Dear naked guys hanging out in the locker room at the gym,
Seriously, guys, what's that all about? I get that there needs to be some degree of nakedness in the locker room. It goes with the territory when you've got large crowds of men who need to change clothes in the same room. And I get that, even in the typically reserved Scandinavian population of Minnesota, there are some people who are more at ease with the idea of lounging, stark raving naked, in a room filled with other dudes in similar states of undress. Maybe you're really excited about your body. Maybe you've reached a point in your life where you just don't give a darn. Maybe I'm just being uptight and I should applaud you for the level of comfort you have with your own body. If so, kudos. But I still don't want to see your fanny. There need to be limits in the locker room. A pants-up pact, if you will. Like I said, some level of nudity is unavoidable. Naked dudes in the shower is a given. I certainly don't expect the nation's gym-going public to suddenly wash up in their bathing suits. But if you're going to or coming from the shower, for god's sake put on a towel. I realize we all have basically the same parts, but I really don't care. My co-workers' cars all have engines that look more or less like the engine in my car, but I don't want to see them. Speaking of the shower, know that if one or both of us is naked in the locker room I do not want to talk to you. If I don't know you, please do not try to start a conversation with me in the shower. I don't want to be rude. I just really won't have anything to say to you. As long as one of us is showing more than 75 percent of our skin I'm not going to have an opinion about the big game, the election or the weather. Heck, even if we're close friends chances are I'm not going to want to chat. Please understand. I also accept a certain amount of nakedness is necessary as people change from street to workout clothes and vice versa. Still, some of you seem to stretch this farther than is absolutely necessary. There is really no reason to be topless and bottomless at the same time. Changing clothes should not take long. And it should not involve conversation with the person at the locker next to you. Again, my level of chattiness is nearly directly proportionate to the degree to which I and those around me are clothed. And I'm not all that talkative to start with. I don't understand men who choose to perform detailed acts of personal grooming at the gym, but if you truly feel the need to shave in the locker room, please put some pants on. Finally, to the guy my brother saw Sunday using the urinal while mooning anyone who happened to look the wrong way — seriously, you don't think that was a bit much? Put some pants on!
----------------
Now playing: The Shins - Your Algebra
via FoxyTunes
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
A manly weekend
I've never claimed to be particularly handy. Actually, I've frequently said just the opposite. Carpentry and I go together like peanut butter and asparagus.
When my dad and I successfully built a coffee table a few years ago it was less a sign of my skill with hammer and nails than it was a evidence there truly is a higher power in the universe and he really wants me to have sturdy furniture.
Still, I am a man and thus not entirely immune to the lure of power tools. If Tim Allen and the inexplicably long-running sitcom Home Improvement have taught us anything — and I would argue they haven't — it's that all men are drawn to heavy equipment on a genetic level.
My dad and I spent New Year's Day working on our second furniture project. I realize hoping for two successful efforts in less than a decade might have been a little ambitious, but the sofa table we built seems sturdy enough. And it's definitely attractive enough for the location I have in mind, tucked in behind a couch where nobody will ever see more than its top.
Last weekend I decided to push my luck. I didn't necessarily plan it this way, but Sunday turned into what I'm calling my Manly Power Tool Day. I drilled. I sawed. I hammered. I got so much done I felt like I should be in a commercial for pick-up trucks. One of those ones where the Toyota Tundra uses its massive engine and rigid frame to haul the remains of the Titanic to the surface, maybe. Or where a Ford F-150, thanks to the power of its oversized brakes and big honkin' leaf spring single-handedly brings peace to the Middle East.
And, OK. Maybe installing mini-blinds in my office isn't the most masculine of activities. And maybe there are tougher-sounding things to do than install what the signage at Home Depot described as a "closet system" in my bedroom. But the important thing to remember here is that there was a drill involved. And a jig saw. And I still have every single one of my fingers and most of my toes.
There was almost no bleeding involved, though, so I'm declaring the day a resounding success.
While we're on the subject, I have to admit I'm new to the concept of the closet system. I apparently wasn't savvy enough about the world of fashion to realize keeping clothes off the floor required a system. Running a solid NFL defense requires a system. Beating the odds at the blackjack table requires a system. Hanging your clothes in the closet requires a stick. But then, you can't charge ridiculous prices for a closet stick.
Granted, the specific stick that was in my closet when I moved into my house last month was less than adequate for the job, having fallen to the floor as soon as I hung my clothes on it. Still, I think elevating metal rods and wire shelves to system status is just asking for trouble. Next thing you know the appliances will unionize.
