The B-Sides

To the twenty-somethings who have no idea what a "B-Side" is, it is the lesser song on the b-side of a 45rpm.  What?  No, no, it has nothing to do with handguns or malt liquor.  Its a record.  What?  Really?  Its pressed vinyl that...oh, never mind, it really isn't worth it, and I am starting feel really old.

Anyways, here are the b-sides:

Because what's knife shopping without pizza?

Just the best name for a street...EVER!

The State of Indiana asks that you kindly restrict your emergencies to two hours.  Thank you.

Kitchen sinks, drains, and other things I have ruined this week

The Queen Bee asked me to take a look at her sink because it had been draining slowly and the Drano wasn't doing the trick.  Naturally, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to earn Brownie points and simultaneously prove my worth, so I smiled and said, "Of course."  That was to be my last smile of the day.

I figured the drain trap was probably clogged, so I promptly removed it.  Clean and clear; only the remnants of the water/Drano mix were to be found.  (Note to self:  Next time, wear rubber gloves and roll up your sleeves so that they don't get bleached from the old Drano.)  I reported my findings, or lack thereof, to the Queen Bee and put her drain back together.  She looked under the sink and saw that it was leaking.  To which I said, "Oh, I must not have tightened that collar tight enough.  Let me give it another turn..."  *POP!*

If you have never worked on plastic drain pipes, let me tell you that "pop" is not a sound you want to hear when tightening the pipes back together.  "Pop" is usually followed by an immediate "SPLASH!" then the gentle sounds of a river flowing over small cliff, followed shortly after by the sounds of a madman letting loose a litany of....shall we say, vulgarities?  I shout for the Queen Bee to get me some towels, STAT!  I'm trying to hold the two pieces of drain pipe together to stem the flow of water when the Queen Bee informs that she "only has good towels left," and offered me a few Bounty paper towels.  Meanwhile, I am watching this concoction of water, drain grease, and, of course, Drano flow through the hole beneath the sink that the pipe comes up through and I notice I can see light from the apartment downstairs.  As I try to stop this river of toxins with my two Bounty paper towels, I am waiting for the screams from downstairs, "My eye! My EYE!  Oh, Dear GOD, I think I'm blind!"  The screams never came, and eventually the water stops flowing.  Time to make a trip to the hardware store to replace the pipe I broke.

 Not only did I return to the Queen Bee's with a new piece of pipe, but I also bought a bottle of Rooto Professional Drain Opener.  Which is just a fancy way of saying Sulfuric Acid.  I'm going to get this drain open, come Hell or high water.  I didn't realize how prophetic that whole "high water" thing was going to be.

I replaced the pipe, and poured some of the opener down the drain.  I felt reassured of the effectiveness of my choice when I saw little wisps of smoke come up from the drain.  I found that the Queen Bee was less reassured when she asked me, "Is it supposed to do that?"  I think I nodded casually and said something like, "Yeah, yeah.  That means its working."  The apartment filled with a stench that I can't really describe.  "Is it supposed to smell like that?"  "Yeah, yeah.  That means its working."

We waited the 20 minutes that label recommended and then poured hot water down the drain.  Or, rather, we filled the bottom of the sink with hot water because now the drain didn't drain at all. (One last note to self:  When you have acid in the drain pipe, DO NOT fill the bottom of the sink with water.  Apparently the acid knows its way back to the sink.  And its angry.  And it will do bad things to the stainless steel.)   The only thing I could come up with was that the drain opener was a victim of its own effectiveness.  What I mean is, I think it worked so well on the upper part of the pipe that it washed all that gunk right down to the original clog and sealed off the pipe the rest of the way.  So, what do you do when something doesn't work the first time?  You try it again, of course.  How did it turn out?  Go back to the last paragraph and re-read it until you get back here.  Just pretend its the next day.  Go ahead, I'll wait right here for you.

