All I Want For Christmas

If musical ringtones are of the Devil, why are there always more of them around Christmas? Beautiful melodies that warm the heart when sung by Christmas carolers have an uncanny ability to inspire wrath and ire when spewing from the tinny speaker of a cellphone.

If I could make one Christmas wish, it would be that the whole world be instantly educated on cellphone etiquette. Namely, when and where it is appropriate for one's phone to ring out loud, and when it should be on silent or vibrate.

From The Rulebook, chapter 3, section 7:

At the office, your cellphone should not ring out loud unless absolutely necessary. When an audible ring is necessary, it should be a simple ring, never an obnoxious ringtone that disrupts the whole office. Obnoxious ringtones include but are not limited to:

• All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth
• Jingle Bells
• Hava Nagila
• The Entertainer (a.k.a. The Ice Cream Truck Song)
• That freakin' Monday Night Football fanfare (Dun dun dun duuuun! Dun dun dun dun duuuun!)

Thank you.

The Passage of Time

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't posted in a while. Well now I have. So there.

The Suckiness of Cameraphones

Cameraphones take some truly crap pictures. Here are some of mine.

An Ode to Yesterday

Warning: If you're easily grossed out, go ahead and skip this one.

A Lethal Combination

A while back, I made a Macgyver reference. For those of you who are unfamiliar with (or too young to remember) Macgyver, he was an everyday superhero, able to escape from any situation with an amazing combination of household items. If the situation called for it, he could walk into your kitchen and grab a few things, and mix them up in just the right combination. The result could unleash an explosion capable of inspiring shock and awe in countless retirees across the country.

So today I had a Macgyver moment, of sorts. It's a co-worker's birthday today, so we had lunch brought in from Saltgrass Steakhouse. And I cleaned my plate. 7 oz. filet mignon, medium rare, grilled shrimp, mashed potatoes, and salad with bleu cheese dressing. Yum! But somehow the conversation after lunch turned to swapping worst-pain-I-ever-felt stories. I'm not a total wuss, but I can have a weak stomach if there's reason to (and especially when it's full to the brim). Still, it was bearable.

However, when we left the conference room, a strange odor wafted past my nose. I looked up and saw smoke pouring out of the breakroom, which made it immediately apparent that someone had left her Lean Cuisine in the microwave a bit too long. And then it hit me. I needed fresh air, and FAST!

I went for a walk around the building, but the stench was still lingering in my nostrils, mixing with the still-fresh visions of broken toes, dislocated shoulders, and spinal taps. By the time I got to the far side of the building, my tortured senses had worked their way down to the surf & turf brewing in my belly. In true Macgyver fashion, the three ingredients came together in the perfect combination of gastric volatility.

Sigh. Now I'm hungry.

I Smell Like Puppies

Today I went to lunch, just like I do every day. Everything about my lunch break was completel normal. Until I got in my car to go back to work.

As I was backing out of my parking space, I noticed an odd smell that wasn't there when I left the office. At first I thought it was wet dog, and even let out a Daddy Warbucks-esque, "Why do I smell WET DOG?" But after a few more sniffs, I knew it wasn't wet dog that I was smelling. It was puppies. And after I got back to the office, I sat down at my desk and realized that the puppy smell was on me.

I'm not particularly offended by puppy smell, I'm just a little perplexed at how my car managed to start smelling like puppies in the fifteen minutes it took me to eat my sandwich. The doors were locked and the windows were cracked (it's an unseasonable 85° outside right now), so I'm pretty sure that no puppies got in my car while it was unattended.

I thought I might just be paranoid and that my hyper-acute olfactory sense was just messing with me. So without explaining why, I asked a trusted co-worker to smell me. He looked at me a little strange and then leaned in and took a whiff.

"Did you get a puppy?" he queried.

Great. I always knew I was part bloodhound, but I never thought that I'd smell like one.

Taco Bueno Secret Identity #2

Seal It Up

On a recent trip to the store, I purchased a few items. Among them was a bag of brown sugar (to make eating my oatmeal tolerable), beef jerky (to make Friday night tolerable), and new socks (because socks are better than Tom Cruise). Yet it wasn't until I got home that I made the striking discovery that all three products had something in common: resealable bags.

