I've lost my memory. Well, half my memory. Well, it's not technically my memory. Let me start over.

I'm typing this on my company-issued Powerbook G4 with 15-inch screen, two RAM ports, a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time. This particular model has a defect that can render the lower RAM port unreadable, cutting the speed of the machine in half. When this happened to a couple of the computers here a few years ago, they were taken to the Apple store to be repaired and we checked the rest of them to make sure they were using both RAM slots. Mine checked out all right, so I thought I must have gotten lucky and didn't get one of the defective ones.

About a month ago, I noticed my laptop was running ridiculously slow. Every command was followed by a lengthy appearance by that stupid spinning rainbow. My browser quit constantly, and even the simplest tasks were met with resistance. Clearly, I needed more memory, 512 MB is much too small these days, especially in the graphic design business. I went online and looked for the best deals on memory cards. I found a place where I could get a 1G card for $87, with free shipping. But Joe, who actually speaks in all caps, said "GOOD LUCK GETTING THEM TO BUY IT FOR YOU. THEY ALWAYS TURN ME DOWN WHEN I TELL THEM WE NEED BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH" Interestingly, when I first mentioned finding a cheap place online, he suggested I email our IT guy to see what I should do. I told him I was pretty sure we get charged every time we email him with a question. Joe said he didn't think so, which explains why our employer is always griping about the exorbitant IT bills.

Still, I knew it would be a hard sell to ask for more RAM, since everyone else was getting by with what they had, but my computer was barely functioning and affecting my work. Then, by chance, last week I clicked on "About this Mac" and discovered that my computer wasn't running slow because it only had 512 MB of RAM, but because it only had 256 MB of RAM. 256! It's like I'd been transported to 1997!

Checking the system preferences confirmed that the lower port was shown as being empty. After all this time (and after the warranty conveniently expired) the defect finally kicked in. Super.

Joe said, "TAKE THE APPLE CARE CARD AND GO DOWN TO THE STORE! THEY'LL FIX IT! HASSAN CHOP!"

The Apple Care card, which is expired, wouldn't have done me much good anyway, since all it does is bump you up to the front of the line if there's a wait. But I did go to the Apple Store on Friday. I was hoping they would fix the problem for free, since they did that for the other computers a few years ago and there's a whole page about it on Apple's website, but no dice. They said that the warranty on the laptop had expired which voided whatever free stuff I would otherwise be entitled to. They did offer three solutions. The first was to get the motherboard replaced, which would set the company back a grand and leave me without a computer for a couple of days. The second option was to send it to their "depot" for at least a week, during which time they'll fix any and all problems with the computer for a flat rate of $320. The final option was to say, "Screw the lower RAM slot!" and just put more memory in the upper one. I went with that one.

So I reported my findings when I got to work Monday morning, and given the other two options, my boss was happy to go with option 3. So I went back to the website I found that had the memory for $87 with free shipping, but Joe, well, Joe orders everything from our sales rep at a certain retailer, thinking the guy gives us deals. He kept saying "I'LL SAVE YOU THE HASSLE OF USING THE COMPANY CREDIT CARD! I'LL JUST CALL WHAT'S HIS NAME BECAUSE WE HAVE AN ACCOUNT!" I was too busy and tired to object, so Joe made the call. In the end, going through what's-his-name we have an account with cost about $150, versus the $87 I'd originally priced out. Good thing we have Joe and his connections to help us save money, am I right?

Labels: computer, Joe

posted by John at 11:00 AM

It's been over a year since Joe mentioned Captain Nice. Or Mr. Terrific! I'm a little concerned.

Yes, he does still end sentences with "Arrrurrghrgrurrgh!" when he thinks he's said something particularly goofy, or when he's frustrated, or whatever the hell other reason he makes that stupid noise. And he still somehow manages to to add extra syllables to both "hello" and "you" in his stock greeting "Hello-o. How are yew-oo?" when he's making personal calls. I'd commend him for finding a way to stretch "you" into two syllables if I didn't want to hit him repeatedly with my stapler.

He even threw a "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman" or two at us recently. I think I heard Hassan chop not too long ago. "There you go thinking again," is another one. Oh, and "They always spoke so highly of you" is another old standby; he even uses it when referring to inanimate objects.

Joe's old gems never fade away, they just lie dormant until you've let you're guard down. "What if I don't want to" is still as strong as ever, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's almost enough to make me open the windows and shout "Shoot me now and get it over with!" But I mustn't stoop to his level. Mustn't I?

He still lives and dies by the word of Howie Carr, still hates the font Palatino because it has "Latino" in it (speculation, of course, but still, I'll bet he avoids using it) and insists there are "Asian Agents," a secret organized union of illegal Asian pan handlers in New York City. Asian Agents. Really.

He still has a grotesquely forced laugh that makes you want nothing to be funny ever again, ever. He still stands unimaginably close while he talks to you, and absolutely cannot walk past your desk without commenting on what's on your screen. It's usually a drawn-out "Oooohhh, pretty", or, "Oh, that looks really good." To be fair, he's trying to be nice, but many times the layout you're working on was designed by someone else in the office, or even by a third party, so his praise without the slightest knowledge of the history of the project rings hollow. He still lingers too long after awkward pauses, seemingly unsure when to clomp away. He still hovers around your desk asking personal questions all day, and just doesn't understand the concept of personal space in general.

He still doesn't wash his hands after he uses the bathroom. He'll still lie about it if confronted. He still can't go a day without exposing us to lethal levels of hairy butt-cleavage.

But he hasn't brought up Captain Nice or Mr. Terrific. Not since last January. He started rambling on about old TV shows a few weeks ago, and I thought for sure they'd be peppered in there. But, hold on, sorry, he did his idiot machine gun laugh while I was typing. Anyway, he was talking about some old show, and my ears perked up and suddenly I got all excited, just waiting for him to say "Hey, here's one, Meeester Tay, do you remember Captain Nice? But it never happened. But the fact that it didn't, and that I was actually disappointed about it, kind of horrifies me.

What have I become?

Labels: Joe, work

posted by John at 11:13 AM

Hey it's the middle of June. What happened to May? And April? I must have been really busy at work, because I sure wasn't posting my crazy theories on a Lost message board. That'd just be silly. Why would you even think that?

Two pretty major events happened last week. If you've read Schprock's latest post, you know the first one, which I'll go into a bit more detail on later. The other thing that happened was I was tagged by Trinamick, and you don't mess with someone who can survive a fall trough a ceiling. It only makes them mad. So here are eight things about me, specifically, eight things that I should probably tell a doctor but never do. It's nothing major, but on the other hand, we all know what happens when you take the wait-and-see approach.

1. Sometimes when I chew or even if I'm just lying down, my jaw unhinges. Usually on the right side, but it's happened to both. It pops right back in after opening and closing my mouth a few times, but it always freaks me out. I always think the most recent time will finally be the one when it doesn't go back in, and my jawbone will protrude out of the side of my head under my ear, and I get all nervous until it sets back in place.

