Award Tour Vol. 48: They All Have Stripes

My Dad was a practical spender. This means, he wasn't cheap, but he was also not frivilous - if you wanted to put cheese on that "Whopper" there had better be a good reason for it.

Going to him for money, was like running a mental obstacle course. You couldn't just ask for an item (especially if it was a non-essential) no, there would have to be some sort of reckoning - a verbal audit if you will. This was one of the reasons, Tre playfully referred to my Dad as the Dark Overlord of Finance.

How he worked his magic, to this day remains somewhat of a mystery. No books were ever kept, no financial records ever written down and archived... my Dad just had a fierce and detailed oriented memory that he wielded with impunity and nothing but a solid and well thought out argument would surive his wrath. Anything less was quickly laid to waste.

I learned this lesson quickly when I first visited the Budgeting Office of the Dark Overlord of Finance about purchasing a new watch. It was an experience I would not soon forget. In a few short strategic set of questions, I watched what I thought to be a reasonable request be dismantled like the 1997 Florida Marlins.

Me: Dad can I have some money?
Dad: What for?
Me: I want to buy a watch

[Searches Dark Overlord of Finance Database]

Dad: Don't you already have a watch?
Me: It doesn't work anymore
Dad: What happened to it?
Me: It broke.
Dad: How did it get that way?
Me: I dropped it coming back from school.

[Insert Logic Trap]

Dad: How did you do that?
Me: I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just coming back from and it slipped off and it hasn't been working right since.

[Stun the victim]

Dad: So if I get you a new watch, the same thing could happen next week couldn't it?
Me: u - uh...

[Finish him]

Dad: What do you need a watch for anyway - there are clocks in school so you know what time it is when you're there right?

Me: Well yeah but...

Dad: And there are clocks here at home - the only time you don't have a clock is when you're outside - and you know to come home when the street light comes on.

Me: {silence}


Note that he never actually said "no" to me. That was part of the beauty of his craft. So intricate and well founded was his argument (and so porous was your own) he didn't have to say "no"... you would do it for him. You would deny your own request and feel shame for having asked in the first place.

That's just the way it was in my house. If you hadn't scripted and then rehearsed the conversation that you planned to have with the Dark Overlord of Finance at least 3 or 4 times before you actually tried it - then you might as well say you were "just practicing".

On the occassions that you did submit a request that was approved - you still weren't out of the woods. Now you had to endure the "The Glorious Commutation". What's that you ask? That was the ceremony that my father ritualistically engaged in each time he gave you money. No exceptions.

First he would look at you and not move for a moment - which would naturally confuse you because - as you understood it, he had agreed to give you money. Why isn't he doing it? The answer: He is. He's just setting the stage to do it.

He stands there remaining quiet, unflinching, unmoving. Just when the silence becomes almost too much to bear, he reaches for his wallet. He pauses, and looks at you once again. Thus begins phase two of the exchange.

He opens the wallet and he withdraws a bill, ever so slowly, such that you could hear the crinkle and crackle of each and every fold in the bill as it slides out. He slowly hands you the money. You reach out to take the bill only, he doesn't let it go. He will establish and maintains direct eye-contact with you for a 2 second period and then (and only then - after his gaze has pierced your very soul) does he relinquish his hold...

...and this ceremony will be repeated for each bill he gives you (God forbid if he was giving you the money in all 1's). Even if you had never known the true value of a dollar up to this point, by the time the "Glorious Commutation" was completed - you did.

That's why I both reveled in, and jumped at any chance to spend the family money without budget oversight - it was not an opportunity afforded to us often. Back-to-school shopping was one of those rare Thriftiness holidays were the normal rules of "spending" were suspended - here the playing field is somewhat more level. Dad could pretty much outflank you on any item that you asked for that plugged into the wall or required batteries - but shopping for school clothes was exempt. And to that I say Carpe Diem.

When we were younger my mother did all the Back-to-School shopping - and it was always a breeze because, as long as what you wanted was within reason - she would get it. Years later, the Dark Overlord of Finance is being tapped for Back-to-School duty.

This is not his realm of expertise. He'll do it because he's a good father, but clearly he is more of a Family Claims Adjuster than a Fashion expert. He doesn't have time to explore what kids like. Rather than doing any marketing research, he attempts to overlay his Auditing Model on the shopping experience with predictably bad results.

