Sprint = Meh.

June 20, 2008

I hate having unused aggression. It always works out that when I prepare for a big fight with someone over money or something that they seem to cave in a lot easier than I plan on - either that or I just look all dangerous when I shove the door in and have that red faced 'look' in my eye and they just decide to not mess with me. Like today at the nearby Sprint office... though 'nearby' in this case is something of a misnomer.

I drove all the way up there in this heat to argue about a thing on my bill for advanced 'internet' services on my phone which I expressly cancelled last year. I had even called in to talk to a real human and they said 'sure, it's off your bill' and looking at my most recent bill, I was shocked, shocked, to see it was still there. And more expensive than previously.

I suppose if I hadn't got into the habit of just letting it auto-pay through the online deal I'd have seen it sooner but still. I said I didn't want it, since Sprint apparently forces you to pay a 'metered' fee for every kilobyte in addition to the access fee (which had secretly grown to fifteen (15) bucks a month, and wasn't about to stand for having paid for it when I told them no! Bad phone company.

So I get there and wait for a good fifteen minutes regarding this fifteen dollar a month charge I've been paying, and I'm feeling all kinds of surly. Fifteen kinds, in fact. So my disdain was there when I explained the situation and the guy said 'okay'. And then applied a mammoth credit to my account for what I'd been paying inappropriately. I mean huge; I won't be paying for my cell service for a while.

So that was that. Deflated and with too much rage driving me, I had naught to do but head home. Well, I picked up lunch on the way too, 'cause I was too tired at that point to cook any of my own food. And imagine my surprise, my bile found an outlet, in the form of the guy in the drive through before me, who took over five minutes to make what turned out to be a three dollar order. I timed it, I'm weird like that.

Although after four minutes I was leaning out the window yelling BLAH BLAH BLAH at him. I don't think he liked that very much, as his angry middle finger indicated. But jesus, after five minutes, hang it up and go inside or - and here's an idea - say YES I THINK THAT IS ENOUGH BECAUSE I AM AN INDECISIVE DOUCHE AND HAVE NO SOUL, MAY I DRIVE THROUGH PLEASE. Drive Thru: Not Rocket Surgery.

As a completely off tangent aside, it turns out that not only is there a ginormous influx of people in town for the College World Series, but there's also a ginormous influx of people in town for the Omaha Gay Pride Parade thing going on tomorrow. If the inbred goons from work are any indication, the only thing that can ensue from this imminent bedlam is what we in the business call 'hilarity'.

Assuming the motivation to fight that much traffic strikes me, I may have photos.

Holy cow, I organized.

June 19, 2008

My Office!

It has taken me days and days, but I have managed to organize enough of my crap that i can actually see my carpet in approximately one half of my living space. Seriously, no foolin', and all that. What you're looking at here is the product of my work, or at least the view of the eventual office of the one and only Web Marketing Man Dot Com! Don't have the site up yet, as you can see. But the work space? Set.

I still have a metric crapton of toys and stuff but they're vaguely organized and themed there, so at least they're acting as decoration and not, you know, clutter. I am not showing you the other half of the place yet, as it is full of stuff yet to be sorted. A lot of mail and other toys and CDs and blah blah. But once I get that going I'll photo the other half for your general amusement as well.

Am I not lovely?

I have been working a lot on sorting out some of the dangly parts of my life here the last few weeks, thinking maybe, just maybe, this will help me to focus and get the web site mentioned above finally finished. I find I do tend to work better with less junk occupying my space, and with everything pretty-i-fied as it is right now, this will go a long way towards 'clearing' the air in my head.

I do have a long way to go, of course, but this is a good start. The pile I have remaining is much smaller, but it's a bit more dense, chronologically speaking, so I may be at it longer. I'm just happy to finally visibly see the fruits of days of labor revealing themselves. It means a lot to a person like me, who tends to get easily frustrated by the pace of, say, everything in life to date.

