half of my internal organs as a child for a digital camera? Am I the only person who remembers taking PERFECT pictures at school only to wait a week for "Peoples Drug Store" (CVS) to develop them and find out that the flash was off, my finger was in the way or it just looks bad? I remember when I first saw a digital camera. "You mean you can see the picture before you get it developed!!! How many kidneys does it cost? I probably should keep at least one, but I'll try to make do without them."
I have a lifetime of memories that no one could afford to rent a video camera for me to record. Now there's one on my phone. I can't even remember the last time I held a CD in my hand, let alone wiped one with alcohol and prayed that the laser could read through the braille-like scratches on the bottom. Every song I own is on my phone. My five favorite movies are on my phone. The video of my daughter's first steps is on my phone. It may be sad that we've gotten to a point where we feel we need to carry all of this around with us, but frankly I don't care. I enjoy it and I think I've earned that right.