2. Occasionally one of my toes gets locked in the downward position, so it's pointing straight down and all the others are facing forward. That hurts like hell. It only happens when I'm not wearing shoes, when I'm putting on or taking off a pair of socks, or if I'm lying down and stretch out my legs. That's two bad things now that happen when I'm lying on my back. If you throw in the sleep paralysis, it would seem I'd be better off staying upright as much as possible. But I still say that apartment had some creepy evil mojo, because "things trying to eat my soul in my sleep" thing hasn't happened since we moved out of there.

3. Breaded or starchy foods, which pretty much makes up the entire gamut of what I eat, occasionally cause my throat to close up, which is usually followed by a fun half hour to forty-five minutes of hovering over the toilet spitting up long strings of saliva. The culprit is most frequently a dinner roll or fish that I either swallowed to fast or were eaten before I had a drink. One time at an outdoor restaurant in New Hampshire, it was french toast. That was a fun vacation. To Jose's infinite amusement, I explained this particular malady during an emotional and inexplicably angry tirade I apparently went on at a party in college, after downing nearly a whole bottle of evil, evil Goldschlager. Hey that reminds me, I never finished the second part of my college story I started three or four years ago. I'm a champ when it comes to procrastinating.

4. There's a pizza place down near our old office. You may remember they tried to rip me off a few years ago. Well, the first year I started working here, I used to go there a few times a week for lunch. It's a small place with only a couple of booths, and most people get their orders to go rather than eat in the cramped little space. Above one of the booths was a coming attractions poster for Dead Man on Campus a movie no one saw that came out at least two years earlier. No one knows why it was hanging there by the door at Rome pizza, but I'll never forget the day I was sitting in that booth and an albino guy with an alarmingly high voice sat down with me and started talking. I don't remember what he was saying, because I was trying my damnedest not to stare and trying to figure out why anyone, let alone a high-voiced, honest-to-God albino with pink eyes and everything would slide into an occupied booth and strike up a conversation with a complete stranger. That was really awkward. I guess that's not really something I would tell a doctor, but I ran out of those. I could have sworn I had more.

5. Last week, after Brianna went to bed, I was watching TV with Michele and just before 10 o'clock. we heard three loud shots come from outside the window followed by the sound of a car speeding off. The shades where down most of the way, but from where I was sitting I saw flashes that corresponded with each shot. We jumped up and ran upstairs to look out the bedroom window. It was scary. Michele had me check on Brianna. she was still asleep. A few minutes later a K-9 patrol car drove down the street past our townhouse beyond view. We started to get more worried, but the lights and sirens were off, so we weren't sure what that meant. I kept looking out the window, and about ten to fifteen minutes later, the police car drove away again. And once again, no lights or sirens. Even so, I figured even if no one was injured at the very least what we heard were warning shots. Something serious was about to go down in our little housing development.

The next morning, I walked over to the side of the house to see if I could find any clues as to what happened the night before. From far away I saw what looked like shattered glass all over the pavement, but when I got closer I discovered that it was just dead pine needles. But I did find what I was looking for. A few feet away there was a hollow cardboard tube surrounded by powder. The tube had "Triple Bangs" written out it. That explains the three shots. The night before when I was hiding out by the upstairs window, I called my mom, and she said it was probably someone setting off fireworks. But it didn't sound like the usual kind, the bottle rocket kind that shoot up into the air and make a fizzle sound before they pop. People set those off around here from June to mid-July. I don't see the point, though. They're illegal in this state, which means you have to go across the border to New Hampshire to get them. Not that it's a particularly long our dangerous journey, but the lame little fizzle hardly seems worth the effort.

The whole thing made me feel a little uncomfortable with myself. There are only about forty black people in Weymouth, and thirty-nine of them live in my housing development. Does the fact that I automatically assumed it was gunshots reveal some latent racism? Probably not. I think anyone hearing three loud shots at night and seeing a car speeding away would make the logical jump that someone just got shot. And anyway, I'd rather live next to black people than creepy high-voiced albinos any day. Nothing personal, High-voiced Albino Guy. You just give me night terrors.

6. I lied earlier. I really was posting crazy theories on a Lost message board. I don't even know how it started, it jut sort of happened. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. I thought I'd be able to get back to the blog when the season ended on May 23, but then I got some new big projects at work and it got harder and harder to find time to get back to blogging. If it makes you feel any better, they didn't mean anything to me and I was thinking of you the whole time.

7. Way back in March, I started to write about the seemingly unrelated weekend deaths of comedian Richard Jeni and Boston frontman Brad Delp. I was going to title it "Ssssmokin" since Boston had a song called Smokin and Jeni was in The Mask, but then thought maybe it would be in poor taste and let it drop. Which may be for the best because I wanted to contrast the two deaths by examining how one gave up on life and the other had life give up on them, and as we found out a few days later, Delp took his own life as well. Boy would my face have been red! Anyway, all this time later I still actually feel guilty. Richard Jeni shot himself in the face. I didn't really know much about the guy. I'd heard of him, I knew he was a comedian, but I didn't know any of his jokes. He was number 57 on Comedy Central's list of 100 Greatest Stand-up Comics, so I guess he was pretty good. But all I really knew him from was as the sidekick from The Mask. Now I can't watch that movie, because the whole time I'm just going to be thinking, "That guy shot himself in the face!" The movie's ruined for me.

I feel guilty because a guy died and all I can think of is now I can't watch a movie because I'll just be thinking about how the guy killed himself. Plus, maybe if I knew more about him apart from, "That guy from The Mask, he wouldn't have felt the need to kill himself. You can never really be sure of the motives people have for killing themselves, but you have to wonder if it's because they were sort-of famous but never really made it big. And it's sad, because were things really that bad? Wikipedia actually has a whole category of actors who committed suicide, and, weirdly enough, a sub-category of porn stars who committed suicide.

Just the day before, the Metro had a picture of Michael Keaton as Beetlejuice, at the top of the entertainment page, next to a few lines about that night's performance by Brad Delp's Beatles cover band, Beatle Juice. He was supposed to perform that night, but died before the show. Of course at the time, it was a mystery. He'd been heading Beatle Juice for years, he had a fiancee that he was going to marry this summer and even a new Boston tour and album coming up. The guy was allegedly a health nut and didn't even drink. In fact, I actually learned the word teetotaler from his obituary and having to go look it up. So the idea that someone like that could just drop dead was somewhat unnerving. When the news came in that he'd died of asphyxiation by locking himself in the bathroom with gas grills, well that made even less sense. I wonder why he couldn't see all he had to live for?

8. Which brings us to number eight. Last winter, the looming deadline set forth by John T's prickly blonde tormentor, Ms. Smith, nearly tore our little office apart. The air grew thick and tempers grew short. Shouting matches became more frequent, as did longer hours, and Ms. Smith's own pilgrimages to our office. And each time she blackened our door, she likewise blackened our spirits. Blackened to the pitch of her black, black heart.

I was lucky enough not to deal directly with her, my own experience with her came the previous year when I was designing a schoolbook catalog for her. It was for Oklahoma teachers and featured several images contained within the outline of Oklahoma. She didn't like the way it fit on the page; it wasn't filling the space like the New York cover did. Her solution was to stretch out Oklahoma so it looks like a pot instead of a pan. I did what she said because she's the boss, but this thing was going to teachers. I think they might notice that their state is shaped wrong.