It's hard to complain too much, though. As of Monday night my windows were still covered and my clothes were still hanging high and proud.
Thanks, furniture gods!
----------------
Now playing: The Black Keys - The Flame
via FoxyTunes
When my dad and I successfully built a coffee table a few years ago it was less a sign of my skill with hammer and nails than it was a evidence there truly is a higher power in the universe and he really wants me to have sturdy furniture.
Still, I am a man and thus not entirely immune to the lure of power tools. If Tim Allen and the inexplicably long-running sitcom Home Improvement have taught us anything — and I would argue they haven't — it's that all men are drawn to heavy equipment on a genetic level.
My dad and I spent New Year's Day working on our second furniture project. I realize hoping for two successful efforts in less than a decade might have been a little ambitious, but the sofa table we built seems sturdy enough. And it's definitely attractive enough for the location I have in mind, tucked in behind a couch where nobody will ever see more than its top.
Last weekend I decided to push my luck. I didn't necessarily plan it this way, but Sunday turned into what I'm calling my Manly Power Tool Day. I drilled. I sawed. I hammered. I got so much done I felt like I should be in a commercial for pick-up trucks. One of those ones where the Toyota Tundra uses its massive engine and rigid frame to haul the remains of the Titanic to the surface, maybe. Or where a Ford F-150, thanks to the power of its oversized brakes and big honkin' leaf spring single-handedly brings peace to the Middle East.
And, OK. Maybe installing mini-blinds in my office isn't the most masculine of activities. And maybe there are tougher-sounding things to do than install what the signage at Home Depot described as a "closet system" in my bedroom. But the important thing to remember here is that there was a drill involved. And a jig saw. And I still have every single one of my fingers and most of my toes.
There was almost no bleeding involved, though, so I'm declaring the day a resounding success.
While we're on the subject, I have to admit I'm new to the concept of the closet system. I apparently wasn't savvy enough about the world of fashion to realize keeping clothes off the floor required a system. Running a solid NFL defense requires a system. Beating the odds at the blackjack table requires a system. Hanging your clothes in the closet requires a stick. But then, you can't charge ridiculous prices for a closet stick.
Granted, the specific stick that was in my closet when I moved into my house last month was less than adequate for the job, having fallen to the floor as soon as I hung my clothes on it. Still, I think elevating metal rods and wire shelves to system status is just asking for trouble. Next thing you know the appliances will unionize.
It's hard to complain too much, though. As of Monday night my windows were still covered and my clothes were still hanging high and proud.
Thanks, furniture gods!
----------------
Now playing: The Black Keys - The Flame
via FoxyTunes
Sending Jesus a text message
The last time I spent any significant amount of time in a church I was there to write a story about a community meal program. About the only exposure I get to religious sermons is when I accidentally flip on some television ministry on a Sunday morning. So I'm hardly the best person to comment on what would or would not be an offense to God. I'd hazard a guess He'd be none too thrilled if Paris Hilton were cast as Mary in a new Christmas movie, but I have no idea if the "Grow Jesus" figure I was given for Christmas (grows six times its size in water, though surprisingly does not float) will keep me from having a happy afterlife.
God's got a sense of humor, right? I mean, how else can you explain aardvarks?
Still, there's one new trend that has sparked divided opinions in people more knowledgeable than I about the petty annoyances of the Lord. And it's an issue I suspect will become increasingly common as technology becomes a bigger part of our daily lives.
According to a Reuters story, Vatican representatives have expressed disapproval of a new Italian company that allows the faithful to download images of saints to use as wallpaper on their cell phones. Representatives of the company, which is available at www.santiprotettori.com/indexusa.html, say they are simply offering an updated take on "santini" — images of saints that the faithful tape to the dashboards of their cars or carry in their wallets.
I don't pretend to understand exactly why they do this, but it seems like a kind of holy version of Pokemon, only a lot less popular with pre-teens. (He's using St. Pio of Petralcina — Go, St. Lucy of Siracusa! Use your vow of chastity defense!)
Some in the church, however, see the downloadable saints as much less innocent.
"This is in really bad taste," Bishop Lucio Soravito De Franceschi, a member of the Italian bishops conference committee for doctrinal matters, reportedly told told the Turin newspaper La Stampa.
"It is a distortion of sacred things ... selling 'santini' for cell phones is horrifying."