Things my new MP3 player told me

I finally joined the digital age and bought my first MP3 player.  Big deal, right?  Yeah, that was my thought, too.  Until I realized how much my MP3 had to say.  My advice to anyone who cares is, don't let anyone look through your MP3 player unless you want them to know who you really are.  This is my story.

*fiddles with controls*  What's this option?  I've never seen "Personality Assessment" on here before...let me click and see....

*BEEP*  Results pending, please wait.  *pause*  Son, you are a lesbian.

Wait...what??

You heard me.  You are a lesbian.

How is that even possible?

Are you doubting me?  As of today you have loaded four albums.  Those four albums are Marina and the Diamonds, Spinnerette, L7, and--

--Yes, yes I know what albums I've loaded, but I haven't had a chance to put any of my cd's on.  I just downloaded those albums on a lark.

A lark?  Who even says that anymore?  Besides, one download is a lark; four is a pattern.  A lesbian pattern.

OK, I get it.  Let me put some of my cd's on and then you can reassess, alright?

Sure.  I wouldn't want to seem unaccommodating to the lesbian community.

//Two weeks later//

Alright, now let's try this...*click*

*BEEP*  Results pending, please wait.  *pause*  You are mildly depressive with hints of an anger problem.  And a lesbian.  A lesbian with enough good taste to like Johnny Cash.

Hang on!  NONE of that is true at all!

You don't like Johnny Cash?  Then why did you put it on here?

That's not what I meant, and you know it!  I mean, I am neither depressive nor angry.

Are you sure?  Because you sound a little angry right now.

No, I'm just a little frustrated with a certain piece of Chinese made technology.

Hey, the Chinese make some quality stuff these days.  I don't think I like your tone.

Oh, gee, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.  Now, wait.  What about all of the Clutch stuff I put on here?  Doesn't that count for anything?

Sure, I stand corrected.  You are a cool, angry and depressed lesbian.

Where do you get the "angry and depressed"?

Angry-- see:  Pantera, Danzig, System of a Down, and Damageplan.  Mildly depressive-- see:  The Smiths, The Distillers, and the Cure.

Oh, come on.  Its all good music.

I'm not arguing the quality.  I am just working the algorithm and telling you what it says about you.

I should've bought an iPod. 

Sony thanks you for your purchase.

                                                                                                       

The Beard and the Factory

It is that time of year again.  The time of year where I try to grow a beard.  Then three weeks later, get disgusted and shave it off.  You see, my beard grows in very black.  Which would be OK, but the hair on my head is brown and the contrast isn't pretty.  Neither of which matches the very thin, blond little girl's hair that I have on my arms.  This potpourri of rogue keratin strands got me wondering how this happened.  This is my theory.

(The following is a conversation between Harvey, a production technician, and his production supervisor.  It takes place at the Human Assembly Plant in Toledo, Ohio.)

"What is it, Harvey?"

"Sir, I've been working on this GM model, you know, the Grown Man?  Well, we are all out of GM arm hair.  All we have left is YG-blonde.  What should I do?"


"Young Girl-blonde?!  That's all that's left?  Dammit, Harvey, we have to make our production numbers for this month or we will lose our bonus!  Use the YG-blonde."


"Use it, sir?  Won't Quality Control reject it?"


"Let me worry about Quality Control.  Besides, they still haven't figured out that we are still using those defective skull pieces we got from the Russians.  You know, the ones that won't hold hair on the top longer than 30 years?  So, just do as I say."


"Yes, sir.  Um...sir..."


"What now, Harvey?"


"Well, we are also out of GM-brown facial hair."


"What DO you have, Harvey?"


"Well, I have some GM-Mediterranean black facial hair."


"I guess that's better than YG-blonde."


"Yes, sir.  But I don't have enough for a full beard."


"Do I have to do all of your thinking for you, Harvey?  Spread it out.  He won't be able to grow a full beard, but at least he'll have something to shave."


"Yes, sir.  Right away."

