Why even bother?

You want to help me? Stop asking me if you can help me!

"Can I help you sir?" Why do people who work in large department and electronic store chains waste my time with this question? If you frequent any major store chain, you'll be faced with this question anywhere from :0.03 seconds to :30 seconds upon entering the store. From the Red-shirted pseudo-friendly drones at Target to the mindless-blue shirt zombies of Best Buy, chain store employees everywhere seem to be in a hurry to be helpful. You really want to help me out? Stop asking me if you can help me out.

You see, these lost souls don't actually KNOW any more than we do (if they did they would be in management or corporate), no they are just doing what their manager tells them to do to collect their paycheck. I understand, heck we've all had THAT job. I also know this job from the other end, which supports my general belief that a person is reasonably bright, people are dopes.

Here's a few of my favorite examples:

Scenario 1
 
Mutant Drone: Can I help you find anything today sir?
Me: Yes can you tell where I can find a 12-inch DVI cable?
Mutant Drone: Yes sir, those are right over there, Aisle Six (points to a sign above him that says "Aisle Six: Cables") Really?

You do realize the only way you were able to "help" me was because you ran across the store to ask me a question we both already knew the answer to. You asked me something I was able to fundamentally answer on my own. That's not helping me, that's patronizing me. Knock it off!

Now to be fair, I am sure some fancy market research firm charged your company millions of dollars and gave your corporate officers a big stack of papers that said stuff like "... customer satisfaction is increased 13.4% when you say 'please' and 'thank you'." or "Your brain-dead customers don't know jack about the crap they're looking for, so if you chase them down as soon as they walk in the door, you'll show you are an authority on all things cables. They will then worship you as DVI cable Gods and offer their endless loyalty by paying obscene prices for a cable that is probably in their kitchen drawer."

"What's more, your employees can revel in the brightly colored shirts you force them to wear while also taking pride in the fact they know where the cables are by having thoroughly studied the store signage before your customers. This in turn gives the illusion of knowledge." These in-store 'heroes' were probably the same kids in 10th grade Geometry that were excited about getting 2 points on the exam for writing their name down. 
Ready for a fun exercise? Try this:

Mutant Drone: Can I help you find anything today sir?
Me: Yes can you tell why the supply-chain dynamics of your store are so poorly conceived that–along with your insultingly rancid, salt-of-the-Earth advertising–you are forced to charge me $49.99 for a $3 cable?
Mutant Drone: "[SQUAK!] Errr! Zapp!! Cannot_com_pute... must... get, store.. manager. Answer [Beeep!] above pay grade!"

Works every time.

Scenario 2

Mindless Robotron: Yes sir, can I help you?
Me: Do you have anymore of these sweaters? You have six left but they're all Extra-small and I'm 6' 2"… Mindless Robotron: Sorry sir, everything we have is out on the rack (returns to chatting with co-worker)
Me: Anyway to check in back just to make sure?
Mindless Robotron: (Rolling eyes, voice dripping in sarcasm) Sorry sir, everything we have is out on the rack (returns to chatting with co-worker)

I'm now made to feel as though I am an intrusion into the all-important conversation between two minimum-wage "go-getters" discussing the latest reality TV show developments. 
Really? I kind of thought that helping a customer find what they were looking for and insuring a satisfactory experience was–I don't know–good business? 

Apparently, I am stupid and bothersome and should feel honored you acknowledged my presence because I don't have a super nifty name badge with the company logo on it. Sorry, next time, I will try and force my worthless pea-brain to remember NOT to ask you for assistance. I can see you are clearly too busy for me while you're discussing important world-changing events and altering the course of nations.

Time for another fun exercise! Try this:

Mindless Robotron: Yes sir, can I help you?
Me: Yes, please share why you hold the people who pay for your job in such utter contempt?
Mindless Robotron: Excuse me sir?
 
Me: You heard me! Also, are you and your co-workers hoarding all of the XLs, XXLs and XLTs?
Mindless Robotron: Uhh… Me: Oh, and by the way, I am with corporate to review the toxic levels of contempt and disdain our employees have for our customers–you will be getting a detailed report from your manager this afternoon he will provide you with a host of mandatory customer appreciation classes. Have a good day!

Scenario 3
 
Me: Excuse me, green bean soup toasties are on sale this week, could you tell me where those are?
Headdless Zombie: Oh, that's in aisle 11, halfway down, right next to the plaster-flavored snack balls. (I get to isle 11 and the product I am searching for is nowhere in sight)...