I don't know how God would feel about my Grow Jesus, but I'm guessing Bishop Lucio Soravito De Franceschi wouldn't be cool with it.
I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On one hand, I can see how some people might object to treating the images of saints the same way you might treat, say, the photo of the funny road sign you snapped on your last road trip (Buckle up — the life you save could be your own self).
And cell phone saints open the door for technology to horn its way into other aspects of religion. Before you know it people everywhere will take confession by text message. "Bls me Fr. 4 I hv snnd. Kthxbai."
On the other hand, is putting a picture of Saint Patrick on your cell phone really that much worse than sticking Jesus' trading card in your wallet? Let's be honest: there are much worse things you can download on your cell phone.
I know. I get e-mails about them all the time. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure God wouldn't be thrilled about those.
----------------
Now playing: Teddybears - Little Stereo
via FoxyTunes
God's got a sense of humor, right? I mean, how else can you explain aardvarks?
Still, there's one new trend that has sparked divided opinions in people more knowledgeable than I about the petty annoyances of the Lord. And it's an issue I suspect will become increasingly common as technology becomes a bigger part of our daily lives.
According to a Reuters story, Vatican representatives have expressed disapproval of a new Italian company that allows the faithful to download images of saints to use as wallpaper on their cell phones. Representatives of the company, which is available at www.santiprotettori.com/indexusa.html, say they are simply offering an updated take on "santini" — images of saints that the faithful tape to the dashboards of their cars or carry in their wallets.
I don't pretend to understand exactly why they do this, but it seems like a kind of holy version of Pokemon, only a lot less popular with pre-teens. (He's using St. Pio of Petralcina — Go, St. Lucy of Siracusa! Use your vow of chastity defense!)
Some in the church, however, see the downloadable saints as much less innocent.
"This is in really bad taste," Bishop Lucio Soravito De Franceschi, a member of the Italian bishops conference committee for doctrinal matters, reportedly told told the Turin newspaper La Stampa.
"It is a distortion of sacred things ... selling 'santini' for cell phones is horrifying."
I don't know how God would feel about my Grow Jesus, but I'm guessing Bishop Lucio Soravito De Franceschi wouldn't be cool with it.
I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On one hand, I can see how some people might object to treating the images of saints the same way you might treat, say, the photo of the funny road sign you snapped on your last road trip (Buckle up — the life you save could be your own self).
And cell phone saints open the door for technology to horn its way into other aspects of religion. Before you know it people everywhere will take confession by text message. "Bls me Fr. 4 I hv snnd. Kthxbai."
On the other hand, is putting a picture of Saint Patrick on your cell phone really that much worse than sticking Jesus' trading card in your wallet? Let's be honest: there are much worse things you can download on your cell phone.
I know. I get e-mails about them all the time. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure God wouldn't be thrilled about those.
----------------
Now playing: Teddybears - Little Stereo
via FoxyTunes
The things I'll do for terrible television
I’m not sure if it was during the three hours I waited for the Comcast technician to show up, or the sixth time a customer service representative put me on hold or the second trip in less than a week to the Comcast office, but at some point last week I found myself wondering just how much hassle I was willing to put myself through in the name of having access to a wider selection of bad television shows.
The answer, apparently, is a lot.
It really shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve never had a significant problem with a cable company before. Service technicians showed up on time. The service was reliable. Even when there was a problem it worked in my favor. I once got free cable for a year because the company forgot to charge me.
Apparently now I’m paying.
Things went bad pretty much from the start. All I wanted to do was get cable hooked up in my new house. I called the company’s 800 number and told them what I wanted. They told me I couldn’t have it. Apparently the last person to live in my house was a deadbeat who didn’t pay his cable bills. If I wanted access to quality programming like America’s Next Top Model, they said, I’d have to apply in person so I could prove I was who I said I was.
For the record, I am.
Still, even that wasn’t too bad. I set up an installation appointment and even got a great rate on programming.
That’s when things really got obnoxious.
The installation technician showed up last Saturday two minutes before the end of his three-hour installation window. He looked at my house and told me he couldn’t do the job. The house wasn’t connected to the system, he said. It would have to be a new installation, and he didn’t have time, he said.
This confused me, I’ll admit. I was fooled by the fact there was a cable coming out of the wall in two separate rooms in my house. It seemed logical to me that someone would have had to have had cable service at the house in order to be guilty of not paying his bill.
In any case, he left and I called to set up a new appointment. I explained my situation and was put on hold. For a very long time.