A resealable zipper on the first two products makes perfect sense. A resealable bag helps keep brown sugar from going stale and it lets you lock away that beef jerky aroma before others smell it and come ask you if they can have some. But the need for a zipper on a bag of socks completely baffled me. I've never had the need to keep socks fresh, nor have I ever had anyone smell my socks and come ask me if they can have one. Such an oddity renders me weak, and only Google can restore my powers. So I set out on an online quest to find the reasoning behind resealable socks.

The first thing I found out is that the zipper bag is made by Zip-Pak. According to their site, the Hanes bag features their webless zipper, which they say is great for cheese, produce, and personal products. I guess socks could be considered personal products, though I wouldn't say they're quite as personal as underwear (which, coincidentally, are also available in a resealable bag). Interesting information, but it still didn't reveal the benefit of resealable socks. So on with the search!

Next thing I came across was a site called This Is Broken, where they review things that are poorly designed or executed. The resealable socks they review are Fruit of the Loom, but the concept is the same. Yet still no explanation as to why. A quick read of the comments there shows that everyone is as confused as I am. I take comfort in not being the only one who is all bent out of shape about this. It makes me feel a little less wierd. In my search, I came across one example after another of bloggers asking the same answerless question.

If I were feeling really enterprising, I would have gone directly to the source (stay tuned for the Lunchables saga, where I did just that), but fortunately someone has already done the dirty work for me. This guy contacted Hanes and their reply was:

The reasealable bags are for consumers to be able to open the bag and bag and view the product.

That's it. That's the reason. I was expecting something grand and exciting, but I guess you can't really get too exciting with crew socks. Lunchables, on the other hand....

How To Waste $14.99

Good evening, blog reader. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find a way to spend fourteen dollars and ninety-nine cents in a way that is more senseless than buying Mission: Impossible III. Many have failed in this attempt and it will be a true miracle if you succeed.

Many of the unfortunate few who chose to flush, er, pay to see M:i:III in the theaters have said that it was the best of the trilogy. And I'm tempted to believe them. I loved the intrigue of Brian De Palma's original Mission: Impossible, and John Woo's stylization made M:I-2 a joy ride I'll glady take again and again. Two successes in my book that would have normally had me drooling in anticipation for the third installment. But even though the DVD is out today, it will still be a long time before I ever see J.J. Abrams' spin on the franchise.

Let's face it. Tom Cruise has turned into a total whack job. The whole TomKat romance started just as War of the Worlds and Batman Begins were building publicity steam. Coincidence? Possibly, but I don't personally believe it. Then Tom jumped on Oprah's couch. Katie converted to Scientology. Tom publicly ripped on Brooke Shields for medically treating her postpartum depression. And then there was Baby Suri that nobody saw for months (I'm convinced they spent that time finding a baby to rent for that photo shoot). The string of events surrounding Tom Cruise in the past year and a half is just so freakishly bizarre that even Tom's own employer fired him to gain some distance from his weirdness. Paramount/Viacom Chairman Sumner Redstone actually held Tom's antics liable for M:i:III's poor showing at the box office.

I'm living proof of Redstone's claim, and I know I'm not the only one who boycotted the movie because Tom Cruise is a Fruit Loop. But I'm not stopping there. I intend to boycott the DVD as well, which will really put my principles to the test. I'm a huge home theater buff. I'd rather watch a movie in my wall-rattling surround sound setup than jockey for elbow room in a crowded theater any day. But the only time M:i:III will be disturbing my neighbors is if it's borrowed, downloaded, or on network TV. No way am I giving another dime to Tom or his Kat. Now I don't expect people to join me on my crazy crusades, but if you think Tom is nuts, speak with your wallets and don't give him your money. There are better things to spend it on. Like socks.

I believe this message has already self-destructed.

Taco Bueno Secret Identity #1

Apparently, my local Taco Bueno wants to get up close and personal. Instead of calling a number when your order is ready, they'd rather call you by name. I could give them my real name, but where's the fun in that?