Dad: What kind of clothes do you want
Kids: We want shirts

[Searches Dark Overlord of Finance Database]

Dad: Don't you already have shirts?
Kids: Some.
Dad: Well what's wrong with those?
Kids: We've outgrown them

[Logic Trap Thwarted. Dark Overlord quelled for the moment]

Dad: Well... what kind of shirts do you want?
Kids: Not really sure, we'll have to look around to see what we like
Dad: But isn't there any particular style?
Kids: I don't know maybe something cool looking with stripes

[Dark Overlord processes data. Locks in on the one and only technical spec: stripes]

Editor's Note: In Systems Engineering you see people run into this type of problem all the time. When your "requirements" are too nebulous, the net you cast captures solutions that you never wanted or intended. Going about this clinically (as he does for most things) the Dark Overlord follows his design specs to the letter. Stripes. That was the one, and the only quantifiable specification. Cool is not a measurable entity and therefore is ignored. Thus he picks up any, and everything with stripes on it, because he believes he has "buy-in" on stripes...

...and in fact, he does not.

Dad: How about this shirt
Me: Uhhh... naw
Dad: No? What's wrong with it
Me: I don't like it
Dad: But it has the stripes

[Insert feedback loop into Dark Overlord Source Code]

Me: It has stripes but I don't like it

[Allow feed back loop to initiate and watch it cascade]

Dad: Why don't you like it?
Me: It's not my style of shirt
Dad: What do you mean it's not your style? I asked what style you liked, you said you liked stripes. This shirt has stripes. Isn't that what you said?
Me: Yeah, I said wanted something with stripes
Dad: Well what's wrong with this shirt? You said you wanted stripes - the shirt has stripes right there. That's what you asked for right? You wanted the the stripes, and there go the stripes right there... there are the stripes, and they're on the shirt - stripes - so what's the problem?
Me: I don't like it

[The feed back loop has collapsed in upon itself - Dark Overlord Source Code is off line]

Dad: Fine, you go find what you want, I'm done looking.

My younger brother Dee was probably the most relieved that my father gave up looking for shirts. He pulled me to the side and told me that the shirts my father was selecting off the rack was something that only Shaggy from Scooby Doo would wear...
...and then only if it was the 70's again
...and then only if he was high
...and then only if he was legally blind in both eyes

This leads me to a very important point (and for those of you who are parents, listen up here). Fashion is relative - what was in vogue when you were young - almost certainly isn't in vogue when your kids reach that same age. In fact, most of your fashion sense will be an anathma to your progeny. I know they say these things go in cycles, that fashion trends repeat themselves, but they are rarely synchronized from one generation to the next. They're more like multiples of prime numbers - they rarely cross paths and by the time they do - it's so far out that nobody even cares or notices.

If it's any consolation to you, know that one day your kids will also be laughed to scorn by their children when they attempt to explain how Throw Back Jerseys and clothing lines from various music groups that debuted a video on TRL - really was a cool thing and they ought to give it a chance before shooting it down (you're probably laughing right now).

What made this outing all the more amusing was my father's persistence. By the time we got the clothes that we actually wanted, and got to the check-out line, the Dark Overlord Source Code had begun to reboot. He wanted to let it go, but he couldn't help it - he had to make his case again. He tried obliquely, to argue that the shirts we picked out were basically no different than the ones he had picked out. When questioned on the validity of his argument, he essentially offered us this gem:

"Well they all have stripes don't they?"

Award Tour Vol. 47: I Reserve The Right

Before there was such things as Playstation, XBox, and Dreamcast, to entertain themselves kids used to do this thing called, "playing". It involved stuff called running, jumping, and excercise beyond the proximity of a television. Generally, this "playing" developed more than just the dexterity of your thumbs. I realize this is a reality that is hard to envision now.

Later, crude and rudimentary video games came into being (emphasis on crude and rudimentary). Some of you have grown up in the Playstation era - you know nothing of the horrors of slow moving 8 bit graphics that was the hallmark of those early monstrous game systems. For you, first person-texture mapped enterainment has always been a few RCA-cables and an outlet away.