What is it about Grocery stores that fill me with dread? Is it the three year old who saw a box of chocolate frosted sugar bombs he was told he couldn't have and is now auditioning for the opera? Is it the yuppie with a cart parked right in the middle of the aisle who then looks at me with utter disgust as I try to edge by? No, it's the apron-wearing food custodians that do only a mediocre job of hiding their repulsion of me as I approach them to ask a question. How does sending me on a wild goose chase help either of us? I am only going to come back and ask you again.

Gang, this ain't the place for elitism. For reals. No need to take out your frustrations on me. The rest of us just assume that if you work in a supermarket you just might have some idea where things are. You know, the same way I expect a judge to know the law or that Doctor might know about the human body. And while we're on the topic, why are you wearing an apron while stocking the food? Are you whipping up some bar-b-que behind those giant swinging doors in the meat department? I like my ribs well done, please.

Fun exercise time!

Me: Excuse me, could you point me to the green bean soup toasties?
Headless Zombie: Oh, that's in aisle 11, halfway down, right next to the plaster-flavored snack balls.
Me: No they aren't, you and I both know they aren't there. Why can't you just tell me you don't know…?

Look, I know firsthand that having to deal with the public gets annoying–we've all had to be kind to people we loathe. But that's the job. And here's the golden nugget–if you continue to accept the money for the position, then you need to do the job to the best of your competency. And while you're at it, let management know that people don't like to be descended on the moment they walk in the store. Isn't it implied that you know something about the store if you work there? I'll come for you if I need you, okay? So put the smile on and be a courteous representative of your organization. 
That's how you can help me.

Who are you people?

Who or what are Baby-Boomers–and when will they be going away?

If you were born between 1946 and 1964, you are what society has branded a Baby Boomer. You’ve lived through the contributions–and the assassinations–of some history’s most historic and iconic people. You’ve watched the internet rise and the Berlin wall fall. You’ve watched men walk on the moon and women walk in the sun. You've seen sound barriers smashed and color barriers thrashed. So why are so many of you such big pains in the ass?

Don’t get me wrong, your generation has set the stage for us to attain unimaginable new milestones–from science and technology to emotional honesty. So why are so many of you so damn closed-minded, resistant to change, technophobic and often downright racist? Yeah, yeah, I know, I am going to catch hell for this one. But before you grandstand and go all Matlock on me–read my words (not my lips!)–I said most of you. If you’re reading this saying “… that’s not me–!” or “… how dare you?” or maybe even, “… who does he think he’s talking about?”

Then the answer is you. I’m talking about you.

I realize the danger in making sweeping generalities about any group, trust me, but just like many of you when stating your narrow views–I just don’t care anymore.

I’m tired of statements like, ‘I miss the good old days’ or ‘we need to return to old-fashioned values’; please know you are only speaking for yourselves. Who the hell wants that? What ‘good old days’ do you mean? The days before the internet, HDTV and social media? The good old days of McCarthyism and near-fanatic levels of censorship? How about those days when women couldn’t vote, Blacks hung from trees, Asians could only cook or run drycleaners and Hispanics were second class citizens? Are those the good old days you’re talking about? You can have them. Generation X (those born between 1965 to 1976) and our children, the Millennials (born 1977 to 1998) will be forever grateful for the trails you blazed. But, just so we’re all clear, we reject your particular brand of crazy.

Spare some change? The world is a scary place, a cauldron of change. Change is inevitable and for those that need footnotes, this means you can’t stop it. So embrace it. Blacks, Hispanics, Gays, Asians, Jews, the Mentally and Physically challenged are all–and you may want to sit down for this one–people. Not punch lines to jokes or lesser beings to step on the backs of on your way to the top of whatever sick, twisted ladder you were ascending. The world has changed, so join us. C’mon, you can do it–we’ll even help you.

Stop pushing buttons! What is it about technology that has so many of you running for the hills? I watched my own mother struggle with figuring out why a DVD player didn’t work for more than two years—turns out it wasn’t even plugged in! How about the recent PIPA & SOPA bills that tried to pass through congress–spearheaded by Boomers wanting to regulate the internet–without having a first idea of what it even is. If you don’t understand something don’t simply assume it is evil.

A special kind of lunacy. Okay, now I will cry “havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war. Here’s a handy quick reference guide that is sure to alienate any closed-minded troglodyte still living in a world that has already left you at the station. Ready to be offended? Great! Here we go:

1. The world isn’t “going to hell in a hand basket” it’s just changing. Like it always has.

2. The mentally handicapped and socially challenged aren’t “retards”, they’re “people.”

3. Jesus Christ (the man) was NOT white. How do I know? Let’s try a fun exercise, just point out the last person NATIVE to the Middle East that was blonde and blue-eyed. If you were wrong about that, what else could you have been wrong about concerning religion? I’ll await your findings…

4. If you don’t approve of Gay marriages, don’t have one.

5. If you don’t like abortions, don’t get one.

6. Fun fact! You cannot see Russia from any point in Anchorage Alaska (distance between Anchorage and the Russian shoreline is about 700 miles–that’s like seeing Atlanta from New York City—Fail!)