As a reward to myself for finally getting this far, I caved in and picked up some (okay, all) of the albums produced by the one and only Dr. Steel. My online cohort Siryn has introduced me to this fellow and I am well and truly hooked at the moment. You will be too, I am sure, purchase them as well. They totally don't have will-sapping alpha waves in them, nope nope.

Would I lie?

Proofread!

June 18, 2008

As it turns out, Denny can't spell when he's feeling like a frothing lunatic.

I have proofread the last four items for your reading pleasure. And even ran them through a spell checker. You're welcome. Oh, also, I have tweaked a few bits here, because I got tired of banging my head against the design/code of the site that's supposed to be actually making me money.

We hates CSS. Hates it! Bleah! I'm on my island, now. Go 'way.

Jesus freaks at work.

June 17, 2008

So I'm having a particularly bad day at work (I know, astounding), and my break finally comes up. So I leap away from my computer full of alarms triggered by people that, until a year or so ago, probably didn't have electricity, and head to the break room. Ah, the break room, my momentary solace from inbreeds and southern 'gentlemen' who work for churches and cuss at you for calling them.

I typically commandeer the satellite because nobody else is watching it, and also because some clown always leaves it on the golf channel. And if you are unfamiliar with my feelings on golf... I direct you to a very similar opinion of NASCAR crap. If I wanted to watch rich old people smack their balls around all day, I'm sure I could find something suitable for that purpose on our friend, the Internets.

But I digress. I put it on CNN 'cause you know, 300 channels, and that's the only really useful one. And they're covering the whole fanfare of the big California gay marriage hoo hah. And I'm like hey, more power to them, 'cause I've always believed that everybody should have the equal right to realize just how stupid an institution marriage is, and to suffer mightily under it's obsolete, pointless yoke.

So they went on about it for a while, and a crowd started building up around the ratty couch I was lounging on. And I was lounging, have no doubt about it, limbs splayed vaguely akimbo all over because I'm not about to share furniture with people that normally forget to bathe. No. But a crowd is building up, like six or seven people, and they're mesmerized by the scene of two really old lesbians kissing.

And then they started yammering in about how 'horrible' it is. Sure it's not a visually pleasing image, but hey, apparently these people were together for 50 years or something? Good for them. But no, it's bad bad bad, and blah blah blah. I swear one started gibbering Jesus gobbledygook behind me. And you know, I'm already in a mood, so the last thing I need is yet another sermon today.

Because working for a company where people pay you to call them? I get many sermons a day. A whole lot of ignorant Americans think that their voice mail machine is the perfect place to leave a three minute quotation from the Bible that they regularly masturbate to. You think I'm lying? Call random houses in the south during the day. Just look up some numbers and try. I dare you.

So here I am on my break hearing how they're all going to Hell and blah blah blah. I find it amazing that people in this country are so un-educated that they don't realize that the 'institution' of marriage was actually around before their precious drug-scribbly Bible says the world was created. But then we are talking about people that cower at the thought of an invisible boogeyman spanking them for being naughty.

Not just ignorant holy rollers, but ignorant Nebraskan holy rollers. They breed 'em with real good blank Jesus stares here, you know. This is one of those backwards states that actually has a constitutional amendment against same-sex marriage, and yet allows state-sanctioned pedophile organizations (I'm looking at you, Catholic church) to open and operate high schools with their tax dollars.

Yes, you heard that right. The most recent Catholic high school built here was made in part with public money. So if you live here in Omaha, not only did your taxes pay to have that abomination of education built, but you also have to pay more just to get your kids in there to be brainwashed into proper boogeyman fearing nitwits that can't think their way out of a burning paper bag.

So I made an offhand comment about how maybe, just maybe, there wouldn't be so many gay people if so many priests weren't trying so hard to 'convert' them to buggery. This had the effect you could imagine, and I'm sure a few of the creepy old raisin-skin ladies at work won't be talking to me again any time soon. Which is just as well, 'cause I'm tired of the walking corpses hitting on me all the time.