It wasn't always like that... in the rough and tumble early years of video gaming, it seemed like the height of arrogance to request things like a responsive joy stick, a controller with more than one button, or the ability to pause in the middle of a game. What good would any of these things be to you on a game like "Pong"? Obviously things have changed.

In my family, we got through the dark ages of the Video-Gaming by making up our own games. All of them were fun, none of them required expansion packs, memory slots, or flat-screen t.v.s, and they were all relatively safe...

...relatively.

Allow me to explain.

It started off innocent enough... Tre and I standing in the kitchen talking. Also in the room at the time was my younger brother Dee and my father.

Alot of what happens next is hazy... and this time I can't blame it on the alcohol because I didn't have any... and I was too young to be drinking anyway... (but it's mostly because I didn't have any)

What I remember is that Dee came into the kitchen messing with my Dad - and all of a sudden a chase broke out - my father pursuing my little brother. It was a friendly chase (at first) because it was a game. I was familiar with this "game" since I had done the same type of chase before, so had Tre - but this time it was different. This time it was my Dad doing the chasing, and something about that wasn't quite right.

Some of my past (and future) descriptions will probably make my Dad seem more like one of the great stone statues on Easter Island than a human being. In truth he was never really stoic or incapable of cutting loose and having fun - far from it. Many times he would either jump right in with whatever fun we were having or start it altogether himself.

That all said, this is still different... this is not ordinary "Tom Foolery" - this is the "Great Chase" and Dad's never played the "Great Chase" before... having him participating in it was kind of like a middle-schooler operating a gas powered motion reciprocating fruit harvester... yeah theoretically he could do it, but without a tutorial would you expect any good to come from it? (And yes, there is such a thing as a gas powered motion recriprocating fruit harvester - do you think I would just make that up? Okay - fine - but do you think I would make that up this time? No I wouldn't - they do exist). Should we stop my Dad before this even starts?

Too late...

Dee takes off in the kitchen, my Dad close on his heels. If it had been a chase on a straight away - my father would have caught him quickly with little fan fare. However the "Great Chase" was a winding and weaving Scooby-Doo-ish scamper through the house where hair pin turns, cuts, and jukes were just the precursor of things to come.

Pure athleticism would not win the day - not when doors would be flung open, chairs would be knocked down, and objects would generally be thrown in your path to impede your progress as you chased. There were no rules. Dee could (and would) throw anything behind him that wasn't nailed down that he thought might put more distance between him and you. To compensate for this - one had to have a keen sense of timing and awareness of surrounding...

...none of which my father had.

My Dad tried to close constantly on Dee. If he thought he could catch Dee in the foyer (which he could not) he tried (and failed). They dodged back and forth, darted in and out with Dee smiling the biggest happiest grin you ever saw - he was in his element in the thick of the "Great Chase". He pulled out a trash can behind him as he ran.

This was not at all unexpected to those familiar with the game - I felt it was long overdue... my father apparently thought it was "uncalled" for. Is he serious yet? It's hard to tell - maybe the scowl on his face is reflective of his determination to catch Dee, and not just radiating anger.

Tre was still locked in the corner of the kitchen watching the chase unfold. I held my position too - didn't want to start shifting the landscape while the chase was going on - that could be dangerous for everyone. Dee zig-zagged through the house with my father close behind - sensing him closing in he threw one of the shutters on the wall back at my Dad and ran back into the family room. My father's brow furroughs even deeper. Is he serious yet? I'm still not sure. He hasn't said anything (at least not verbally) but his face is speaking a language that is widely accepted as unfriendly.

The chase continues as Dee enters the kitchen again, runs through the foyer, the living room and pulls out another chair (which my father stumbled over once again). When my Dad growled out, "I'm on you now boy" it was like someone dimmed the lights in the room - and the words "Finish Him" appeared at the top of the scene in bloody red lettering - we have now entered the end-game. No one can say for sure when my Dad reached his threshold - his face is as angry now as it appeared to be before - but we are all certain - he IS serious now.

Accordingly, Dee is no longer smiling - he now knows he has a conundrum on his hands. It is clear my father does not have the same appreciation for the "Great Chase" that we do - this is only his first time playing it (Editor's Note: it was also his last time playing it - but I'm getting ahead of myself). This is no longer "fun and games" this is a business transaction - a "butt whoopin'" in the deposit column of accounts-payable - and my Dad means to execute the transaction.