Lessons from the road: Volume I

You learn some things when you are on the road as much as I am.  Some are just common sense.  Others are learned the hard way, and not usually the first time around.  But today's lesson falls into a third, less common category:  learned accidentally.  Enough preamble; here it is--  When in a public men's room, always use the short urinal.

I know this is counter-intuitive to most of you, as it was to me, but trust me on this one.  Many of you will argue that you are too tall, or the urinal is too short, but that is not true.  Again, trust me.  I am 6'4", and I manage just fine.  Before getting into the proper use of the short urinal, let me explain why it is the superior way to go.

Splash-back, gentlemen.  You know what I am talking about, so I won't go into great detail.  The modern urinal manufacturers have recognized this problem, and to help protect your hands from this hazard they have started to put "targets" (usually a little bumble-bee) on the urinal where you are least likely to achieve splash-back.  Considering that everyone takes a different stance, and differs in height, not to mention the differences in velocity and trajectory, this target only works for some people.  But the manufacturers want you to think that they care and are addressing the problem.

The solution is the simple.  Just use the short urinal.  It will require some practice because your skills at aiming are probably rusty from the years of using modern day urinals, but it is well worth the effort.  I know that some of you will never be swayed from your habits, but those of you that take me at my word and embrace the idea...you are more than welcome.

As a side note, DO NOT wear flip-flops when using a public restroom.  Besides just being gross, splash-back can land on your feet, as well.  And, as you can see from the photo, you are shoulder to shoulder with the fella next to you, so it's not just YOUR splash-back that you need to be concerned with.  However, if the situation is such that you MUST use the restroom while wearing flip-flops, use a toilet stall to avoid your neighbor's splashiness.

I hope this was helpful.  Stay tuned for more useful advice for your travels.

My name is Eljay, and I'm a recovering Facebook addict

Wow, I  can't believe I have been clean and FB-free for five months already!  When my sponsor asked me to speak to the group here tonight, I almost had an anxiety attack.  I told him I had no idea what I could say to help the other members of Facebookers Anonymous.  He just said to tell, "what it was like, what happened, and what it's like now."  OK, Mark, I'll try.  My sponsor asked that I only refer to him as Mark Z., due to his position at a certain social networking site (by the way, Mark, that kid in the movie looks JUST LIKE you!).  Well, Group, here's my tale.

I started out like most of us here in the room; created my profile, found a few friends that I knew, and caught up with a few people.  It was fun at first, but things quickly got more serious.  At first I would "status" once or twice a week.  But soon that wasn't enough.  I started status-ing every day.  And all of us in this room know where that leads...now, we need to start commenting on other people's statuses to get our fix.  Then we need to gather more friends to hear what we have to say.  By this point, I should have known I had a problem.  But I figured that as long as I wasn't doing the hard stuff, like Farmville or Mafia Wars, then I couldn't have a problem.  THOSE were the people with a real problem, not me.  But everyone hits their bottom at a different place.

One day, after spending twelve hours having a three-minute conversation over a status/comment cocktail, I looked around and realized that I hadn't done much else.  What was the last book I read?  When was the last time I picked up my guitar?  I don't know.  I knew I had to do something.  I considered signing up for MySpace to take the edge off and wean myself off of FB.  Later, I found out in these rooms that we call that, very tongue-in-cheek, the "MySpace Maintenance Plan," and it never works.  I know that some of us in the group are still trying this, but I am not going to drop any names...

So, I gave myself over to the F.A. program and got my "real" life back.  I've learned a few new chords on my guitar, read several books, and life is good when you are FB-free.  And I owe it all to you in the group for your endless support.  As a matter of fact, Mark Z. and I were talking the other day, trying to figure out how to get the word out about this group.  We were thinking that maybe we should create a new type of website where people can get together with other people and share their thoughts with each other and have it formatted so that people can share their commentary on those thoughts.  And it could be arranged so that you find new "pals" to share your thoughts with.  Too bad a platform like that doesn't already exist.  Just a thought.

Well, Group, my time is up.  Thank you for listening.