Although I swear the one Jamaican guy laughed so hard that he peed his pants.

Downtown Omaha's Leahy Park.

June 02, 2008

Well hello! I know I haven't posted anything of note for the last few days, and I'm sure you've been simply dying to hear from me, but you know, got busy. Was in the process of finalizing the spiffy CSS bits on the site that now makes it go (try turning the style on and off and see how neat that is), and of course, I hadn't quite completed the site's Imagery thing just yet.

Anyway, so for about a year now, I've had this digital camera thing. I bought it back when I had like, money, and right before a series of calamities put me from 'just slightly in debt' to 'drowning in it'. I got it as a sort of indulgence for myself, since I'd always wanted to do the photography thing - even if in an amateur sort of way. Well, the odd thing is I never really did much with it.

I blame the calamities for that. I had a horrible surgery for one thing, which basically blunted my desire to do much of anything for a very long time. I am told that my condition screwed with my mind, so much so that people thought I was 'off' for a while. I never really noticed this myself, right up until the actual operation I had to get, but when it was only days away I noticed problems thinking.

Everything was fuzzy and all, mostly likely from the almost terminal blood poisoning, but you know. I guess that sort of thing sneaks up on you gradually or something, which is why I hadn't felt a difference. Of course I am a fully trained and qualified medical doctor or something, so I'm sure I'm underestimating just how messed up I was. And here, as usual, I'm digressing - imagine that.

So the thing is I just felt like having something I could randomly take pictures with when the urge hit me. Well, that and I had uses for a sexy digital camera for my other web site when the motivation finally hit me, so I bought me a Panasonic digital thingie. And hey, yesterday the urge to take some pictures finally struck, so I went ahead and went somewhere I could do just that.

This involved a trek down to the 'historic' Old Market in downtown Omaha. I felt like heading down there because it was actually a pretty good weather day here in Omaha - an astounding circumstance in its own right - so after I got out of the torment that is my job on Sunday, I drove down there. This took a bit longer than I expected, mind you, 'cause I had to fight twenty miles of construction en route.

The Old Market!

But that was all right, 'cause hey, I was off for the day. Well, at least until I had to work for Job Two, which involved finishing up a sort of 'emergency' marketing task - and I couldn't do that since there was an Issue I had to work out with my co-worker on Monday. But eh, details. I had some time for myself and I took full advantage. And drove downtown so I could break out the camera.

As it turned out, the city was being amazingly photogenic that day. Which was cool, because I had a fully loaded camera and I wasn't afraid to use it. I basically spent a whole hour walking around in the park downtown, a sort of weird peaceful spot in the middle of all the buildings and 'historic' bits here and there that have been converted into lofts and/or weirdo businesses.

Now, 'walking around' the park involves trekking about the lake at the heart of the thing, which, if you check out that first picture, isn't gigantic - but it's not like you want to go wading in that stuff. I've done that as part of a gag for our show once, and trust me... that's not something you want to repeat. I swear I still have horrible germs from exposure to that hobowater. Egad was it sticky.

So I basically just walked around a lot taking pictures, I guess. A bunch presented themselves totally by accident. Once I got done I just sort of fell into a few random 'photo opportunities' here and there, as you can see by several of these images. I don't know why but the weird 'tree tunnel' effect of the one just said 'save me' and stuff. So I clicked a bunch of those.

And of course there was the Slide. I always enjoyed that dangerous thing as a kid, and it's weird how many people were hanging out and just enjoying it with their kids. When not slamming into each other since they took too long getting off the thing. I just missed an awesome picture of some guy getting steamrolled by another at the bottom of that thing. But still, good times.

The Old Market!