Anyway, with this project as with most of her work, John T and Joe managed the bulk of it. But the effects were felt just the same and I got the overflow of all the other jobs that would have went to them if they weren't working on this huge project. Everyone was one edge at threats of quitting were not uncommon. I was held in the unwinnable situation of either going home at five and getting dirty looks from those left behind, or staying late and suffering the wrath of Michele, who insisted family comes first, especially when we don't even get paid overtime. I was the only one with an eight year old at home. On night Joe huffed that he worked plenty of late nights when his children were young. yeah, guess what, he also got divorced, so he's not quite the model to strive for. No matter what I did, someone was going to be mad at me, I just had to decide who I wanted to piss off on any given day. Money was tight, tensions were high, and wispy Ms. Smith, at the center of it all, didn't even have the common courtesy to eat the bowl of fruit my boss laid on the table for her. She was a vegan, but not the granola, hairy armpits type. She was very conservative, and actually stated that she didn't like animals. Apparently her disdain for all creatures great and small may have been so potent that she didn't even want animals anywhere near her body, including on her plate. But she wore leather, so it's more likely that she didn't eat any solid foods in general.

We got a brief but welcome break from her when passed out, in a grocery store of all places, and was taken to the hospital for dehydration and exhaustion. But she checked herself out a few days later and, while not quite at the velocity as before, was back to her charming old self.

During those tumultuous months, the strangest thing happened. Ms. Smith had Joe running ragged. Some days she'd actually be in his office with him all day, hovering over his desk and monitoring everything he did. One day she caught him working on a file for another client and she walked into our boss's office to say he "wasn't focused." While her scathing comments in the margins of her edits were usually directed at John T, her purest vitriol was reserved for Joe. Oddly enough, Joe was her favorite person here. In her eyes, Joe was the only one who could do anything right, and the rest of us were stumbling idiots trying not to choke on our own drool. So her nastiness towards Joe could have been a form of "tough love". She wanted Joe to make all the edits to the brochure, even though he was extremely busy and they were just text edits that a monkey could do. If anyone else worked on her project, she was not to know about it. As the weeks went on, Joe became less irritating, loud and stupid, and almost sympathetic. Maybe it was because he no longer had time to be irritating, loud and stupid trying to appease Ms. Smith's every tyrannical whim, but I started to feel bad for Joe. The poor guy. That's the power Ms. Smith yields.

I drew a picture of her, which was actually just the Grinch, hunched over with a sack slumped over her back, and added some blonde hair under the cap and replaced the Grinch's Santa coat with the black-and-white-horizontal-striped, knee-length coat she often wore to the office, that made her look like a Dr. Seuss character anyway. I'd planned on writing this post much earlier than now, but I lost the Grinch picture I wanted to go with it and like so many others, I never got around to writing it.

The original due date for her project was just before Thanksgiving, but it was pushed back to December 22. She continued to make edits, seemingly for the sake of making them. One night after we sent her a round, she said she'd read through it and send us the edits in the morning. This is what we expected would be the final round, and she's already anticipating another round of edits before she even reads what was sent. All of us were in the office the Friday night before Christmas Eve, even our boss. Ms. Smith was off-site, faxing and emailing edits as fast as we were sending her revisions. Or rather, John T was doing that, having come in early that morning and staying well past eleven PM. My part was to collect the files that had been approved and burn them onto DVDs. We finished after ten, and went home for a week of relaxation, with the nightmare finally behind us.

But no. Ms. Smith was not happy. Like a blonde, designer-bag wearing Scrooge, she expected at least some contingent of our company to be diligently working the next morning, a Saturday, and Christmas Eve no less, even though the files were sent off to her company. Which was the initial plan all along, by the way. The files were supposed to be in their hands regardless of the status and they would make any additional edits themselves. So she wrote a nasty letter to my employer, and there was a bit of a falling out.

We hadn't heard from her or her company in months, and as expected, without her to draw sympathy to Joe, he's back to his old annoying self. He may even be more annoying now. She did contact my boss a few months ago and all but apologized for what is commonly referred to as "throwing us under the bus." So it was several months after the fact. Better late than never, right? Cut to last Thursday. My boss breaks the news that Ms. Smith was found dead in her house. She was 33, like Jesus. But unlike Jesus, she was a horrible bitch. Everyone's saying how, deep down, she was a good person and they feel bad. I ALWAYS feel bad when someone dies, whether I knew them or not, regardless of who they were. But I feel no sorrow for Ms. Smith. I feel terrible for her family, and I feel bad that I don't feel bad, but she was just an awful person and I'm sure she was somehow responsible for her own death.

I think she may have killed herself. For each of the past five years, she's held a different job at a different company, burning bridges everywhere she went. Prior to her most recent job, she was fired from a major publishing company. Her story, of course, was that she quit. And while that is technically true, she just beat them to the punch. If she hadn't had her next job lined up, she would have been shown the door. Her entire life revolved around her work. She stayed in her office well past midnight, micromanaged everything to the last excruciating detail. If anything you could say that she had a passion and dedication to her work, which could be seen as admirable, but look where it got her. That night we all stayed late before Christmas, my boss told us stories, possibly rumors, about Ms. Smith. He said during meetings sometimes she would go into the bathroom and come back out with red, watery eyes. Sometimes she'd just break down and cry. It's clear that she was not very happy, so it wouldn't be a shock if she killed herself.

Even if it wasn't intentional, she could have literally worked herself to death. The schedule she kept wasn't given to her by her superiors, it was self-imposed. For some reason she was trying to prove something to herself, as if sleep was a weakness. Her fainting scene in the rice cake isle was a huge red flag. If she'd heeded her doctor's warnings and lightened her schedule a bit, maybe she'd still be here to torment us next Christmas. Instead she joked about it, and although her parents gave her a curfew and took away her Blackberry to keep anything like that from happening again, she didn't let it stop her. It's very likely that her heart just stopped, especially since they're saying that she died of natural causes. I'd like to say again that it doesn't matter what I thought of her, but my heart goes out to her family. I heard that her father discovered her body. That is truly tragic.

If sleeping was a sign of weakness to her, then surely eating was raising the white flag. While not completely skeletal, she was very thin and more people have seen Bigfoot than have seen Ms. Smith with food in her mouth. She could have very well been anorexic, and that's what killed her.

There were also whispers that Ms. Smith, who never smoked or touched alcohol in her life (hey, I get to say teetotaler twice in the same post) was secretly a coke fiend. I don't know how much I believe that, but it explains an awful lot if she was.

Whatever the reason, she's dead now. The wake was last night, and Joe said he was going to go, because for whatever reason she seemed to like him. This morning I asked him if it was an open casket and he said it was. John M asked how she looked. Joe told him she looked a little fuller. When he clomped away, Amy called me over to her desk and asked if John T told me to ask that. I told her he didn't and wasn't really sure why she'd even ask that. Are you ready for this one? Apparently, John T did go last night, and Ms. Smith was cremated. Joe! Why? Why does that guy have to lie about everything?! So now we all know that he's blatantly lying about going to the wake last night, but no one's let him in on it yet. Of all the lies he's been caught in, this might be the best.

