I'm happy to announce we have a new addition to our family. A new pet? Nope. Far more useful. A new baby? Nope. Way more horsepower. Allow me to introduce...
The Black Hood.
We've wanted just an old, reliable, semi-beatup pickup truck for a while. One that could haul stuff around and serve as a second vehicle when the need arose (it's too cold to ride Pepe in the winter, thus the need has arose), and Black Hood was the answer. We got him from a gangster kid up in Layton who had had him for about a year but wanted a more intimidating car. Apparently Honda Civics provide the aspiring gangster with a degree of street cred the Ford Ranger just can't.
We currently call him The Black Hood, though I am looking for a different name, maybe one that doesn't sound like an unimaginative pro-wrestler from the 70's. I would love any suggestions you might have. I kind of like "The Flying Dutchman".
Oh yeah, and remind me someday to write a post on how funny it is for a kid from any Utah town to be a gangster. Except maybe for my homeboys in West Valley. And a couple places in Ogden. Word.
Anyways, Christmas was a lot of fun. We didn't take many pics, so here are the three I thought would be most interesting on a blog. Don't get your hopes up though.
Here are Grandma and Grandpa subjecting their dog to the barbaric and inhumane practice of dressing her up in a little doggy Santa suit. Notice Katie's apathy to the gruesome scene.
I should probably mention that I was the one who bought the little doggy Santa suit.
Here are Katie and I walking in a winter wonderland. She let us hike for about 5 minutes before whining so bad we had to go home.
A broader view of the aforementioned winter wonderland. I told you not to get your hopes up.
Serious. Not one person during the 30 minutes I stood at the entrance left with even a flicker of hope or merriment on their face.
A few people enter happy, but something in there must squash it out of them, for a morose expression rests upon the visage of all who depart. This expression ranges in intensity from a mild 'Whew, I'm glad that's over with,' to a more serious 'I need to get out of this place as soon as possible, where's my car?' all the way down to the chilling scowl of 'I hate you and everyone around me. But most of all I hate my own life, which has become as dismal and empty as the heartless corporation I've just supported.'
I am fully aware that this and other "Why it's Better to be a Man Than a Woman" (or WIBBAMTAW) posts are blatant generalizations and are by no means representative of the entire female population. However, there are certain tendencies I have seen displayed by enough members of said population that I believe they merit mentioning, which is where WIBBAMTAW comes from. I welcome and even encourage a "Why it's better to be a Woman than a Man" (or WIBBAWTAM) rebuttal from a female reader, but only if you have a reason that is at least comparable with Reason #1 of Why it's Better to be a Man Than a Woman, which is, of course, that we can pee standing up.
All right, now that that's out of the way...
Let me start with a story. When I was about 12, me and two friends were walking through a large grass field near my house. Me and one friend were engaged in the usual male pastime of joking around and insulting each other, when he went too far and started making fun of my cat. Being a firm believer in the awesomeness of my cat, I punched him. He punched me back. We then duked it out while friend #2 cheered us on. We both went home mad. The next day, we were hanging out again.
The end.
I tell this story because it has two great lessons for women. First, if something someone is doing bothers you, let them know. Whether its verbally, in written form, or a smack to the face, communicate to them somehow that you don't like what they are doing. Second, get on with your life.
Working in HR, I deal with a lot of drama. This drama is almost entirely female related. In fact, research has shown that 95% of drama in the workplace is created by women*. It has been my experience that most of this drama could be avoided if one or both sides would have actually just told each other what was bothering them in the first place.
An example (as always, I've changed all identifying details):
I did an exit interview a while back with a woman who had left one of our offices. On asking her what had led to this, she launched into a 50 minute diatribe (would have been longer, but I had to cut her off) detailing every slight, misfortune, and hardship imposed upon her by her boss (who also happened to be a woman) and co-workers over the 6 years she worked there. She mentioned everything from other employees not doing their duties and messing up the workflow to how a certain co-worker would occasionally give her "crusties". When I asked what the manager had said when she brought these issues up with her, she said they had never spoken about it. When I asked how the co-workers reacted when she brought up their neglected duties, she said she never had. Apparently her way of dealing with this hellish environment wasn't to address the problems, but to engage in a series of strange, clandestine passive-aggressive actions that would indirectly get back at her co-workers for her (i.e. making the ones she didn't like go all the way to the front desk to receive their faxes instead of putting them in their boxes for them.)
"Great. So it was bad environment, you're out of it now, found a new job, will never see anyone from that office again. Can I share your comments with them so we can make sure this doesn't happen to anyone in the future?"
"Oh no! Please don't do that! I don't want them to know I said something mean about them!"
Spectacular. So instead of confronting someone with your feelings, you'd rather wallow in misery, humiliation, and frustration in a stressful, underpaid position FOR 6 YEARS, then ultimately quit. And still not let them know how you feel.
And I get these all the time. I don't know that I've ever had a male ex-employee ask me not to share his comments. They usually say, "Sure, I've already told them all this anyway."