Collectively, we all know that the Doctrines of Discipline are still in effect - if you run from a beating, it just gets worse. And the longer you run, the worse the punishment gets (exponentially). But what can he do? He's already running - and he has been for quite some time - as far as Dee can tell, he's been running up a tab and couldn't even be sure when it started. Might be a big purchase, might be a small purhcase - did he dare stop to find out?

Further compounding the situation is that it's not at all inconceiveable that he won't make it to the bathroom and lock the door behind him before my Dad could get to him. Instinctively - he knows he should stop... but how can he when he knows escape is a few over-turned-chairs away and when he has the possibility of a star-spangled a$$ whoopin' if he does stop? It's an easy decision for Dee - He keeps running.

In addition to being a decent athlete, my Dad is also a quick learner. After being slowed down by obstructions Dee had thrown on the last two laps - he has evolved his strategy. Now instead of just turning on the after-burners he is watching and waiting for Dee's traps - like Magic Johnson in the 1980 NBA finals, we are watching a rookie become a veteran right before our eyes. Dee made a dash for the family room and flung the basement door behind him - and Dad was ready for it. He slapped it out of the way (using a "swim move" similiar to those used by defensive lineman in the NFL) and continued to pursue gaining ground.

Tre and I are in the kitchen watching this transpire all around in stunned disbelief - not sure whether to laugh or not. Dee made one final cut from the foyer to the living room and the dining room - but he could not shake my Dad. His rage was like Darth Maul on a bad batch of steroids listening to Onyx perform "Throw Ya Gunz in the Air" - he would not be contained - he would not be denied - and any suggestions to the opposite would not be heard - literally.

Dee's final obstruction was to throw a step stool behind him, which in abject anger my father attempted to stomp through...

...Physics would not allow it. His leg went through the open end and became entangled around his foot as he attempted to take his next step. He reached out and grabbed Dee by his shirt and flung him lengthwise towards the floor near the refrigerator as he himself crashed shoulder first into it (narrowly missing Tre) while knocking over chairs set at the dinner table, with the stool that was now ensnarled around his leg. The whole kitchen shook with the violent crescendo to the "Great Chase".

I still remember watching 4 ceramic mugs wobbling back and forth, clanging against one another, as they swung wildly on their respective branches on the cup holder tree at the top of refrigerator. I could hear items falling inside the refrigerator and inside the adjacent wall cabinets. This has been, quite simply, the greatest conclusion to a "Great Chase" since the game was first invented. And my father the rookie turned veteran, was victorious - though - I would characterize it as Pyrrhic victory.

I wanted to laugh but I could see that my Dad was both angry and injured - not really a combination that lends itself to humor and comedy. There was going to be some punishment meted out, for this one - I'm not going to draw any enemy fire for laughing about it...

... at least not right away

...not when he can see me.

Trying to shake off the effects of his open-field tackle to the new refrigerator (which to this day remains dented where my father hit it) and his defiant high-knee march through the step stool - my father collected himself on the kitchen floor. He would not be punishing Dee tonight (as was his right via the Doctrine of Discipline).

Dee, thinking quickly, feigned an injury to his wrist as a result of being thrown to the floor by the refrigerator. He reasoned that my father would decline to punish him harshly, if he thought he had actually hurt him (which Dee gave him every indication he had done). Instead my Dad simply went upstairs (with a healthy roll of gauze, several bags of ice, and a chip on his shoulder that remained there for 3 years). So, in a way, Dee was victorious also.

In retrospect, I underestimated just how mad my father was concerning that incident. I remember the three of us (the boys) joking with him about it 2 years after the fact, and his face still wrinkled up into a snarl as we talked about it. I find this even funnier than the actual event itself and I guess that's easy to do because it wasn't me slamming into the refrigerator. Of course, if we in anyway reap as we sow (and we do) I imagine I'll be the one not smiling when I chase my sons through the house, kicking over chairs and shoulder ploughing the refrigerator - and they later tell the story about it laughing. Probably won't be so funny then... at least not to me. No matter. After 5 years, my Dad did start laughing about it. So I figure I get the same transition time. So to my future children (assuming that those pregnacy tests were correct and you aren't actually in the world already) I have you guys down for a coupon good for one "Great Chase" in a house to be determined at a time to be scheduled. No expiration date. Be advised that once I Karate stomp a chair and hit the Refrigerator with a "Flying Body Block" (a la Captain Kirk of Star Trek) in the process of chasing one of you, I grant you 5 years to talk and laugh about it amongst yourselves - but only yourselves. If you fail to observe this 5 year statue of limitations, and instead try to include me and others in a camp-fire recount of your tales of "daring do", I reserve the right to snarl at you in the middle of the story.