While I waited, the technician came back. His schedule had been rearranged, he said. He had time to help me now. He was going to do one quick job and he’d be back. Easy as that.
So, he left. And the customer service rep. to come back on the line to tell me she’d canceled my installation and was ready to schedule a new one. When I explained that was no longer necessary, she seemed dubious. She wanted the technician to check in when he got back.
She had good reason to be uncertain.
When the technician came back he told me he could no longer do the job because the installation had been canceled and he didn’t have access to the good deal I’d gotten at the store. The best he could offer, he said, was a bigger package — even more channels I don’t care about! — for twice the price.
Somehow it didn’t seem like a great deal. So, I made another call to customer service. They couldn’t find the deal I’d gotten, either, and sent me back to the store. It was annoying, but for the kind of money I could save I figured it was worth it. So, I jumped in the car and rushed to Richfield, where the office was located, before they closed Saturday afternoon.
They couldn’t find my deal, either. Apparently this particular cable package existed in this dimension for only a brief moment last Wednesday afternoon thanks to a sub-atomic disturbance caused by solar flares, global warming and the inexplicable fact that According to Jim is still on television.
I’ve been assured now that the situation will be taken care of by the time a technician returns to my house this weekend, but I have my doubts.
A nice set of rabbit ears has never looked quite so good.
The answer, apparently, is a lot.
It really shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve never had a significant problem with a cable company before. Service technicians showed up on time. The service was reliable. Even when there was a problem it worked in my favor. I once got free cable for a year because the company forgot to charge me.
Apparently now I’m paying.
Things went bad pretty much from the start. All I wanted to do was get cable hooked up in my new house. I called the company’s 800 number and told them what I wanted. They told me I couldn’t have it. Apparently the last person to live in my house was a deadbeat who didn’t pay his cable bills. If I wanted access to quality programming like America’s Next Top Model, they said, I’d have to apply in person so I could prove I was who I said I was.
For the record, I am.
Still, even that wasn’t too bad. I set up an installation appointment and even got a great rate on programming.
That’s when things really got obnoxious.
The installation technician showed up last Saturday two minutes before the end of his three-hour installation window. He looked at my house and told me he couldn’t do the job. The house wasn’t connected to the system, he said. It would have to be a new installation, and he didn’t have time, he said.
This confused me, I’ll admit. I was fooled by the fact there was a cable coming out of the wall in two separate rooms in my house. It seemed logical to me that someone would have had to have had cable service at the house in order to be guilty of not paying his bill.
In any case, he left and I called to set up a new appointment. I explained my situation and was put on hold. For a very long time.
While I waited, the technician came back. His schedule had been rearranged, he said. He had time to help me now. He was going to do one quick job and he’d be back. Easy as that.
So, he left. And the customer service rep. to come back on the line to tell me she’d canceled my installation and was ready to schedule a new one. When I explained that was no longer necessary, she seemed dubious. She wanted the technician to check in when he got back.
She had good reason to be uncertain.
When the technician came back he told me he could no longer do the job because the installation had been canceled and he didn’t have access to the good deal I’d gotten at the store. The best he could offer, he said, was a bigger package — even more channels I don’t care about! — for twice the price.
Somehow it didn’t seem like a great deal. So, I made another call to customer service. They couldn’t find the deal I’d gotten, either, and sent me back to the store. It was annoying, but for the kind of money I could save I figured it was worth it. So, I jumped in the car and rushed to Richfield, where the office was located, before they closed Saturday afternoon.
They couldn’t find my deal, either. Apparently this particular cable package existed in this dimension for only a brief moment last Wednesday afternoon thanks to a sub-atomic disturbance caused by solar flares, global warming and the inexplicable fact that According to Jim is still on television.
I’ve been assured now that the situation will be taken care of by the time a technician returns to my house this weekend, but I have my doubts.
A nice set of rabbit ears has never looked quite so good.
They've gotta (try to) give me credit
Say what you will about the junk mail industry. Call them vile names. Accuse them of wasting paper. Visualize yourself punching them in the face. Whatever your opinion, though, these are people who clearly know their business.
I closed on my new house in late November and by the time I moved in last Sunday I'd received somewhere in the neighborhood of 83 applications for pre-approved credit cards, all in my name and with my current address. At this rate, I figure I'll have enough to paper the bathroom by the end of the year. Add in the menus, coupons and other special offers and I could probably move on to the smallest of my bedrooms by early February.