The odd thing is that I was hearing music being piped into the area there, so I starting walking around a bit again before leaving, and ran across a bunch of people just... dancing out in the park. My strange 'people watching' tendencies took hold (one of my Second Life bad habits) and I just sort of ogled at this spectacle before snapping a picture or two of the weird deal.

Well, I guess it wasn't a bunch of furry perverts dancing to techno, but what can you expect from a spontaneous dance-out? Anyway, I spent a good hour-ish down there watching folks just having fun, a strange occurrence for me, particularly since I never seem to have fun here in town myself (whether at home or otherwise). Though I didn't do do anything, per se, I enjoyed a whole lot.

A frighteningly stress-free afternoon. I could use some more of those, so I may have to head downtown again one of these days and see if I can repeat the experience. Naturally my innate pessimism doesn't think I'd be quite so lucky, but I wouldn't mind a bit more 'relaxation' and blah blah. But wrapping the afternoon up, I finally left the Old Market and sought out some tasty lunch.

This particular quest saw me headed down 13th street, eventually passing the one and only King Kong. Doing a U-Turn, I flipped around and stopped in as I hadn't actually been to that particular one before. I figured they'd just built it in order to milk the whole 'College World Series' thing for all it was worth, which when you get down to it, isn't a bad idea at all. Mmm moneys.

Nothing on this earth beats a Double Bacon Kong Burger wif Cheese. Nothing. Mmm... not a ton of carbs and so much madcap meat that it's just a big bag of awesomes. If you ever find your way to Omaha, you definitely have to hit the Kong. After you eat at the Bronco's. Yes, I am totally hooked on the local burger joints, as you may have already gathered from my rambles here. But they're so good!

Trying to enjoy the awesome despite unsupervised brats.

May 27, 2008

I'm savoring some of the 'bad for me' food I'm not supposed to be touching for a few days before I get all 'serious' with the lower-carb thing again, and as such I made a pilgrimage to the local Broncos - although 'local' may be a misnomer since there's only two left, I believe. If you're ever in town and have a hankering for fast food done right, this is definitely the place for you. Marduk, I love me a Big Bronco.

So I got one of those, and fries, which are the best fries on earth when fresh. And settled in to enjoy, which may have been my error. For you see, as soon as I sat down in the completely empty half of the joint, I was inundated by no less than nine (9) unsupervised kids, who were running around in circles, hitting each other, and generally screaming non-stop about what was on the television. So I looked up.

I guess it was the 'Indy 500'. I knew this because a) there were cars racing, and a big logo that said 'Hey, it's the Indy 500' on the screen. Oh, and the announcer had to let us know, every thirty seconds, that it was the 'Indy 500'. I found that highly irritating, because you know, I like to think my brain isn't so addled by drugs that I can't remember what I'm watching from minute to minute.

But then I recall the target audience for this brand of entertainment, and have to wonder. Are the only people that still watch NASCAR dreck so addled on the crystal meth that they are, in fact, forgetting what's in front of them from second to second? I suppose it is repetitive, the same six inbred turds driving around the same track five hundred times or whatever. Loop. Loop. Loop.

What was I watching, again? I fell asleep.

Well, I suppose that would've been the case were I watching that boring rubbish at home. But no, I was in public by nine (9) unsupervised turds who were doing their level best, I believe, to destroy the joint. Which made me wonder who is so stupid as to let nine (9) animals run rampant in a restaurant completely without supervision. And not just for a few seconds. Bedlam ensued the whole time I was eating.

As I was finishing up and cleaning up my mess, which a lot of you clowns never do at a fast food joint, you slobs, the 'parent figure' showed their face. This tubby mouth breather rounded the corner with one tray full of kiddie meals, and another for himself. And in his impotent, whiny voice, he was crying at them to 'come here' and 'sit down and eat', which they didn't because you know, they were out of control.

Why would you bring your animals into public like this if you can't control them? This is another thing I wonder. I'd be embarrassed to have kids like that emasculate me in public. I do believe this country needs some sort of test to prove you're capable of raising a child before you have one. A basic IQ test, maybe. Perhaps followed by a check to make sure you have a spine? I dunno.