Labels: death, Joe, list, work

posted by John at 4:00 PM

Despite years of research and billions of dollars in government grants, scientists are still baffled by Joe's uncanny ability to work an old TV show called Captain Nice, into a conversation. Upon mentioning Captain Nice, he will offer a nugget like, "It starred Mr. Feeny", before switching the subject to another obscure short-lived TV series, Mr. Terrific. Perhaps most amazingly, every time this nostalgia bug bites him, he has absolutely no recollection of any of the previous times he's mentioned the same thing, virtually word for word, yet he can remember that the Cap'n's secret identity was Carter Nash.

Since 2001, when we both started working here, he's brought up Captain Nice and Mr. Terrific at least once a year. Most times he's testing John T. on his memory of old TV shows. Today, roughly the sixth he brought it up in as many years, he brought up Captain Nice because he wants to find the series on DVD. And just to keep the pattern going, he said he'd also like to find Mr. Terrific. The last time he asked John T. if he remembered them, I actually called him out on it, telling him that even though they were on before I was born and I'd never seen an episode, I felt like I knew all about them because this was like the fifth time he'd talked about them. He looked surprised.

I know (but I wish I didn't) they debuted on rival networks on the same night one right after the other, and they both aired their last episode on the same night seven months later. And for some reason, I know that while they both lasted only one season, Captain Nice is generally regarded as the better of the two. And bonus points for his costume, which may or may not have been the basis for USA Network's old b-movie host Commander USA. Probably not, though.

Anyway, This time Joe was in T's office and I was standing in the doorway. Once again, after saying he wanted to find the DVDs, Joe asked if he remembered Mr. Terrific. Then he looked at me and said, "You wouldn't remember, you're too young." Pretty much the exact same thing he said last time. And the time before. Without a trace of evidence that he remembered this conversation from any of the previous times we've had it. At least the first time I legitimately hadn't ever heard of either Captain Nice or Mr. Terrific. Now I feel like I'm they're friggin' biographers.

Incidentally, there are inexplicably more than a few pages out there dedicated to the defunct duo. Study them. Learn them. Try not to giggle like a schoolgirl when one of the pages incorrectly refers to William Daniels, voice of TV's KITT, appearing in a show called Boy Meets Boy. Use this information well. If you ever meet Joe in a dark alley and he starts waxing nostalgic for the caped exploits of Carter Nash and Stanley Beamish, and you're out of pepper spray, overwhelm him with your encyclopedic knowledge until he goes away. At least until next year.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 5:00 PM

I'm just going to come out and say it. I like chai. And green tea. And flavored coffee. I used to get embarrassed ordering anything that wasn't plain coffee, until I heard Joe call french vanilla a "fruity drink" and realized that's just stupid. Funny how you don't really notice that something is dumb until you hear Joe say it.

There's no end to the weird flavors they keep coming up with for coffee and tea, but has anyone ever thought of combining coffee and tea? Imagine coffee-flavored tea, or tea-flavored coffee. Cofftea. Or Teaffee. Why am I not working on developing this right now? It's a goldmine. Goldmine, I say!

Crap. Apparently several hundred people beat me to it. Aw, my millions. Oh well. At least the Spare Change Guy is doing alright for himself... br>

Panhandler arrested three times in one week
By Danielle Ameden/Daily News Correspondent
Tuesday, January 02, 2007

FRAMINGHAM - "Spare Change Guy" is making a name for himself.

Trying to add a little jingle to his pockets, John Bubier was arrested for panhandling Sunday, just four days after he was nabbed for pulling the same stunt twice in one day.

"He's kind of crusty," said police spokesman Lt. Paul Shastany. "He doesn't take well to being told enough is enough."

Bubier, 53, of 12 Lexington St., apt. 24, was charged with disorderly conduct on a person and resisting arrest. Shastany said the man was soliciting spare change from drivers downtown before his arrest at 2:23 p.m.

"He was walking in the traffic again at the intersection of (routes) 135 and 126, stopping cars and asking for money - panhandling," Shastany said. "When the officers arrived, they caught him doing that."

"The cars would slow down because there's a pedestrian in the road and, obviously, they don't want to strike him," he said. "He goes to the driver's door or windows and asks for money."

When police tried to take Bubier into custody, he would not cooperate. "He was kind of obstinate," Shastany said.

He said Bubier always has the same trick up his sleeve, and has even pulled his shenanigans on camera.

"He's always a fixture on Beacon Hill at (the) Fox News studio," Shastany said. "When V.B. (Goudie) the reporter does his commentary, this guy is frequently seen in the background and interviewed at times."

"That's Spare Change Guy," he said. "He's infamous ... a pain in the neck."

On Wednesday, Bubier was arrested at 11:46 a.m. on a charge for disorderly conduct, released on personal recognizance, and then arrested again at 2:45 p.m. for the same thing, police said.

For his latest charges, Bubier was scheduled to be arraigned today in Framingham District Court.

Check out the link to this story for a picture of SCG.

See? Sure, he got arrested, but he's got an apartment. Things are looking up.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 8:00 AM

As Joe would inexplicably blurt out every couple of hours, "Sherman, set the WABAC Machine to the nine-teen-fifties." Yup, he actually says that, and in true Joe fashion, it's always "the 1950's". Didn't that show come out in the 60's? (1959, actually.) In it's entire 90-plus episode run, I don't think they ever did an episode where they went back in time 10 years. It was always like the old west or ancient Egypt or something. Anyway, instead of the '50's, let's go back about three weeks.

Ryan had just come home from China, and had a little over a week of downtime before he and the rest of my family left for Bermuda. We went to see the Pirates of the Caribbean sequel that weekend. Glenn didn't go, because he went in town to see it dressed as a pirate the night it opened. You'd think a bunch of teenagers dressed like pirates would be the strangest ones in the theater, but according to Glenn there was some drunk lady there that threw up on herself twice during the movie. So I guess she gets the prize.

When we got back, Glenn said that Bunny called to say my Uncle Dan had died. That was all that was said about it; he lived in Texas, so we wouldn't be going to the funeral. Not that I'm a funeral junkie or anything, I just...I don't know. It was weird that no one really talked about him after that, like isn't somebody going to say anything?

He was actually my dad's uncle, his mother's brother to be precise, just like my Aunt Marion was her sister, but it just wasn't worth the effort to add "great-" every time you mentioned them. "Uncle Dan" worked just fine. Some people called him "Dana," but as I've mentioned before, I just can't pull off nicknames. I hadn't seen Uncle Dan in years, since we last visited him in Florida. I think it was in '99. He had a really nice house down there, with a screened-in pool and hot tub that was accessible to nearly every room in the house. And the interior doors slid into the wall instead of swinging in or out. And he had a room filled with videos, lining every shelf, three rows deep. He recorded everything and kept an organized list on his computer. He had all these tapes of A&E's Biography, which he never actually watched. The last time we were there we watched Blazing Saddles and there was a huge storm outside. At one point, we were actually in the pool, watching outside as enormous bolts of lightning struck all over the place. If I ever figure out how to upload video onto this thing, I'm going to post that.