If we really want to get serious about catching Osama bin Laden, we just need set the countries armies of bulk mailers loose in Afghanistan. They'd have anthrax-laced MasterCard offers and warnings that the warranty on his car is about to expire sitting on the stoop of his cave within a week.
The plan isn't perfect, I'll admit. Since nobody actually opens their junk mail this particular strategy would have limited strategic value.
While we're on the subject of moving (We were, weren't we? Back before we started talking about terrorist leaders?) I have a few thoughts.
First, and maybe most important, don't do it. I can't emphasize this strongly enough. Moving solely with the help of those people either closely related or indebted enough to you to feel obligated, is not a pleasant experience. My house would be so much tidier now if I'd never moved in. The floors wouldn't have gotten mud tracked over them. And I'm sure nobody would have left a big gouge on the stairwell because the couch we were trying to move upstairs was squeezed in tighter than Britney Spears in her Video Music Awards outfit.
I realize not all people feel this way. When I was growing up we moved so many times I started worrying we were on the lam. At one point we moved from a house on the 16th fairway of a golf course in Stillwater to a new house on the fifth hole of the same course.
I figured my parents had blown up a government lab during a protest of the Vietnam War or something. Anyway, that's the story I told all my friends. I didn't care if it was true. It sounded a lot cooler than any alternatives.
If you must move, I seriously recommend doing it sometime other than a day in early December when the temperature is somewhere in the neighborhood of absolute zero. I don't know if boiling water would have frozen when thrown into the air last Sunday, but it was cold enough that a light fixture in my stairwell shattered when all we did was ram a couch into it. Talk about brittle.
I also recommend putting a ham into the oven as soon as you start moving. I don't care if you don't like ham. It smells really good. Also, the oven will provide some heat.
I'm not sure when this moving process will actually be over. There are boxes and bags I have yet to fully unpack. There are some that haven't made it out of my old residence yet. I don't have cable TV. I don't have an Internet connection. I don't even have all the pieces of my desk yet.
But if I ever need a sweet rate on a credit card I'm set.
I closed on my new house in late November and by the time I moved in last Sunday I'd received somewhere in the neighborhood of 83 applications for pre-approved credit cards, all in my name and with my current address. At this rate, I figure I'll have enough to paper the bathroom by the end of the year. Add in the menus, coupons and other special offers and I could probably move on to the smallest of my bedrooms by early February.
If we really want to get serious about catching Osama bin Laden, we just need set the countries armies of bulk mailers loose in Afghanistan. They'd have anthrax-laced MasterCard offers and warnings that the warranty on his car is about to expire sitting on the stoop of his cave within a week.
The plan isn't perfect, I'll admit. Since nobody actually opens their junk mail this particular strategy would have limited strategic value.
While we're on the subject of moving (We were, weren't we? Back before we started talking about terrorist leaders?) I have a few thoughts.
First, and maybe most important, don't do it. I can't emphasize this strongly enough. Moving solely with the help of those people either closely related or indebted enough to you to feel obligated, is not a pleasant experience. My house would be so much tidier now if I'd never moved in. The floors wouldn't have gotten mud tracked over them. And I'm sure nobody would have left a big gouge on the stairwell because the couch we were trying to move upstairs was squeezed in tighter than Britney Spears in her Video Music Awards outfit.
I realize not all people feel this way. When I was growing up we moved so many times I started worrying we were on the lam. At one point we moved from a house on the 16th fairway of a golf course in Stillwater to a new house on the fifth hole of the same course.
I figured my parents had blown up a government lab during a protest of the Vietnam War or something. Anyway, that's the story I told all my friends. I didn't care if it was true. It sounded a lot cooler than any alternatives.
If you must move, I seriously recommend doing it sometime other than a day in early December when the temperature is somewhere in the neighborhood of absolute zero. I don't know if boiling water would have frozen when thrown into the air last Sunday, but it was cold enough that a light fixture in my stairwell shattered when all we did was ram a couch into it. Talk about brittle.
I also recommend putting a ham into the oven as soon as you start moving. I don't care if you don't like ham. It smells really good. Also, the oven will provide some heat.
I'm not sure when this moving process will actually be over. There are boxes and bags I have yet to fully unpack. There are some that haven't made it out of my old residence yet. I don't have cable TV. I don't have an Internet connection. I don't even have all the pieces of my desk yet.
But if I ever need a sweet rate on a credit card I'm set.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