7. Stop saying you’re loosing the country. You’re not. You’re gaining new countrymen–whose taxes BTW, are paying your retirement. (Yes they ARE paying taxes.)

8. Modern music doesn’t suck just because you have no ear for it. It’s just variants of Jazz, Swing, The Blues, Hip Hop, Folk, Country and a little thing called Rock and Roll. They said all the same stuff to all of those music forms as well. Connecting any dots?

9. The second you catch yourself saying, “Pfft. That’s dumb–!” to any new technology or gadget you don’t understand; Congratulations! You have officially been left behind and you’re opinions no longer matter!

10. If you’re offended by movie content–don’t go to the movies. If you’re rattled by TV shows, well, there’s this little device with LOTS of buttons on it called a remote control–fascinating little invention. Guess what it does?I apologize to any Boomer who is truly open-minded, and there are quite a number of you. This rant is NOT leveled at you. Recent events in the news and life have pushed my ability to tolerate racist, right wing religious fanaticism past the point of no return. If you can no longer be reasonable, then it’s time for you to go away. Don’t be sad, it was a good run. We’ll be picking up the pieces made from the fallout of your blunders for decades. But now, sadly, it’s time to close up shop. Choose your destination and away with you. Buh-bye.

I wrote this blog because our children are watching–my children are watching. If you don’t like what I have to say then please, go write your own blog. That is, when you learn how this whole inter-web thingy works.

I'm not your friend! (yet)

Stranger Danger! Social media is letting a lot of new people into my life–and I think I like it.

For those of you old enough to remember the 80's song by Rockwell; "Some body's watching me"–I am sooo there! If you are plugged in to any type of social media web site, social smart phone App or chat board these days, then you have been exposed to the online world of social networking. A virtual place where you have Avatars, profile pics and obtuse descriptions of yourself to tell the world who you are, what you're all about and what you are up to; moment-by-moment.

And we're all hopelessly addicted.

I mean, how many "friend requests" on FaceBook have you answered in the past year? I don't just mean long lost high school buds or someone you worked with once upon a time. Those folks, to me, are more or less what FaceBook is for. No, I mean the completely random Twitter Zombies or the unknown FaceBookers who read some random comment you made on a mutual friend's page? Or maybe they are simply looking to pump up the number of friends on their friend list. So what? Who cares? I care. So you have asked to be my–uh–"friend"? Oh well, since we're friends, come on in!

It has been long rumored that FaceBook pays special attention to people with friends lists of a certain volume. I guess the thinking is, if this person has 5,400+ followers, they must be important. They're not. These people are no more or less relevant than you or I. They just spend more time than we do building lists of fictitious "friends" for some yet-to-be determined master-plan for world dominance. Clearly, they don't spend their time doing far more constructive things–you know, like ranting about social media conspiracies on do-it-yourself blogs.

I just can't seem to get away from sharing me with the world, my thoughts and opinions (haven't you noticed?), my favorite foods, colors, movies, video games and graphic novels (that's a fancy name for $20 comic books that will later get made into blockbuster movies!). And there are so many ways to get connected, my head spins—or maybe those are just the eyes on my XBOX 360 Avatar–hard to keep track of at this point.

And so it goes, as the Mythos of Me continues to grow, I am swept into a tidal pool of self-actualized relevance. I am my own best/worst PR engine and I just might be the most important human being on Earth. At least I think so, the world just hasn't discovered me yet. Don't worry, though, I'm working on it. I believe, as the saying goes, there's an App for that.

As a good friend once jokingly shared at a recent high school reunion; "I love me some me."

Amen, brother. Amen.

Your kids are NOT all right!

If you feel compelled to let your kids run rampant–don't.

We've all suffered the horror. In grocery stores, dry cleaners, movie theaters–even the doctor's office. It's the kid from hell. He (well, mostly he) shouts, hollers, whines and experiences a complete meltdown. It is more than just a nuisance, it's an intolerable act of aggression on my personal space, my peace of mind and my sense of well-being.

It's not right people, and it must stop now.

This precludes autistic, developmentally challenged and special needs kids of course, but if your child has learned little-to-no self-control of his or her emotions in a public setting, then I’m putting you on blast. It's rude, inconsiderate and I would even suggest criminal–punishable by fine. Yes, I went there.