He always wanted people to come visit, but he was closer to the Gulf coast of Florida, away from all the attractions. There was a Greek fishing village near his house, that was about it. When we did come to visit, he always tried to convince us to stay longer. My dad's sister and my cousins live in Boca Raton, closer to Disney and Universal and all that, so we usually stayed with them for the majority of the trips. I remember the car ride from their house to his, apparently there's a long stretch of Florida that's nothing but cow pastures.

I didn't even know he moved to Texas until a few months ago. And honestly, when I heard he died I could even remember if his wife was still alive or if she'd only died in a dream. That's an awful feeling, because I really couldn't tell if it was real or imagined. People always die in my dreams, especially Jose. He always gets shot; not by anyone we know, just a random act of violence that takes a friend away. Jeez, my dreams suck. The saddest dream that I keep having takes place at 'Olly's house during a party. My grandfather is sitting in his chair in the den, and gets up to join the others in the dining room, but someone tells him that he can't come because he's dead, and he looks really dejected and fades away. I really hate that dream.

I found an obituary for Uncle Dan, which indeed confirms that Aunt Barbara, his wife of 59 years, is still with us. It mentions his 20-year career in the Army, serving tours in Italy and Korea before retiring as a Chief Warrant Officer in 1964. It highlights his work at M.I.T, and Draper Labs, working with scientists and engineers designing systems for the Apollo and Space Shuttle programs. But it doesn't say anything about the big Labor Day party he'd have every year when he lived in Walpole. I think it was Labor Day; I was just a kid. But we'd go there once a year and he'd cook lobsters by the pool and he had a shuffle board which was really cool. There was a changing room inside the garage, which was actually more like a carport, I think. Upstairs, he had a computer with a 16 color display, which to me was amazing. My computer at home could only display four colors at a time, (black/white/cyan/magenta, or black/green/red/yellow, depending on the program) which I thought was pointless. One of my friends at the time had a black and white Macintosh SE/30, and I thought it was better to have just black and white then to have four measly colors. It looked cleaner.

The party at Uncle Dan's house always seemed like a big deal. There was always family members I'd never heard of there, and they'd come from all over the country. I remember one time being really embarrassed after running up to a woman who I only saw from the back that I thought was my Mom. My cousins would come in from Texas. Again, they're really my dad's cousins, but they're closer to my age. Wait, that's not right. Their parents would be my dad's cousins, right? So second cousins? Well, whatever. I guess that would make them Uncle Dan's grandchildren. They were always cool. The youngest, Danielle is a year older than me, and after not seeing her in years, she was one actually of the first people that found me on MySpace. (Although I didn't open her email right away, because I was sort of traumatized by the name.) The last party was for his retirement in 1992. First we went to Draper Labs, and I got a whole bunch of stuff to color and a couple of Draper Labs keychains. After that, he and Barbara moved to Florida, maybe expecting to continue having big parties, but my family and Nanna and Bunny hardly ever went down there. Maybe that woman who wasn't my mom went, but the lobster-by-the-pool parties stopped when they moved away.

Anyway, I just wanted to share a bit about Uncle Dan with you. I feel really bad for Aunt Barbara for her loss, and also for thinking she was dead.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the family...

My mom asked Michele and I if we wanted to go to the big family reunion in Lexington. It was going to be held that Saturday, the day before they left for the cruise. I always liked going, but at the same time felt out of place, and self-conscious about always showing up alone. The older you are when you go stag to these things, the more the whispers and rumors start churning. But now, somehow, I've finally managed to get a girl to settle for me, and at last I could walk into the reunion with pride!

But we didn't go. My grandmother was going, and I hadn't spoken to her since November when she and my mom got into a yelling match in the car which resulted in Michelle, Brianna and me unceremoniously packing up our clothes and moving in with my parents. 'Olly said some mean things about Michele, said there was always clothes all over the guest room (remember, we got half a closet to store clothes for three people; there were two bureaus in the room filled with her stuff that we kept asking if we could use) and that she didn't like strangers living in her house. Michele breaks down in tears every time this is brought up, and I've been too uncomfortable to even look and 'Olly since then. I know it's not her, it's what's happening to her. This isn't the same thing as Mel Gibson's tirade against the Jews. Her mind just keeps slipping away. And it's getting worse.

So we stayed home, although Brianna was determined to go, so she went with my mom. My Uncle Mike was in town from California for the reunion, and just before my family left for Bermuda, he, my mom, and my Uncle Jay had a meeting with 'Olly to give her the option of either hiring a live-in caretaker or going to a retirement home. Apparently, they'd already hired someone to come in and do her laundry so she doesn't have to go up and down the cellar stairs, but she's been re-doing the laundry after they leave.

I don't know what they decided, but it's not really relevant now. Friday night, two days before my parents were set to come back, Jay called the house and said that my grandmother was in the hospital. I don't know if you're aware of this, but there's a nation-freaking-wide heat wave going on right now. And 'Olly never drinks water, or anything at all, really, and she was out in the hot yard all day. That evening she called Jay to say that she couldn't get out of her chair. To save you the trouble of reading an extra five paragraphs, after a chain of events he now lives in the house between my parents' and 'Olly's, so he was able to get to her quickly. Except, when he got to the door, the storm door was locked. We keep telling her not to lock it for this exact reason. He got in by breaking a window in the basement or the garage; I'm not sure which, because I haven't been over there to see it. When he found her, she was crawling on the floor, so he called for an ambulance and then called us to let us know. He said she seemed fine, probably just dehydrated, so there was no reason to call my mom while she was still on her trip. He and his family were going away the next day, and asked if I could go visit her at the hospital some time on Saturday.

This was it. I didn't see her on Christmas or Easter, but I went in Saturday with Brianna to see how she was doing. Michele stayed in the car. When I got to the room her eyes were closed, but she opened them when she heard us come in. Which is to say, when we were standing right next to her. She was so happy to us and asked where my "wife" is. She always calls Michele my wife. She couldn't remember Michele's name, and said she has such a hard time remembering anything anymore. I said Michele was waiting in the car. Then 'Olly said she liked Michele and wanted to tell her she was sorry. Sorry for what, she didn't say. But I know it made me feel a lot better. I've never blamed her for what's happening in her head, but what got me mad was she keeps denying saying things. Why couldn't she just admit that she didn't remember? In the hospital with tubes in her arms she broke down and said she's losing her memory, in that same dejected tone my grandfather has in those dreams. It must be a hell of a thing to go through. Before we left, she said to ask Michele to come next time.

When my parents came home, we went to back up to the hospital to see her again, but Michele still didn't go. She said that she didn't like the way 'Olly always spoke poorly of my family, especially my mom. My mom always took her shopping and went over to fix her TV whenever she accidently changed the channel from "3" to "2," yet she always went on and on about how lucky she was to have Betty (my uncle's wife wife.) The rift is really bothering me because I know she's only got so much time left, and I have a whole lifetime of wonderful memories of her and Michele only has these last few months. It's not fair that she's going to go on the rest of her life thinking of my grandmother as only that person. When Michele first moved here, she kept saying what a nice person my grandmother was. Now she doesn't want to have anything to do with her. It's sort of killing me inside. I wish she could have met her when my grandfather was alive. I wish she could have my memories.