How To Waste $23.99

Whoever came up with the idea of selling complete seasons of TV shows on DVD was a marketing wizard. For the networks, it's a chance to generate extra revenue on shows that have already been produced. For the consumers, it's a chance to relive episodes of their favorite sitcoms and catch up on key chapters (or even full seasons) of hit dramas. If it weren't for season two of Lost on DVD, I don't know what I'd do with my Wednesday nights. It's a win-win.

Unless, of course, those consumers are the mindless nerfs who would be dumb enough to shell out twenty-four bucks plus shipping for season two of The Andy Milonakis Show. MTV has put out some truly crap programming over the years, but this one stands proudly at the top of the dung heap as an absolute waste.

Andy Milonakis is a 29 year-old man. Wouldn't know it from the picture, would ya? It's true. He has a congenital growth-hormone condition that makes him look and sound like the pre-adolescent kid he plays on his show. Now, I'll admit that the first episode of The Andy Milonakis Show I ever watched was actually pretty funny. Granted, I was probably pretty blitzed on Dr. Pepper and Meat Lover's pizza, but on nights like that, there's plenty of room for some adolescent humor. So I watched this "kid" walk up to random people on the streets of Brooklyn and say off-the-wall things like, "Oh, I love your hair! Can I have it?" His sketches were so bizarre, they were pretty hilarious. But the next week's episode was exactly the same shtick. And so was the next. I was convinced that this show was just a sub, my term for 30 cheap minutes whose sole purpose is to hold a time slot for a few weeks until the REAL series premiers.

Two seasons later, Andy is still yammering on like the bad date who JUST. WON'T. SHUT. UP.

So if you're really desperate to get a Milonakis fix, check out YouTube instead. Just don't blow it on these DVDs. If that twenty-four bucks is still burning a hole in your pocket, may I suggest some more useful ways to spend it:

• Send it to me.
• Use it as toilet paper.
• Invest in Enron.
• Bet it on the Tennessee Titans to win the Super Bowl this year.

Thank you.

The Fox That Rocks

I like stuff. I dig shiny and new. And there's a certain, stupid thrill that comes from being able to say that I was one of the first to get something. For example, it's not uncommon to find me mingling with the weirdos at Wal-Mart on Monday nights just for the chance get my hands on a new CD release at the stroke of midnight.

So when I heard that Firefox 2 is being released tomorrow, I was excited. And when I discovered a link today where I could get my hands on those precious installation files a day early, I giggled like a schoolboy and got my click on. I just couldn't wait to play with the improved interface, enhanced search box, and built-in spell-checker. Sure, I could have been using one of the test versions for months now, but I much prefer a final, official product. I've been using Firefox 2 for a full day now, and I couldn't be happier.

If you haven't noticed by now, I'm a die-hard Firefox fan. I've been using it since it was a wee baby, still in its beta testing phases, and have had absolutely zero complaints. In the two years that the 'Fox and I have been marching arm in arm across the Interwebs, we've become the best of friends.

Which is why it makes me a bit sad and frightened to see that so many of my other friends are still using Internet Explorer. My logs show that 68% of you are still blindly using IE, while a paltry 23% of you are surfing safely. GASP! Don't you know that going online with IE is the online equivalent of a visit to the Amazon (this one, not this one) without getting immunized first?

If there was ever a time to give Firefox a try, it's right now. It's a quick download, a quicker install, and you can still use Internet Explorer for those pesky sites that are coded for IE only. And if you're thinking, "I don't want to learn how to use something new," have no fear. Using Firefox requires zero learning curve if you can find your way around with IE. Don't be swayed by the hype that Microsoft's latest browser, IE7, has tabbed browsing either. Firefox has had that feature for more than 2 years now, and in a browser that's much safer and less bloated than IE.

So go on. Click on that big, shiny yellow logo. It won't hurt, I PROMISE. Let's all be shiny and new together!

Update (10/24/06 4:22 PM): The guys over at Mozilla are apparently none too happy that bloggers have been linking directly to their FTP servers, simply because the files out there can't be guaranteed to be the final release. At any rate, Firefox 2 is officially in the wild as of just a few minutes ago. GO GET IT!

The Missing Link

I'm a big fan of DIY. Do-It-Yourself. If it's doable, I'll give it a try. But it has recently come to my attention that I may never be able to make my own candy bars. Why? Nougat.

