Yankee Tag Blog

My Grandpa just moved in with my parents this week.  And my birthday is coming up next weekend.  So I’m going through this dual realization of what it means to age and the stages of life and shit.  It’s bullshit.  It’s basically just my excuse to drink a lot more than normal.

So Grandpa… he moved in with my folks.  Which is awesome, I absolutely love Grandpa.  Coolest guy ever, hands down.  Actually, I have some good Grandparents all the way around.  So the other night, I went over to have dinner with my parents and Grandpa.  It was dece.  My mom’s a good cook.  But before dinner started, I went back into my Granpa’s wing (he has his own “wing,” how great is that?) where he was sitting in his La-Z-Boy watching the weather with his TV headphones on.  He takes the headphones off when I sit down to him, but is clearly still just focused on the TV.  I haven’t seen him for a year or so.  It was a warm reunion.

So, he’s watching the weather on the TV.  And he’s reading it all out loud, because he can no longer here the announcer.  It wasn’t even the good part, where they just summarize how hot or cold it will be.  It was the dumb part, where they’re talking about barometric pressure, as if we learn about that in public schools these days…  And he’s just reading along.  And it hit me: old people are weird.  Think about it!  Old people love the weather channel, right?  Why?  Is it going to mess up their evening plans?  Kill that weekend campout?  No.  They’re going to be sitting inside watching about the weather this weekend too.

It’s not just the weather channel, either.  Think about driving.  A lot of old people drive slowly.  Everytime I’m stuck behind some slow driver, I eventually see that they’re elderly when I pass them.  Or female.  Or Asian.  (I once saw the perfect storm: An elderly, Asian, woman driver.)  Why are these people going so slow?  YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE ANY MINUTE!!!  Hurry the fuck up!  What, is your cable out?  Why aren’t you watching the weather channel at home?

Anyway, old people are weird.  Just think about it.

I’ve been keeping busy in my off hours by consulting with a local Search Engine Optimization specialty firm.  AuraDev, a web design and web marketing company, has been helping local clients in the Portland, Oregon metro area by building and growing their web presences, and ultimately growing their clients’ bottom lines.  I’ve been helping with a few of my special super-marketer talents: keyword building, dynamic content generation, and web marketing strategizing.

This has been keeping me busy.  That’s not an excuse; just an explanation.  If you miss me, you can always hire me through AuraDev.

I’m back at the airport for my third flight of the month. I’m starting to recognize airport personnel and other frequent travelers. This probably indicates that my flights are delayed too often, at least more so than it indicates that I’m observant by nature.

Passing through security this morning I learned two things: 1) it’s ok to bring CPAP machines through the security checkpoint, but you have to take it out of your bag just like you would a laptop, and 2) apparently there is some doubt among TSA employees as to whether X-rays can pass through neoprene (wet suit material).

Perhaps I’m just being rude (it’s been known to happen), but at 5:00 am, I would prefer as little discussion and commotion as possible as I proceed through the understaffed security checkpoint. The overly awake “greeter” (a new feature I’ve noticed at the security point at PDX) loudly gives the same instructions as the monitor placed directly overhead. (Remember 3-1-1 to speed my screening process.) One of her instructions is to please take out any laptops, video recorders, or CPAP machines out and place them in a bin for security screening. CPAP Machines? Is it really that common to travel with CPAP machines that we need to announce this? I’m a reasonably intelligent guy, and I had no idea what this was until I looked it up on Wikipedia. So they can’t be that common. And at 5:00 in the morning, we probably don’t need to announce this in our “outside voices”.

So I’m undressing into the grey plastic bins to be run through the X-ray machine. My normal routine is to pull my laptop out of its neoprene case (more like a sleeve, really) and place the laptop on top of the case in the bin. It’s a new laptop, and I’d really hate to get it scratched up as bad as my old laptop. I’ve been going through this exact same routine on every flight since March, when I bought my fancy new laptop. Today an overzealous and underinformed (the worst possible combination) TSA agent stops me and says that the computer must go through by itself. These guys don’t have the easiest job (although that’s mostly their fault, IMO), but nevertheless, I feel obliged to point out that I’d really rather not have my new laptop resting directly on the rickety old grey plastic bin, and would prefer, instead, to have it resting on my case. I have, as I patiently pointed out, complied with instructions by removing it from my baggage and by passing it through in its own bin. At this point, the gentleman (if he can be called that) argues that the the X-ray machine might have trouble passing through the case, and that they need to get a good look.

Ok, so I’m no radiological technician, but it seems pretty clear to me that X-rays can pass through neoprene. Especially if they can pass through cheap grey plastic bins. And especially considering that unless I miss my guess, the X-rays don’t pass through from the bottom of the machine, through the conveyor belt, but rather from the top or sides. You know, the part where the big tunnel is… Hey, I could be wrong, I’ll admit that. But it seems like a pretty stupid way to design the machine. Which would make sense if the TSA agent designed it. But I’m guessing he didn’t. I started to point this out, but I thought to myself, “Fuck it, it’s just a Dell.”

On a side note, I find myself getting frustrated with a lot of people. Usually it’s at their place of employment, when I’m forced to interface with them. Call me a terrible person, because you’re right, but I always take solace in one thing: They have reached the absolute pinnacle of their career. And here they are: bagging groceries, waving traffic signs, or in this case, repeating the phrase “please remove your shoes and place them in a grey plastic bin to run through the X-ray machine.” (It’s a good thing I don’t wear neoprene shoes…)

My brother reminded me that I haven’t posted in far too long. It’s not that I’ve had something better to do, I’ve just been working like crazy. So, I’m sitting at the airport at 5 in the morning and find myself with an abundance of free time (25 minutes = abundance) and I thought, “what the heck, I’ll post to my blog that nobody reads.”

I don’t really have anything creative or important to write about. So I’m going to tell you two things that I always think of, and that my girlfriend is sick of hearing me say.

1) If your job is to hold a sign, you are worthless. You’re replacing a stick. In fact, whoever hired you thought it was easier to pay you your tiny salary, than to buy a stick. This goes for the sign twirlers in front of the new condominiums everywhere you go, the guys working the mall during the holiday rush, and the (always overly dirty) people holding the “slow” signs in front of construction work on the road. I can’t possibly imagine how terrible it would feel to know that your job could be replaced by something that cavemen invented.

2) Regarding pizza boxes: the instructions should be on every side. I’ve never once pulled out a box of frozen pizza from the freezer and thought to myself, “hmmm, I sure would like to read about the history of the Totino’s brand,” or, “Gosh, I wonder what makes DiGiorno taste so good, is it their ingredients?” Never. Every single time, I’m looking for the instructions. Just the instructions. Because I want to eat some fucking pizza. So put the instructions on every side of the box. Mark my words, whichever brand figures this out first, I will only buy their pizza from now on. Imagine a perfect world where you pull a pizza out of the freezer, and right there staring back at you are baking instructions. Imagine if they weren’t hidden in tiny-ass font on the side of the box, but rather, in GIANT BOLD WRITING on every side: BAKE AT 350° FOR 12-15 MINUTES. That would rock my world.  And probably my BMI.

Also, on a total sidenote: I voted today.  For Ron Paul.  It’s sad that the exact same thing would happen whether I mail my ballot in or throw it away in the nearest trash can (actually, recycle bin, I don’t throw away paper…).  But it’s principle.  And it’s important.  I also am reading the best book ever, and I encourage you to check it out.  The Revolution: A Manifesto