Another example, this one from out of the workplace:
There were two girls I was friends with. They hung out all the time, talked about boys, best friends forever, all that stuff. One day one said something that the other didn't like. Instead of telling her that, the second friend went to a group of mutual friends, told them the horrible things the other had said (perhaps exaggerating a point or two), and turned them all against the first friend. That was over 10 years ago. They still haven't spoken to this day.
Now here's the funny thing: Many women will say the reason they don't confront (or fight) friends/co-workers/family who they are mad at is because they don't want to be mean. They also scoff at the male method of duking it out, deeming it immature and barbaric. So what do they do instead? Emotionally and mentally mutilate the person.
Give the cold shoulder, pretend they don't exist, start gossip and spread lies about them, act like they are friends, then stab them in the back as soon as they leave the room. Or, as Elaine in Seinfeld summed it up: "We just make fun of them until they develop an eating disorder."
Which is more damaging to a person? Really, where's the logic in 'I'd never punch my best friend, but I'm fine with beating and ripping her apart emotionally'? Can someone explain this?
Well hey, as long as no one is getting harmed physically, I guess you're ok.
Anyways, I saw this video clip on the internet about a year ago.
Now that is an admirable demonstration of how NOT to give in to passive aggression. Lady #1 is not happy with what Lady #2 is saying, so she shows, quite clearly, how she feels about it. Lady #2, who is more startled than hurt, receives immediate feedback on how her actions are effecting Lady #1. Daughter of Lady #1 gets to see her mom in action and has something to tell her friends about the next day. Lady #1 gets to go home that night and not think about what she should have said or done, Lady #2 knows exactly where she stands with Lady #1, and we all get an entertaining video. It's a win-win all around.
Cheers to you, Lady #1.
And that is why it's better to be a man than a woman.
*I read that on Wikipedia somewhere, so it must be true**. **Ok, I didn't actually read that anywhere. And things written on Wikipedia are rarely true.
So I lost to Sorro, 14-11. I'm not too disappointed by this, because Sorro has the heart of a champion and will represent our homeland well in the title bout. I also realized I'm happy not having my mind so devoted to meaningless trivia that I would know the answer to questions like, What Lionel Richie video featured a blind artist sculpting his head? or, Who was the producer for New Edition and New Kids on the Block?
This is to announce that tonight I will be participating in Cheeth's Pop Culture Showdown Tow Thousand Diggity-Seven, where I will be going up against fellow Provo High alum and political pundit Sorro, whose boundless knowledge of 24 and reality tv minutia I do fear.
The winner of this showdown will then go on to get their butt handed to them in a paper bag in the title bout by some guy named Aaron.
I'm excited. I've always had an impressive though ultimately useless talent for retaining pop culture information (read: I can quote nearly every Homestar Runner cartoon verbatim, without ever having put forth a serious effort to do so), and it will be good to at last have a forum to test out this meaningless gift. Though if we stray too far into music or tv shows from either the 70's or today, I'm in trouble. If possible, I'd like the questions to gravitate mainly around U2, video games, college football, and perhaps Saved By The Bell.
If you want to join in, all you need is Google Talk (can download for free) and to request DerekWessman@gmail.com as a friend. The showdown begins tonight at 7:45 MST. The last one was pretty fun and a good time was had by all.
Wish me luck.
Edit: Oh yeah. And Derek, if you don't want your e-mail up here let me know and I'll take it down.
How come the weatherman can mess up as much as he wants and not face consequences? Seriously, why do we as a society tolerate this gross incompetence?
(And by weatherman I mean weather.com, the weather section in every newspaper, the national weather service, and whatever quack is appearing on your local news.)
For about 4 days straight we received winter snow warnings, telling us to expect 3-8 inches of snow each day. So I'm all excited, ready to bust out my snow gear and...
1 inch.
That's all we got.
The entire week.
I can recall the last huge storm we got. It was last year. About 16 inches in a 24 hour period. The town just about closed down. I actually skied to work during a blizzard. When I got there 30 minutes later (skiing to work isn't as easy nor efficient as I had hoped) I checked out weather.com for that day:
Partly cloudy. 20% chance of snow.
The blizzard continued for the rest of that day.
Now, if you're a doctor and you misdiagnose a patient, you've got a pretty good chance of getting sued. If you're a mechanic and you're wrong about a car problem, the customer can come back and demand a refund. If you're the weatherman you can come on the news, give a forecast that is so bad it makes Bill Walton's NBA playoff predictions look insightful, and...
Nothing happens.
The next day everyone tunes in again. And then is oddly surprised when it doesn't come out the way you said it would.
This is amazing to me. Nighttime newscasts frequently ignore things like global nuclear proliferation treaties and scientific developments that would have blown away Newton, yet we still zealously reserve a running 6 minute segment every night for these quacks and their GREEN SCREENS OF LIES.
Why is that? What is wrong with us?
Of course, the weatherman-apologist will reply, "Well, the weather is such an intricate, complex system that it is extremely difficult for anyone to say what will happen from one minute to the next. Even with the advancements in technology we have, it is nearly impossible to predict."
Exactly! So why pretend that you can?