Before you dismiss me as some clueless grumpy guy, here's my qualifier; I’m a single Dad of four with my fair share of challenges with my own kids. We all do. At one point, I had a two-seat stroller with twin 3-year-olds, a 5 year old and a 7 year old and as God is my witness I have NEVER had a child breakdown in the middle of a grocery store isle and buff out a new layer of polish on the floor. I’ve NEVER had one of my offspring loose their shit over some box of weirdo cereal featuring an odd animal dressed like a human being drooling into a bowl of diabetes-inducing breakfast food. And I have NEVER let a child become unraveled over the thought of my not buying him or her some stupid toy.

So, why do I have to be treated to the blood curdling shrieks of someone else’s little bundle of terror? To help, here are some helpful tips for new parents to embrace being out with your children. It's Arth Vader's 2012 tips to considerate social practices for parents:

1. Say Cheese–I DON'T think your child is cute–mine are cuter and don't make near as much noise.

2. Sound Check–Just because you’re accustomed to your child’s banshee-like shrieking, the rest of us would appreciate not being treated to freshly ruptured eardrums.

3. Shut 'em Down–If your child begins to throw a fit over anything that lasts longer than 10-seconds–remove them, threaten them, pummel them–hit their damn reset button. Show them who's the boss. (Hint: it's you).

4. Don't Touch Me–I happen NOT to think it's cool for your toddler to come over and touch me with their snotty-nosed, chocolate covered, look-what-I-pulled-out-of-my-diaper-covered hands.

5. Mine!–If your kid offers me something, I’ll be compelled to take it. A binky, your cell phone, their cuddly toy. Whatever. It's now mine now and if you didn't intend for that to be the case, maybe you should watch your kid more closely.

6. Don’t Be That Parent–Ever see a kid break something in a store or even worse, in someone’s home and embarrass the living hell out of their parents? If you can’t relate… it’s you. We don’t sympathize; we’re all pissed because you have put us all in the awkward position of having to laugh off your kid’s stupid antics and mesmerizing lack of self-discipline. 

 

7. Watch and Learn–Parents, watch your kid, honestly. I promise, it’s not hard. You chose to procreate, now walk the walk. This means you must know where the kid is at all times, regardless of how many you have. Hey, it’s not just good advice–it’s the LAW!

8. Just Stop–No I don’t want to observe little Tyler’s tantrum. No I don’t want to watch you change Sage’s diaper. Yes, I want to watch you breastfeed but now I’m in some weird space that YOU put me in by you doing it in public and now I have to pretend to be polite and not notice.

9. A Spot of Tea, Perhaps–If your child wants to chat–game on! Who’s your favorite character in Reservoir Dogs? Where do you stand on gun control? Let’s discuss who’s next to come out of the closet on Glee. Children are just little people anyway and that’s how I roll. Don’t like these thoughts? Then don’t let your kids talk to strangers. 

10. Mind Your Beeswax–Part of why my kids aren’t yours (genetics aside) are because they get the patented “Medusa Stare of Death” from Dad when they even begin to step out of line. Next will be my guttural growling of not-so-thinly-veiled threats should the stare-down fail. When this happens, try to refrain from looking at me with contempt–I know you’re just jealous because my tactics work and yours don’t.

Parenting isn’t easy but it is simple. If you’re compelled to have kids, compel yourself on learning how to raise them. Your kids, and society at large, will love you for it.

And I won’t have to ingest any more ibuprofen over your spawn’s tyrannical behavior.

My Random 2011 Rewind

These are a few of my most random things—a few random 2011 events that made a bunch of noise that bear honorable mention… before they fall off the edge of the earth, never to be heard from again.

Netflix becomes Qwikster–then becomes Netflix again. In a shameless (and transparent) bout of unabashed greed, movie-on-demand specialist, NetFlix, announced in September that they were splitting their business in half and essentially (over) charge customers who wanted to maintain a DVD-by-mail account with their new spin-off. Not since "New Coke" has there been a more infuriating attempt to tamper with something that works just fine. The outrage–and subsequent plummet in stock value–lasted only about three weeks before the Qwikster concept was six-feet deep. The best part? The Qwikster twitter handle was owned by a guy whose Avatar was Elmo smoking weed. Of course, that might have been how all of this started in the first place.

72-Days of Bliss. After just 72 days and one of televisions most expensive (and watched!) weddings, to the tune of $15 million dollars, porn starlet–er, reality TV personality Kim Kardashian files for divorce from NBA star, Chris Humphries. This is one of those instances where the news is the punchline. Kim, I'm a fan, but maybe next time, you could spend a little time off-camera actually connecting with someone before getting engaged. you know, talking, discussing values, planning a life together, family–all the usual suspects. This may help your next wedding last longer than one of your sex tapes.