When Jay called, he said that they'll be moving her to a rehab place short-term, then to a home. She didn't know any of that when I saw her and she kept telling Brianna that she'd be back home in a couple of days to see her swimming in the pool. My mom and her brothers decided to let the doctor tell her that she wasn't going home. She got out of the hospital yesterday and was brought to the rehab place. In the meantime, we don't really know what's going to happen with her house. At first, it was just going to stay empty, then my uncle said something about renting it out. My mom asked if it was too late for us to back out of the town house, but we've already paid the last month's rent and Michele has already said she wants nothing to do with that house. I don't know what's going to happen, but it will be really weird if complete strangers move in there because it's so connected to the family; literally and emotionally. There's a path in the woods that connect our yards and I can't imagine ever closing it off.

On the bright side, we're finally moving a week from Friday! The place is really nice, bigger then the apartment in Quincy, and we never would have got it if all this other stuff hadn't happened first. Life has a weird way or working itself out.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 7:05 PM

When the Bossman rations out the weekly wages, sometimes I wonder if he truly knows the dedication to the craft that emanates from the very souls of his ever-diligent employees. (The number printed on the rightmost corner of the check would suggest a resounding "No.") Yet so dedicated are we, so devoted to keeping our minds limber, that we spend what lesser men would consider an obscene amount of time playing online Scrabble. What better way to keep your mind fresh and wary of common misspellings--a veritable career-ender in the fast-paced world of typesetting--then to partake in a friendly four-player intra-office game of Scrabble? But the benefits don't end there. No, there's also the healthy spirit of competition and valuable life lessons associated with the game. One of those lessons I'd like to share with you today.

First of all, the practice of playing Scrabble as a work enhancement tool started back at the old office with an actual flesh-and-blood Scrabble board. Okay, not flesh and blood, but it was a tangible enitity, bound to this Earth the way our current virtual game is not. In those days, John T (beloved internet wordsmith Mr. Schprock) ruled the Scrabble world with an iron fist, and he notched a hefty number of wins with little opposition. He'd drop Bingos (that's a word that uses all seven tiles and nets you an extra 50 points if you didn't know) at a clip of at least one a game, earining him the name "Johnny Bingo." Second place, a very distant second place, belonged to Joe, who took it upon himself to say, "John-nay...John-nay Bingo!" several times a day as only he can.

As for us stragglers, were lucky to win a game or two here and there, as if by some miracle.

But those days are gone. With online Scrabble, the nagging guilt one felt while hovering over the board to take a turn, knowing full well that the boss could walk by at any minute, has been replaced by the almost cocky sensation caused by slyly hiding the game window when the boss comes around. Granted, these games are useful exercises for those in our profession, but employers don't always see it that way. So with the newfound freedom of taking as long as I want to take my turn, rather than the hurried frantic pace of the old games, I've found myself winning more.

In fact, just last week, I was tied with John T for number of wins, seven, until he mounted a comeback of sorts and won several games in a row. I hadn't won again until Friday, which brought my record to eight versus his eleven. Last week I was poised to supplant John T and here I find myself needing a string of wins to even tie him again. We started a new game, and as the winner of the previous game, I went first. I immediately went on the offensive (or as much so as you can while playing Scrabble) and played "BERTH," placing the "H" on the double-letter score. 28 points. Do your worst, T.

BERTHING. Triple-word score. 36 points.

Dammit.

That was as close to me as he came, though. Fortune shined on me this morning, lining my rack with high-scoring, easily-playable letters. But it takes more than good letters. It takes skill, my friend. During the next few turns I walked away with the lead, playing "AX" and "NIX" for 51 points one round, and "HALTS" and "SOCKS" for 46 the next. When the virtual tile bag ran empty, I held onto an impressive lead with 202 points. John T was in second place, 61 points behind me with all the high-scoring letters already boarded. What's more, I had a Bingo in my rack in the form of "HEADMEN." There was no open spaces on the board large enough to accommodate such a word, but at this point it was all a formality. A walk-off Bingo would have been nice, but it was just as well to get another 19 points and go out on my next turn. The extra 19 put me at 221 to T's 141.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright. The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout. But there is no joy in Mudville-- John T played "VAPOURS" and "SCUD" for a total of 93 points. That's right, he got a walk-off Bingo, playing all of his letters and collecting the remaining ones in our sorry little racks. 113 points for that turn in all, skyrocketing his final score to 254 and dropping mine to 213. Both words were subsequently checked in the official Scrabble dictionary and found to be perfectly acceptable, and my surefire win was rendered a meaningless also-ran. I'm not sure how long I sat here, dumbfounded look on my face, as John T smugly announced that he was adding another win to his column. Johnny Bingo rides again.

And so, the life lesson that I hope you take away from this cautionary tale, is that John T stinks.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 5:00 PM

Somehow, a whole week went by and no fewer than three posts that I started to write wound up sitting around in draft mode limbo. Maybe one day I'll actually finish them all and post thirty-seven things at once. Why so many, you ask? Well, I'm a perfectionist, but I'm not very good at it. I don't like putting something up here for all to see unless it's exactly how I want it, but sometimes I don't actually know exactly how I want it. Of course now, having admitted that, you can all look back at some of the stuff that I've written and think, "So this is what passes muster for him, huh? Yikes." And to that I say, "Yeah, well...shut up."

It doesn't help that every three minutes, Joe clomps into the room, says something asinine like "Crikey, she's a beaut" and stares at my computer screen, forcing me to quickly hide the window and imagine traveling back in time to castrate his grandfather. (FYI: He's done it three times already since I started this post.)

So here we are at Friday again, and there hasn't been an update since last week. Boy, this week just flew by, huh?

Anyway, today I found myself on another bagel quest. I've got to stop eating those things. Not for any health reasons; it just seems like I can never have an uneventful trip to the bagel place.

I went to the bank first, to see if my ATM card worked yet. I haven't tried to use it since last Friday, when I slid it into the machine only to be informed that it has inexplicably been deactivated. I tried it at another branch and got the same result. I couldn't access my money. Well that's just ducky.

Being an expert procrastinator, I didn't get around to calling the bank until yesterday afternoon, when I checked the seven voicemails on my cell phone, some of which were made in December and two of which where from my bank. So I called the 800 number. I'm sure you're all familiar with the tradition of waiting at least fifteen minutes while a looped recording tells you how important your call is to them. Well, this particular recording had a loud, abrupt noise at the begining, like someone picking up a handset, and it repeated about every twelve seconds. And every twelve seconds, it caught me off guard.

The same thing happened one time when I was at Disney World. For whatever reason, all the rides where breaking down that day. We waited for hours in front of the Pirates of the Caribbean while they were doing some unspecified repairs. The family in front of us finally gave up and stepped out of line, about a minute before they opened the doors and announced the ride was back up and running. I had told my mom that I would conquer my fear of roller coasters by riding Big Thunder Mountain, and was relieved when that, too, was closed.

The Haunted Mansion, however, didn't break down until after we were on it. They tried to mask the technical difficulties by having a looped recording piped into the loudspeaker: "Playful spooks and happy haunts have interrupted our tour. Please remain seated in you DOOM BUGGY. We will proceed in just a moment." The spot on the ride where my car was stuck was just at the entrance of the cemetery, and even though the cars where stopped in their tracks, the animitronics continued to run as usual. So every couple of minutes a hydraulic skeleton would spring up from behind a gravestone, and every single time, despite knowing exactly what was going to happen and when, I jumped. Just like when I heard that stupid noise on the phone.