Award Tour Vol. 46: There Are Some Things

Tanktop: $15.00
Freshly braided hair: $20.00
Slapping a girl trying to avoid a fight: Free
Having that same woman, drag you in the streets, punching you in the face, slamming your head into the concrete and then into nearby cars - holding you by those same fresh braids as she simultaneously beats you down and lectures you about starting fights: Priceless

There are some things money can't buy, for everything else (like the bill for the hospital visit after another woman "walks the dog" on your a$$) there's Master Card.

http://www.comegetyousome.com/viewvid.php?id=449

Editor's Note:

It's not often that you see someone look for a fight, start one, get it, and lose it. I don't know about you, but it brings joy to my heart. Too often you see bullies deliberately pick on people they know they can beat - or you see someone get jumped by people who, outside of the safety of the mob, wouldn't have the courage to throw a punch.

Here is that rare occasion, where the bully bites off more than she can chew, get the a$$ whooping of a decade in a fight that she instigated, and is prevented from having any of her friends come to the rescue. There are Amaretto Sours being served in bars right now that aren't this sweet.

By the way, anyone who has questions about the authenticity of this fight... I call your attention to the dialog that occurs 2 seconds into the video. After being hit by the instigator of the fight, the other black lady says the following words, "Oh Hell no..."

...I rest my case here.

Award Tour Vol. 45: I'm Just Saying

This dude is crazy...

Did he seriously come up with a Contract of Wifely Expectations that sets the framework for acceptable hygiene and self care, apparel, sleep ware, sexual duties/obligations, and labor negotiations laid out in painstaking detail?

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0217062contract1.html?link=eaf

I tell you what - he lost me on this one. When I read where he said, "this is not a contract" - I disavowed him (if you're wondering - he says this in the last stanza on the last page - I provide this reference only because I doubt very seriously that any woman actually made it that far into the document). By establishing these as rules, and not a legally recognized contract, Mr. Travis Frey eliminates the possibility of his treatise carrying the full weight of the law behind it. Clearly this is an error in judgement and not one I can endorse.

On a serious note: Though it is clear he has taken a slip-stream into an alternate reality which you and I can only visit through hallucinogens - you would think a man this detail orientated would provide illustrations or graphics for his rules. I mean how many "if-then" statements can you chain together in a document before you completely baffle the reader? I'm just saying, a flow chart might be helpful.

Award Tour Vol. 44: Sincerely

Hi Tom,

Gee, this is kind of awkward. We've never actually met before, but we're about to - I know, I know, you didn't have this on your schedule. I anticipate that this will probably a be an imposition on the rest of your day but as you will see, it was unavoidable - particularly on your part.

All this being said, I know how these things go, you probably won't remember much from our meeting. I just wanted to say ahead of time, No hard feelings. You seem like a really stand-up guy - believe it or not, that will actually help to expedite things.

Best of luck to you in the future,

Sincerely,

Bradley's Right Foot

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szxTG3hxaW0&NR=1

Award Tour Vol. 43: A Few Hundred Notches

So I'm stopping at Burger King to use a Gift Card that my mom got me (thanks mom - you're the best). I think this will be a straight forward transaction because - I do not learn from past mistakes apparently.

I go in with $5.00 Gift Card and peruse the menu. Seems the rising gas prices have even started to affect prices at Burger King. Combos are now in the $6 and $7 range. Man - for that much, shouldn't I get a free video rental or a lap dance or something?

As I'm contemplating what to get, I flashback to a commerical that Burger King is running for a new Sandwhich that seems like it was inspired by an intense case of botulism.

The promotion consists of a soundtrack presumably entitled "Big Bucking Chicken" that plays in the background while a man rides a cartoonish "Bucking Chicken" (in place of a Bucking Bronco) on some undisclosed ranch with open country as back drop. If you find this odd, you are not alone.