The NBA's Pre-Christmas Town Hall. Here's an idea that has a 24-second shot clock; take overpaid players from a sport failing to keep in fan's good graces and post a live web-feed Q and A session for them to answer inane questions from adolescents. As an advertising, marketing and PR guy, I have two words for you on this one gang. Epic Fail. Hey, here's a thought, let's try and have a season that matters and maybe have at least ONE NBA story before the end of 2011 NOT be about the NBA Players and their "good-hearted" nature or how they have been wronged by the man. Guys when you make $5 million a year–you ARE the man. My favorite description of the NBA sadly still holds true–the NBA is a bunch of Rich White guys watching a bunch of Rich Black guys play ball (sigh).

Duke Nukem Forever Lost. It took forever to hit the shelves, but when 90's gaming fad and FPS icon Duke Nukem launched his latest title this past summer–well, the bullets weren't just flying at the in-game adversaries. In about the most disenchanting gaming sequel in recent memory, DNF proved it was an idea whose time had come… and gone. As a gamer, who actually played Duke endlessly in the 1990's I couldn't be more disinterested. Hey, gaming world, check this out; the next time a game title takes more than a decade to produce–move on. Because that's exactly what your audience has done.

The Herman Cain Mutiny. I don't usually wax politic in this blog, but for this bloke, I will make an exception. Coming literally out of nowhere to rave reviews by the GOP, ex-Godfather's Pizza mogul Herman Cain became the sweetheart of the conservative nation and served his slice of "I don't know about that" politics—with extra cheese. I suppose I should be past being surprised that our nation latches on to someone who knows less about politics and leadership than my 13-year old son, but his meteoric rise to prominence stunned us all. My favorite Cain-moment was the five-and-a-half minute bumbling non-answer he gave reporters concerning the answer to a hypothetical question over the handling of this year's Libyan conflict. Pure Gold. Check it out here. Well, I suppose this means the ultra-conservatives proved they aren't as racist as we all assumed they were. At least on the surface, anyway. If you need to ride the Cain Train (NOT my terminology BTW), you'll have to stand in line as the sexual harassment suits are still piling up.

There and Back Again: A Space Shuttle's Journey. July 21st, 2011, the final Shuttle Mission of the Atlantis was officially the last launch of NASA's Space Shuttle program. Having flown for more than 30 years, the Space Shuttle program always seemed as though it would be a staple of America's space program. As shuttles Endeavour and Discovery are lined up to be carted off to their final resting places, I reflect on the tragedy and triumph of three decades of space-age adventures. As a fan of perpetuating science, I look forward to a bright future for our space program.

Happy New Year!—to all my readers and tune in again as we start 2012 with new stories, more profiles and yes, more random rants and raves. Until then, I'll be in the corner...

Knock it off already!

Smart Phones have dug themselves into our pockets and our lives—and self restraint is nowhere to be found.


I am now the proud owner of an iPhone 4S! As a devoted Apple computer minion, I couldn't imagine a more fitting way to round out my arsenal of social connectivity then by adding the world's best, fastest most sought-after Smart Phone. My home network, is now a thriving apple hub of metal and plastic models of the world's friendliest computer. To sum it up, my iPhone is the bomb–and I am afraid.

Very afraid.

Don't misunderstand, this phone is more powerful and has more features (comparatively) than two of my older Macs. No, what I mean is this phone–it has a way of consuming your attention, your focus and your day.

Ever been at the movies and had someone's Smart Phone light-up half the theater because they just had to check the latest twitter about Aunt Mildrid or what their favorite movie star is up to (by the way, exactly NONE of them write their own tweets or monitor their own Facebook pages). Or maybe you've been behind a fancy, slow moving SUV, moving roughly 22 mph. When you finally pass it–you guessed it–they're on a phone. What about the girl in the grocery store treating us to every detail of her boring-ass workday to a person on the other end who is just as disenchanted as we are. I have even heard stall-squatters in the men's room answer phone calls – while pinching a loaf! Are you kidding me? Dude, not only does no one in the bathroom want you to hear you promise to pick up eggs; milk on the way home to wifey, but—are you sitting down for this? oh yeah, you are–she can HEAR you on the toilet, dummy!

This overabundance of social disregard is due to the ADD Smart Phones have inflicted on all of us. I know, I get it. I'm guilty too (well, not of the bathroom stuff, that's just gross!).

There is a delightful charm these gadgets provide for us that makes us feel connected, be in touch and literally have the world at our fingertips. The number of traffic accidents has never been higher, work place productivity has never been lower and our fellow human beings have never been so distracted in the course of human history.