I finally spoke with someone and after giving them my information, they said that my card would be reactivated in half an hour. But they never said why it was deactivated in the first place.

This morning I wanted to see if my card worked yet, so I decided to go get some breakfast. I didn't want to use my card at Au Bon Pain, because if it was still deactivated, that would have been embarrassing. So I went across the street to the bank. Lo and behold, the card worked! I took out $20 and crossed the street again to get a bagel. There was a homeless guy begging near the crosswalk, and seeing as it was cold and rainy, and I'm a damn fine guy, I reached into my pocket, pulled out few quarters and a couple of dimes and gave it to him. Just a few feet away, standing in front of Au Bon Pain was another homeless guy, except this one was black whereas the other was white. He saw me give to the other guy, so I had to give him something to or I'd look like a racist bastard. I didn't have any change left, so I told him I'd give him something on the way out. My order came to $1.96. So I gave the guy four cents. He was probably thinking "Thanks...you racist bastard."

Actually, I guess that wasn't particularly eventful, but I know that when Michele reads this, she's going to say "Stop giving money to people!"

*Holy Crap It's Friday

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 10:00 AM

As if I needed another reason to dump a sack of scorpions in Joe's bed.

Whenever we get unsolicited sales calls at work, we put them on hold for a few minutes, then tell them whoever they're looking for stepped away from their desk. That's what we're supposed to do, anyway.

Last week, Joe said "Halo Direct" is on the line for me. I'd never heard of Halo Direct, but I knew they were either trying to sell me an Xbox or ask me if I've accepted the Lord Jesus Christ into my life. So I took the call, found out it was actually Hello Direct and they sell wireless headsets for phones. I told the guy that the person in charge of making those decisions is away, asked if he wanted to leave a messege, you know, the usual stuff. When I got off the phone, I told Joe that it was a sales call, and next time, just blow him off.

"Sorry. I thought it was a collection agency," he whispered. Jackass.

A few days later, Joe calls me again and says there's an Andrew [Last name begrudgingly withheld] on the phone for me. Again, I've never heard of this guy, but I picked up the phone, and before I can say anything, this guy starts spewing his rehearsed Hello Direct sales pitch. God damn it, Joe. What's worse, is that our entire conversation was echoing loudly back into my ear. I'm not sure what was causing it, but I hope for his sake it wasn't that hands-free thingamagic he was undoubtedly wearing.

I told him we weren't interested, but he insisted that it was a free trial with no obligations. I told him again, adding that we're a small company and don't really need anything like that. But he kept pushing, and the feedback in my ear was getting worse. I could have hung up at any time. I should have. But I couldn't. I guess I should add here that I absolutely HATE the phone. I get really nervous and uncomfortable. I only use my phone when I have to. I say what I need to say, and then hang up. I was stuck on the phone with this guy, and I just wanted him to stop talking, so I said "fine." No big deal, right? I started to give him the company's address, when he interrupted, "Now, I have your address as [my home address], is that correct?"

Holy crap! How'd this guy get my home address? Well, now there was no way I could hang up on him, he knows were I live. I don't want to come home to a burnt-out shell one day, with this Andrew guy standing in the driveway, smelling of gasoline.

Let's see you hang up on me now!

So now I've got this stupid headset coming to my house. And if I don't send it back in thirty days, I've got to pay $293. God damn it, Joe.

"Sorry. It sounded like he knew you."

If discovering that you're getting a $293 hands free headset from Hello Direct shipped directly to your house had a polar opposite, it would have to be discovering the 69 cent miracle in a can that is Hello Boss.


I bought a can last weekend when Michele took me to Kam Man Food, the Asian marketplace in Quincy. Dispite living in Quincy for over a year, we never really went there, except when her mom came to visit. The first night we drove by, part of the "K" wasn't lit, so Michele looked up at the sign and said "I Am Man Food?"

Anyway, they have all kinds of cool weird-looking Asian fruits and vegetables that I'd never heard of. Most of them were all spikey and imposing, like they were from outer space. But the best part is the candy and drink isles, where you can pick up some Japanese candy and some really cheap Red Bull knock-offs from Thailand. Red Ice comes in a little brown glass bottle, and tastes a little like cough syrup.

Then there's Hello Boss. It's kind of like those little Starbucks drinks they sell for almost two dollars, only they're 69 cents and they have that funny little guy on the can.
Hello, boss!

I also grabbed a few cans of what I'd imagine to be Hello Boss' chief rival, Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown is also a coffee drink in a can, costs the same, and has an eerily similar mascot. I don't know which came first, but someone is clearly ripping somebody else off.



I think I'd prefer vanilla Mr. Brown to the vanilla Starbucks Frappuccino even if I wasn't broke. That stuff's pretty good. As for Mr. Brown versus Hello Boss, I think I've got to go with the Boss Man. Sure, they're both only 69 cents, but Hello Boss is a hefty 11.5 oz., while Mr. Brown is only 8.12. Plus that Mr. Brown looks a little too cocky for his own good.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 7:00 PM

Have you ever got a song stuck in your head, but you don't...hey look, a balloon!






That was weird. Anyway, I've had this song stuck in my head for the past two days, and it's driving me nuts. It's one of those songs that you'd hear when you're in line at a department store, or waiting at the dentist's office. I don't know what it's called, or who sings it; I don't even know the words. But there's this one part that keeps cycling through my brain, right after the woman sings something that ends with "hold you dear," or "happy dear," the backing vocals say something like, "Smells like egg nog."

I know that can't possibly be right, but I have no idea what they're really saying, and all I hear, over and over again, is "Smells like egg nog." Does anyone think they know what song that is, and more importantly, what they're saying? As far as I know, they really are saying "smells like egg nog." Maybe it's a Christmas song. After all, I was amazed when I found out Prince actually was saying "raspberry beret."

In other news, there's been an influx of people saying "Joey Bag O Donuts" around the office recently. Joe's been saying it for a while now, and as usual, for no apparent reason. But now we're all saying it, because, well, it's fun to say. Joey Bag O Donuts.

Joe labels everything. It's gotten a little better since we got the laptops, but he used to have yellow sticky notes all his monitor. BACK UP YOUR WORK AT 4:30. TABLOID PAPER IS IN TRAY 2. REMEMBER TO TAKE YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE PILLS. In his folder on the server, he's created two sub-directories; • Active Jobs and • In-Active Jobs. As a joke, John T. added a third folder, • Fairly Sluggish Jobs. I think it was two days before Joe even noticed.

Yesterday, John T. added a new folder inside • Fairly Sluggish Jobs called "Bag o' Donuts." John M. decided to take it a step further and add some photos of bags of doughnuts. He searched Yahoo for some pictures, and eventually found this:




"This is perfect! Bud has doughnuts!" He said, reading the name of the image to me.

He snuck into John T.'s office to show him his contribution. A few seconds later, I heard bursts of laughter, much more than that stupid picture should have warranted.

"John," John T. said, "this says 'Buddha's Doughnuts!"