You see, as I stroll through the aisles of my local grocery store and dictate this post into the voice-recognition computer in my knapsack, nougat is the only ingredient I can't find. Chocolate? There it is. Peanuts? Yes, right there by the beef jerky (which I will pick up for non-candy-making purposes). Oh, and look! Caramel is even in season right now. But I have been up and down every aisle here and nougat is nowhere to be found.

I just can't make a decent candy bar without nougat. All the commercials tout it as an essential part of the candy bar experience, hyping it up with adjectives like fluffy, creamy, and chewy. 3 Musketeers, Milky Way, and Snickers all have it. Even the lowly, old-school Zero Bar is privileged enough to let nougat grace its ingredient list. And yet I can't just go buy some nougat. Disgraceful.

This reminds me of watching MacGyver as a kid. They'd actually show how to make gunpowder while "conveniently" omitting one important ingredient, leaving me no other option than to buy my bullets instead of make them myself. Did you know that MacGyver was sponsored by Winchester's line of rhino ammunition? Of course you didn't. They don't show bullet commercials in prime time.

I'd call for a full blown investigation into this confectionary monopoly, but let's be realistic. The kind of investigators that would take up the nougat cause would probably mess it all up and go after Nougat, the band. And since no one wants to see Australian mandolin players raked over the coals, I'm inclined to let this one go. Still, it would be nice to see some unaffiliated nougat in the stores. Maybe right...here. In this space I just cleared next to the marzipan.

No you di'int!

Interesting things I've done since my last post:

• Rediscovered the small plastic box containing all my baby teeth, once believed to be in the possesion of the Tooth Fairy.
• Had my car in the shop to undergo its seventh bearing replacement in five years.
  
• Spilled an entire bowl of tomato soup all down my front.
• Drove to a neighboring state for no reason other than to be able to say, "I've been in 2 states today."
• Wore a cowboy hat to Wal-Mart at 1:00 a.m. and said, "Howdy!" to every stocker in the store.

Okay, I made that last one up. But it's on my to-do list, I swear.

A Warning to All Visitors

Don't come over here. My cubicle smells like fart.

Nobody likes a racist

If you haven't yet heard of Flight of the Conchords, I highly recommend checking them out.

A Phoenix From the Ashes

"Everybody's doing it? That's your excuse?! Well if everybody was jumping off bridges, would you do that too?"

"No, Mom, of course not. But jumping off bridges is different." And it is. Blogging doesn't kill, bridges do. And since my blog isn't about bridges, then there's no harm in making my comeback.

I used to have a blog called Un-Unwritten Rules, hosted right here on Blogspot. It revolved around the concept of putting in writing all the unwritten rules that normal humans just seem to know by instinct for the benefit of the abnormal humans who are apparently unaware of said rules. But it wasn't long before I started to feel like the only rules I could come up with had to do with invasions of personal space. Finally one day, in a fit of creative impulsiveness, I deleted my blog. Boom! Gone!

Uh, almost...

See, along the way I had opted to upgrade to the Blogger Beta. I had gone for bigger and better. And the ominous warning that I would not be able to go back once I upgraded did not deter me. After upgrading, I had a fresh new login and new freedom in customizing my template. All was blissful. Until I deleted my blog.

Everything I had posted after I upgraded disappeared into the ether, as though it had never existed. But anything I had posted prior to upgrading was still there, and for all intents and purposes, it was carved in stone. I couldn't add to it because my old login didn't work anymore, and I couldn't delete it because, according to Blogger, it had already been deleted. But my sitemeter account showed that people were still going there. Daily. Repeat customers checking in every few hours just to see if The Rules had put up something new.

Now I'm not one to let things go to my head. Three visitors a day to a dead blog is hardly what you could call a thriving fanbase. But those three visitors were loyal, and so for their sakes, whoever they are, The Rules is back, and The Rules is here to blog.

After all, everybody's doing it.

Update: It only took a quick email to The Blogger Team. Within 24 hours, Un-Unwritten Rules was gone. I wish I had at least saved the couple of posts that were there so I could recreate them here, but alas. I'll just have to see if I can recreate their greatness here.