It has been my experience that none of us are using these phones to 1/1000th of their real capacity. Email, FaceBook, Twitter, you don't need a HAL-9000 for these. However, you do need a little common sense. We could all use a little less time in front of our three-inch screens and a little more real-time connectivity. Whoa. Did you see that? Hell, now even the real thing sounds like some social media initiative.

Maybe we're all doomed. Or maybe, we just need to unplug. The bottom line is–opps, gotta go… I have a new challenger on Words with Friends–!

Occupational Hazard

"Occupy Wall Street" shows the good, the bad and the ugly faces of class in America. Minus the good.

By this point, we have ll heard and seen the sound bites, the news feeds and watched as the mass media outlets desperately try to spin some epic news event out of this international movement for change, occupy wall street. Since I am NOT a news journalist, I will lead the coverage and the reporting to others. However, as a father, a modest man of honor and a citizen of the world, I applaud each and every participant – in every corner of the world – who dares to stand and show the world they are fed up with financial and social tyranny. This is the imperative of change and I am proud and delighted to be living in these times. Moreover, I am overjoyed my children are witnessing the embers of a coming revolution.

Acting on the mounting and now overflowing frustrations of a fed up majority of world citizens are now making what is the beginning of a wave of change that has been coming for long, long time. If you are somehow still unaware, a small fraction of the US (and world) privileged elite makes more than 70% of the wealth in the US. But they don't do it by earning. It is done by stealing taxpayer funding, double talking, betting on failure and obscene bonuses, kick-backs and underhanded financial borrowing and trading practices that put billions in the pockets of a small group of people who are already fabulously wealthy, while the rest of us literally die on the vine.

History warns us of these consequences –ever hear of Marie Antoinette?. The Czars of Russia? Even our ow founding forefathers warned of the dangers of having an elite class; a privileged few deciding on the fate and livelihood of the many. Even one of our most cherished Presidents of the 20th century, Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower, warned of the dangers of the military/industrial complex. If you are unaware, it is when the military is run by business interests and not by the best interests of our people.

The greatest horror is how few Americans seem to know or care about all of this. This past Halloween, I dressed in three-piece suit, with $20 Cigar sticking out of my breast pocket with a rolled-up $20 bill to light and burn it. I was representing the 1%. Of roughly four dozen people who confronted me on it, three even knew what I was. Granted, this is an obscure number, but most didn't even know what I was talking about WHEN I TOLD THEM who I was. As ever, if a headline doesn't have a Kardashian in it or isn't a sports-related or doesn't have a honorable mention on 'The Real Housewives of Berwin' then Americans just don't seem to care. It is a sad state of affairs that the people who are actually profiting off our collective misery (Sports stars, Actors & Starlets and Reality TV people) are the ones we hold in the highest regard.

People all over the world have begun to take a stand over the this blight of greed. Berlin. Zurich. Boston. Sydney. Tokyo. Montreal. Manhattan. Los Angeles. Paris. Atlanta. Rio De Janerio. The world community is beginning to wake up to the festering stench of greed. We have had enough. To wealthy: The wealth was never yours to begin with. Give back or it will be taken from you. The French Aristocracy found this out as did Czarist Russia or the Roman Empire. Now it's our turn.

All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again. If there will be no compromise, there will be tanks on the streets of every city in the world. Including yours. As the late Michael Jackson put it: "make that change." It's not too late.

Do the right thing everyone, our children are watching.

Going postal for the holidays!

I still find relevance in the purpose and the dedication in our postal service – but who the heck are these people that are in line?!

We've all been there. At some point in our lives, we end up standing on line in the post office, waiting to mail some random package to a family member or friend or to mail back some unwanted parcel from a company or purchase we can't wait to get rid of. The passive and patient folks in the light blue shirts take this albatross off our hands and release it into the wilds of the postal delivery universe.

So why do I loathe the post office experience? It's the people.

Not the workers, they are just folks committed to helping us get our stuff from point A to point B. Sure, some are better than others but let's face it dear reader, we can find that anywhere. I mean, some barbers are better than others, some sales reps are better than others and definitely, some government workers are light years beyond their piers when it comes to even being human beings.

No, I mean the random cross-sections of humanity that seem to converge on the post office ONLY when I need to get something mailed. And maybe it's my 21st century on-the-go lifestyle talking here, but why does it seem like two back-to-back eternitys every time I am in line at the P.O.? PLEASE don't tell me I am the only one wanting scream bloody murder when I'm in line behind the little old hearing-impaired lady who needs to mail a package return back to a country no one can even pronounce and wants to pay with a fourth party check converted from Euros from South Uzbekistan. Oh, and this endeavor always requires a minimum participation of no less than 43 on-site postal staff with several having to jog to back area every 30-40 seconds.