I just think every weather forecast should begin with the disclaimer: "Please note that we really haveno ideawhat's going to happen with the weather. These forecasts are given only for entertainment and to maintain tradition. Much like the English stripping the royalty of their power but keeping them around anyway. Do not take any of the following seriously."
And then the camera would go to Kevin Eubanks, who would cheerfully pipe in with, "Thanks, Debbie! Here's your forecast for today folks..."
If you think about it, the only thing the weatherman can really tell you is what the weather is like right now. So if that's what you want, you should tune in, flip open the paper, or bring up weather.com.
Or you could just go outside.
And yes, I too am astonished that I wrote this much about the weatherman.
Reference checks are always fun. We ask for professional references, but every now and then you get someone who can't think of enough, so they put down their best friend from elementary school or their own mom (thinking that, because she has a new last name from a second marriage, it's never going to come up in our conversation).
These are the funnest calls to make, the best-friend-as-reference, because they all seem to follow the same general pattern:
ME- Hi, this is so and so from ABC Company (not my actual name and company). We've had an applicant put you down as a reference. Do you have a minute to talk to me about _____?
OTHER PERSON- (A brief silence as they realize the thing their friend drilled them about the night before is actually happening. You can almost feel the phrases they practiced going through their mind.)
Oh...yeah. No problem. (Voice usually deepening a bit to sound more professional and picks up a slightly nervous edge)
ME- Great. So what can you tell me about _____?
OTHER PERSON then goes on to extol the virtues of the friend in question, using every cliche and business buzz-word they imagine a fancy company would put on a performance evaluation. Things like, "She always gives 110%" or, "A real team-player!" or, "Would be a valuable asset to any organization."
ME- Great. What insights can you give me on ____'s work ethic?
OTHER PERSON- "Ummmm..." (Another pause as their mind races. Usually they then just repeat what they said before, making sure to hit each buzz-word again.)
ME- All right, let me just write that down. Excellent. And how do you know _____?
OTHER PERSON- (Usually relaxes noticeably at this question)
Oh, she dated my roommate last year and we used to play Mario Kart together whenever she came over.
ME- Wonderful. Thanks for your time; I am now going to light myself on fire.
Of course these kind of references aren't worth much, as even O.J. Simpson could find three people who would say nice things about him.
So the next time I'm at a party and they're playing the game where you have to say something you've done and everyone who hasn't done that thing has to get up and frantically find a new seat, I think I've got a winner: I once ran down Las Vegas Boulevard with 10,000 people dressed up as Santa Claus.
It was a fun time. Surprisingly enough I don't have much to say about it. We started at the Fremont Street Experience (the older, more crappier casinos' answer to the glit and glamour of the Strip), ran down Las Vegas Boulevard, zig-zagged a few blocks, then ran down Fremont Street and finished at the entrance of the FSE. It was hard to get to and I hate driving in Vegas.
We did get to see our good friends the Sidwells, though, which is always fun. The baby served as wake-up call at 12:07AM, 1:22, 2:30, then from 2:45 until we decided we might as well be in the car not sleeping than in bed not sleeping and packed up to make the drive home, around 3:20. The Sids are good sports.
Here are some pickys.
The vast Cathedral of Babylon that is the Fremont Street Experience.
The UNLV football team was there helping out. I suppose not having a bowl game to prepare for freed up their December schedule a bit.
Perhaps one of the few occasions where you can put your dog in an outfit and not come across as an old grandma. And yes, mom, I'm looking your way.
This is Reindeer Sleigh Santa. He had an entire box strapped onto his front. I'm guessing this is what being pregnant is like, but only if you had gas and the reindeer repeatedly kicked you.
Of the various incarnations of Santa, perhaps none was as polarizing as Brett Farve Santa. His passing elicited every cheer and jeer from "Go Packers!" to "Packers suck. Go Cowboys!" to "Go Sasketchewan RoughRiders, East Division championship team from the CFL!"
Serious. Some lady said that.
Our merry crew of Santa runners: (from left to right: Bald Santa, Cheesy Santa, Homeless Drunk Santa, In-a-Constant-State-of-Bewilderment Santa, and High School Musical Santa)
Strangely enough, one of the highlights of the morning for me was this Elvis impersonator's rendition of Viva, Las Vegas. It was touching, really.
The start of the race. We were so far back we didn't start moving for about a minute. And we were probably in the first quarter of all participants.
All in all it was a good time, though I'm not sure I'll do it next year. Vegas has too much traffic, too much hustle and bustle, and I always come away from there with a cynical disdain for mankind.
I did get a free Santa suit though.
Update: It looks like we broke the record, though apparently some charity in the UK is posed to break it again this weekend. I actually care very little, what with my plans to break the record for longest balancing a poodle in an Abraham Lincoln costume on your head while taking a bath in Strawberry-Kiwi Snapple while singing the words to Led Zeppelin's Ramble On backwards buoying me up. Viva La Pointless World Records!
A broader view of the aforementioned winter wonderland. I told you not to get your hopes up.
This is Reindeer Sleigh Santa. He had an entire box strapped onto his front. I'm guessing this is what being pregnant is like, but only if you had gas and the reindeer repeatedly kicked you.
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