I'm willing to overlook the artist's interpretation of a marketing campaign, and try the sandwhich, only I don't know what it's actually called. I want to ask for the "Big Bucking Chicken" because that's all I remember from the commerical, but decide not to - my dignity is actually important to me also.

I scan the menu for this new sandwhich and then I spot it. The new BK Tendercrisp Cheesy Bacon Chicken Sandwhich.

I need to speak with the marketing group on this one right here and right now.

Burger King Marketing people - this is a bad idea. This sandwhich has way too many syllables. I'd like to remind you all who you're advertising to - lazy people. People like me, who don't want to cook, we just want a nice smooth transaction - nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. I saw your advertisement on t.v. - if a picture is worth a thousand words, a moving picture must be worth a million - is it really necessary for you to add a couple hundred more in it's official name? Do you realize the effort I have to put forth to order this sandwhich as a combo? Heaven forbid that I try to super-size it. Again, the reason why I am here at Burger King is because I'm lazy - why would I be enthusiastic about saying:

Could I get the-new-BK-Tendercrip-Cheesy-Bacon-Chicken-Sandwhich-combo-king-sized?

That's way over the top - getting through it feels too much like doing work. By the time you finish saying it all, there's a good chance you aren't even hungry anymore. And let's not forget the well-documented problems you all have taking orders at the counter (no matter how simple they might be). Both you and I know, no matter what, I'm going to step up to the counter and begin a run-on sentence that vaguely resembles an order, and mid-way (probably right at the Cheesy-Bacon part) you're going to stop me and have me repeat it from the top because you couldn't hear me clearly the first time.

There's alot I'm willing overlook on any given trip to Burger King. On this trip, I'm willing to overlook the managers duel for the title of "Greatest Bungling Idiot" as they attempted to cash out my gift card. I'd even say I was mildy entertained when they debated the math of my transaction:

Manager Scenario 1

$10.00 cash
$5.00 gift card
- $8.03 value meal
______________
= $6.97 change

Manager Scenario 2

$8.03 value mealcash
-$5.00 gift card
______________
$3.03 owed


$10.00 cash
-$ 3.03 owed
______________
$6.97 change

I'm guessing the two of you wouldn't have fought for Burger King Supremacy if you had known that both scenarios came out to the same amount in change. Your buffoonery amuses me for a little while.

But really this is all taking too long. Everyone who came in after me has received their food and they're on their way home. I should be too... but I'm not... no instead I'm repeating the blockbuster title of your sandwhich - and naturally screwing it up mid-way because it's too many words to get out cleanly. The degree of difficulty on ordering this sandwhich is too high. I cannot "stick the landing". I want you all to know... I am definently NOT having it my way right now.

I wonder, were you simply trying to distinguish this new chicken sandwhich from the other sandwhiches when you named it? Allow me to help you out here. Consider the old Video Game company Atari. They had a Game Console that many considered to be their base product. They called it the Atari 2600. Years later they came out with another system.

It featured state of the art technology brought over from the Atari 400/800 computer systems, incorporated game start/pause/and reset and a full 360 degree speed sensitive joystick. I guess they could have called it the Atari-state-of-the-art-computer-system-hybrid-incorporating-game-and-system-management-and-universal-speed-sensitve-controllers... but they didn't. They called it the Atari 5200.

This makes life easier on everyone. Consumers may not understand the significance of the new Atari Game Console borrowing from the existing Atari 400/800 computer systems... chances are they don't care either. All they need to know is it's better. How do they make their enlightened determination? Simple. Is 5200 greater than 2600? Yes... than the 5200 is better. You don't have to explain how.

Same thing for your new Chicken sandwhich. Don't make us decide that we don't really want the sanwhich by having to order: "the-new-BK-Tendercrip-Cheesy-Bacon-Chicken-Sandwhich-combo-king-sized?" That's making fast-food an academic excercise (and not a strong point for anyone on the premises - including yours truly). Just call it the Chicken Sandwhich 3000. It's easy to order and easy to remember. If you plan to improve even further on this sandwhich - you can avoid adding another needless adjective to an already epic description. Just bump up the number a few hundred notches (say Chicken Sandwhich 3300) and your problem is solved.