Then there's the chatter box. Often a middle-aged woman who, while buying a book of collector's stamps, wants to ask about the logistical delivery dynamics of the postal air fleet along with an accompanying powerpoint and interactive synopsis of the ins and outs of why that particular postal worker choose a career in the parcel delivery industry.

And then, there's the stumper. He's the guy (always a guy) who has a question no one can answer, a package no one has ever seen and has no idea how to deliver and/or asks questions no one this side of mensa has any hope of answering. Commonly, after more than 40 minutes, his solution is often a .12¢ supplemental stamp.

Finally, there are the Post Office Patron Zombies. These once-human, undead lifeforms emerge from their crypt and actually buy coffee to hang out at the post office and use it as a meeting place! AGH!! For crying out loud, isn't that why they have Starbucks?!? Go away! The rest of us have somewhere to be and have no interest in being in this building a second longer than necessary. I know I need to set a good example of patience and restraint as an example to my children but really, people – stop it!

As a final thought, I must admit how much I delight in the modernization in many Post Offices that now have the postal Debit card postage machines. You Take your package, weigh it, and a few touch-screen later, you buy your postage, pop it in the big metal can and your out. Done. I hate to sound elitist, but thank you God!

The need for a postal service is evident but now, as the holidays approach, keeping me from going Postal while at the Post Office well, that's a good thing. We all have enough lines to have to stand in, one less is just fine with me.

My Random Life–Installment Two: Rim-Hanging at Basketball's Mecca!

Note: The following blog is the latest installment of my mini-series (a 'sub-blog' if you will) of the totally random events that happen in my life. This one goes back to the early 1990's when a good friend and I went on a six-week cross-country excursion that was a life experience that changed both our understanding of this great country.

Ever had an impromptu, self-imposed dunk contest at the Basketball Hall of Fame while the building was empty? I have!

It was the summer of 1993 (cue Wayne and Garth doing there whole "doodly-doo, doodly-doo" memory bit) and a good friend of mine had decided he had enough of the relentless New England winters and that it was time to move back to his home in sunny Calabasis, California. I was envious. Mike was (and still is!) a very good friend. As big a basketball fan as I am (which is how we met – playing for opposing schools in intercollegiate hoops) and an all-around kindred spirit. Hearing that he was moving was a real downer. Then, Mike made a suggestion that changed our lives forever. "Dude, we should get a car and drive cross country!'

At first I thought it was a pipe-dream. I mean, who just picks up and drives cross country? No one does that anymore, right? Where would we get a car? How much for food and gas? I couldn't go anyway, I had a roommate, a full-time job, etc. It just wouldn't work.

Then, I got laid off. With a fat severance package. Enough cash for the rest of the year and no sense of urgency about finding a new job. Maybe this was a sign?

Then, after about a month of kicking it around, Mike's parents offered to ship a car clear cross-country to get their boy home. A sign for sure!

Now, spiritual convictions notwithstanding, that is a sign no matter how you look at it. I decided, what the heck, let's do it – America, here we come! We quickly made some calls and charted a course across the country peppered with stops from arranging for crashes on the couches, living rooms, floors and spare bedrooms of friends, relatives and acquaintances across the country. Was this really doable? It appeared so.

We were soon on our way… first stop? A pilgrimage to basketball's Mecca in Springfield Massachusetts. In all my (then) years on earth, I had yet to make the trip cross state to The Basketball Hall of Fame where Dr. Naismith invented our infamous American pastime with peach baskets and a leather, hand-sewn ball back in 1896.

The museum was awesome.

We arrived on a Thursday afternoon with about an hour left before closing. It was barren, with only a handful of workers who were all super eager to shuffle us through so they could go home. It's a big place if you've never been, two stories and a genuine museum. Lots of displays, memorabilia, endless plaques and installations of people who have broken (or established) basketball records throughout the years. Coozy. Bird. Jordan, Johnson. Dr. J. Abdul-Jabar. All living legends of the game. All well represented. But the best part was yet to come.

"Dey playin' Bas-ket-baaaaalll–!"

At the time, there was an installation that had a moving sidewalk, a kind of conveyor belt—like you find at the airport, with an endless rack of balls in front of you, where you could grab a ball and shoot at a sea of rims ranging in height from about four feet to well over 10. This was fun. This is what we had come for. Basketball was so much a part of our lives we were in heaven. Then out of nowhere, with a load "CLANG!" the conveyor stopped. A young woman appeared out of nowhere and told us we had 10 minutes before closing time and disappeared just as quickly. What? Are you kidding?