Go Go Invertebrate America!

How banal.

May 26, 2008

This is my first real 'entry' for the current iteration of this web site. Welcome! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 'But why aren't you doing one of the three hundred other things you have on your plate, instead of babbling over here on this useless thing?' Well to that I say feh, for this is my Venting Place, which is different than my Happy Place, but is almost as satisfying.

Unlike all of you horrible slackers, you see, I had to actually work today. Sure it's a national holiday, but as it turns out I am 'required personnel', so I am required to personnel when most other people are huffing glue or snorting bath salts or smoking crack or whatever else Americans are doing to actually make themselves dumber. And trust me, you people are doing a good job of it.

I know this because I talk to you, every day. Stupid Americans. I speak to hundreds and hundreds of different Americans every day, across a very wide array of the many and various states of this strange country. Typically my job brings me to the Deep South for these conversations, talking to rocket surgeons that only got that new fangled running water last week, and helping them turn off that new fire alarm of theirs.

Of course it's not just them that rankle me, but they're the ones I had to deal with today at work, so you get to hear about them. Tomorrow it'll probably be the over-medicated hippies on the West Coast, but that's for the Future to decide. Cursed dirty future, how I hate thee. I do believe I am owed a jet pack and a robotic vagina sidekick for my troubles, and yet you have not yet produced them.

But I digress. As is my wont.

A Bungled Murder?

June 15, 2003

Somebody tried to end me today.

You'd think I would be used to this sort of chicanery by now, what with my shining personality, not to mention my legendary ability to hold my tongue whenever someone does their level best to annoy me. But every time this happens, and this is like the third time now, it catches me completely off guard. In my defense, who expects to get ambushed at three AM in the morning, after a ten hour shift?

I suppose it's possible that I may not have been the specific target of this particular boobery, but who knows?

For reference, I had just pulled out of the parking lot at work, when this stupid little green Honda Civic charged me. They were traveling the opposite direction as I, and when they reached the four-way intersection I was stopped at, they swerved at me hard, making a forty-five degree turn at a truly reckless speed, and would have hit me dead-on had I not thrown the car in reverse and floored it.

Sure, they may not have done much damage to my 1982 Ford LTD station wagon, but I didn't know that for sure. And I definitely didn't want to have to get out of my car and beat someone to death for hurting my automotive baby, so luckily I didn't have to find out. I just punched it backwards for about a block or two, and then waited for them to do something. Anything. But they were just idling against the shoulder.

So, I resumed my forward progress, and passed them by, naturally flipping them off as I did so. I mean, c'mon. Anyhow, I was approaching another stop, this time at a 'T' intersection, when I saw a car barrelling towards me from behind in my rear view mirror. Not bothering to observe the stop sign nor activate my turn signal, I coasted right through and made a hard left, only to see that Civic keep going straight.

They smashed into the curb, and then flew down the steep, steep hill immediately on the other side of it. They quickly faded from view, and I probably should have just kept driving, but curiosity overwhelmed common sense this time. Ha ha, this time, he says. Reversing yet again, I made my way back to that last intersection, wherein I saw numerous car parts and fluids that were not there moments before.

I also didn't see the Civic. Apparently, by the time I returned to the scene of the attempted crime, the Civic's occupant(s) had extricated themselves from that heavily wooded hill, and had made their way to the surburban neighborhoods opposite the industrial park I where I currently work. Knowing that this clown wasn't dead, at least, I resmumed my trip home, and made it there a few minutes later.

I'm still confounded by all this, but I suppose that since I'm alive, I should just let it go. I didn't find the guy, after all, so unless it really was somebody trying to kill me specifically, I don't have anything to worry about. And, if it was me they had in mind, their incompetence makes paranoia hard to cling to. That's for you, mister would-be killer, if you're reading this.