Now I don't remember who leapt over the rail first, Mike or me (I am going to guess it was me since that is NOT uncommon behavior for me), but in an attempt to gain a few more balls for taking another shot, I scurried about the installation, about a full court in length, and grabbed a few balls. On the way back, I found a little six-foot rim and couldn't resist. TWO-HANDED REVERSE, DOUBLE-PUMP JAM! That, as my southern friends say, was all she wrote! Mike is about 6' 6" and I'm about 6' 2" and we were officially in heaven. An impromptu dunk contest – hanging on 6', 7' and 8' rims screaming out stuff like; "Dude, check this out – WINDMILL!" We must have been there at least another 20-30 minutes. Easy.

Sweaty, exhausted, hungry and hands sore from dunking on more rims than we could count, we lumbered toward the front. At this point the museum was closed and the folks who worked there were all congregating in the lobby, shutting down lights, getting ready to lock up. They had completely forgotten about us! They stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the two of us panting and sweating as we said pleasant goodnights and headed to the parking lot.

I am sure what we did was immoral in the eyes of fans, if not borderline illegal. At the least, we violated the purity of basketball's greatest destination – and I would do it all again! It was a perfect storm of opportunity–meets double dare– meets all out fun! I will never forget it. Never. Neither of us will.

After all, have you hung from the rims during a dunk contest in the basketball hall of fame? I have. If you ever get the opportunity... I highly recommend it. 

Tired of Halloween Commercialization? Time to start B.I.T.C.H.I.N.!

If you're done with all the horror stories over abducted kids, over-priced costumes and trips to the Halloween store, then it's time to scare up some new thinking.

Any parent out there knows the score. The horror stories surrounding urban myths like razors in Apples (like who takes fruit on Halloween anyway!), rat poison in candy, abducted trick-or-treaters and candy coated with toxic materials like drain cleaners. It's enough to give you nightmares.

Then there is the frightful notion of custom buying. I believe halloween has surpassed Christmas in regards to event shopping. Halloween stores are like a department store having a "going out of business" sale or a Target on Black Friday. It's insane, people are rude, kids are going nuts, "…cats & dogs living together", it's bonkers, man! Seriously, I would just as soon drink a bottle of Castor oil than be caught in any of those places. And for what? Dropping $250 on four costumes and accessories so my kids can walk around for 20 minutes during trick-or-treating and then complain about how their feet hurt? Really? To be honest, my kids are turning into teenagers so Trick-or-Treating isn't really doing it for them anyway.

REMIX! Stick a fork in me, folks, I'm done. Time to hammer the old re-set button on this mofo. I love me some scary-time fun, but the commercialization alone is "killing" me. Not to mention the shallow, meaningless consumption-based nature of activities for All Hallows Eve. By the way folks, I know many of us LOVE this day, as do I, but please, it's not a "holiday", ok? Bite the bullet. It's just a day, you know, like flag day. If you don't watch parades, put up a tree, carve a bird or shoot off fireworks or – and this is the big one – HAVE THE DAY OFF, its not a holiday. So what do we call it? Halloween works just fine, thanks.

So where's this rant going? I propose everyone consider a B.I.T.C.H.I.N. party! It's an acronym; Big Incentive To Change Halloween's Inherent Nature.

Catchy, huh?

It'll be tough to sell this idea to Super-Conservative Right Wingers but they won't care anyway because they're mostly closed-minded about cool stuff like Halloween and let's face it, they aren't reading this blog anyway.

Teenagers (I have two) and adolescents (of which I also have two) will think this is way beyond cool! We'll eat pumpkin muffins (baking), do pumpkin carving (beforehand), eat something fun & gross (TBD) and watch a [Dad-approved] scary movie. Each child must also tell one scary story (told by candle-light) and show one piece of scary art (finger painting, illustration, photography, etc.) and the best one gets a special prize (for me, I'll do first and second place w/two runner up prizes). If its a bomb, no one will care, if its a hit, everyone will tell friends and the news will spread. Maybe next year, each kid invites a friend–?

Look, I get it, I spent plenty of Halloween nights roaming around the streets of of Boston as a kid with a hard plastic mask of Hulk or Frankenstein held to my head with a rubber band. I hated it but LOVED getting the tasty loot. My kids have certainly had their fair share of candy begging on Halloween. But this year, Halloween falls on a Monday night and let's face it, costumes aren't cheap AND they last about 45 minutes... not exactly the ROI Dad is looking for.

So, if you're tired of being terrorized by Halloween commercialization as I am, consider having a B.I.T.C.H.I.N. party. This year, all the kids will be doing it (at least in my home).