It was, in fact, BuddhasDoughnuts.jpg. Here is an excerpt from the website it comes from (about an expedition to the summit of Mt. Everest):

Our fantastic cook, Buddha made and served the most fantastic doughnuts this lunchtime. Everyone enjoyed them immensely. Buddha has done a remarkable job thus far; we all remain strong because of this fine cook. We are all working together, which is so important for success up here....

Bud has doughnuts. I must have laughed for a solid ten minutes after that. Of course, once the laughing stopped, all I could think about was that egg nog song again.

I didn't get much done yesterday.

UPDATE! I found the song! And it doesn't sound anything like "smells like egg nog!" But I still don't know what they're saying. Listen to As I Lay Me Down yourself and let me know what they're saying in the background! Now I'm leaning more towards "Una gato."

YET ANOTHER UPDATE! Okay, it's September 14, why in the blue hell are so many people viewing this page from last month? What's the deal?

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 12:00 PM

I've been working at this graphic design company since January, 2001, when I started as an intern. That summer, a woman who had been there a few years announced she was moving to Connecticut. Two freelancers were hired on until a suitable replacement could be found. One of them was an older woman who the company had used in the past, but ultimately turned out to be a little slow when it came to computers. To her credit, in her day she was the best damn telegraph operator John D. Rockefeller had in his employ. The other freelancer, the one that ended up with the job, was Joe.

Joe seemed to be a perfect fit for the company. He had spent years as production director at his previous company, and had a vast knowledge of the business. And he was pretty friendly, albeit a little on the loud side. But everyone has their quirks.

The fourth line on the phone was designated for the fax, and whenever the phone rang and fourth line lit up, Joe would say "Faxinating!" Sometimes, he'd chase it with "Should I answer it?" You could write it off as just another quirk at first, but after a while, these "quirks" started to multiply exponentially. One day, out of the blue, he announced, "You sir, are a dickhead," to absolutely no one in particular. Just another quirk, I guess. With every utterance, each quirk entered into a chrysalis of "minor irritation," until finally emerging as a beautiful, full-blown annoyance.

Day in, day out, it was the same few phrases. Over and over again.

"Hassan Chop!"

"Are you my special friend?"

"Na na na, na nana na, na na na na nananna na. The Banana Splits. Arhrhrhrahgghg"

The guy was relentless. It was like Chinese water torture. As the one sitting the closest to him, it was only a matter of time before I started to catalog how many times he'd spout his "Joe-isms" a day. It was either that or hit him repeatedly with bricks.

So I posted my grievances on a message board I frequent. Almost immediately, people began to sympathize and share their own office stories. Before long, people all over the world knew about Joe. "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman!" and "Arrurruurrghgh!" popped up all over people's signatures. There was even an "I know Joe" club. Somehow, Joe became a phenomenon. An anti-hero for the working masses. When I started this blog, I incorporated a lot of the Joe stuff, including the Joe-kus, and even more people got in on it.

I have to admit, I feel more than a little guilty about it all. The thing is, he really is a nice guy. He always asks how you're doing, but he does it while standing two centimeters from your face. No regard for personal space. But he genuinely wants to know. And he's always willing to help. If you were trapped in a burning building, Joe would run right in and rescue you without a second thought. But then he'd remind you about it every day until one of you was dead.

"Hey, remember that time I rescued you?"

"Yeah, I almost died. You tend not to forget things like that."

That's Joe. The man who wore sandals to work last week. The man who continues to pronounce the "s" in "Illinois," no matter how many times he's corrected. The man who speaks fake Spanish. Loudly.

Anyway, I was looking back at some of the stuff that I'd written down over the past few years. One of my favorites was when he announced that "Jen and J-Lo" had broken up. And who could forget when he sang Springtime for Hitler all day? Actually, he just said "Springtime...for Hilter...and Ger-man-ee!" for three minutes straight. I don't know if that really counts as singing. Eventually, we realized he was never going to stop saying stupid stuff. We decided to make the most of it by creating a game, Jingo.

Jingo, was basically Bingo. Clandestinely, Jingo sheets where handed out each morning, each with the 25 most-used Joe-isms arranged differently. Throughout the day, we'd listen for Joe to say one of the 25 words or phrases, and the first with five in a row would be the winner. Surprisingly enough, after playing for a week, no one got a Jingo yet. I was always just one away from a Jingo. "C'mon, say Arrghgrhrghr! It's you're signature thing!"

Jingo proved to make working with Joe a little more palatable. But we were still tired with the same old, same old. But...but what if we could somehow get him to at least say new stupid stuff? That's how "the experiment" began.

Like Jingo, it was a game; a contest. The object was to try to coax Joe into working some new sayings into his oeuvre. We each came up with a well-known phrase. John T. chose "Time to make the donuts." John M. went with "L'eggo my Eggo!" Mine was "I'm not going to pay a lot for this muffler," which may sound long, but my logic was that it lent itself perfectly to be followed by his infamous "Arruurrghrgrurggrahh."

John T. kicked things off, by talking about a deadline for a job he was working on, followed by, "Well, I guess it's time to make the donuts." Oh, that sneaky little bugger. After that, we all began sporadically saying our phrases to see how long it would take Joe to mimic them. A day later, Joe said "Let go my Eggo." John M. stood up and cheered, but the ruling on the field was that the actual line is "L'eggo my Eggo". He has to say the correct line for it to count. Likewise, a few days later, he said "Time to make donuts."

It's "Time to make THE donuts!" THE! THE! Geez. I was starting to think no one was ever going to win this thing. He did eventually say it right, but by that time we pretty much stopped caring. Or I did, anyway. And even though John T. got him to say his phrase, he hasn't really said it since then, making the whole experiment a bust. Oh, well. At least we still have Jingo.

Hmm...I wonder if Joe saw this article? Thanks again to janey_13 for the assist.

More about Joe:
The Tao of Joe, The Tao of Joe II, Eminem Knows Joe?, It Looks More Like Aztek to Me, Joe Rides Again, Joe-kus

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 3:00 PM

When I got to work this morning, a co-worker informed me that Joe would be out of the office for the next two days because his cousin died. He got a call after he got home from work last and he had to go to Vermont for the funeral. When asked, he said he didn't know the name of the funeral home; he was going to find out when he got there. I guess he and his cousin were pretty close, since he'd be taking two days off to grieve.

Then, he told me this: last week, Joe told him that he might have to use a couple of vacation days this week to do something with his kids. He said he told Joe that he's using up a lot of vacation days early in the year, especially since he had to borrow two from this year to go to the Army/Navy football game last year. Joe started counting out the days he'd used and that was the last time he mentioned taking any time off for this week. Now, today, he called in and said that his cousin was in a fatal car accident and he had to go to Vermont for two days.

Hmm...two days. The exact same number of days that he'd planned on taking off this week.

I really don't want to believe that he's pretending someone died so he could skip work. I don't. But even Oliver Grendall could see what's going on here.

Last week he found out that he's running low on vacation days. Now he calls and says there's been a death in the family, which falls under personal days so he still has his two vacation days. And the thing that bugs me is that you are allowed to take personal days at any time for no reason. If he wanted those days off, why not just take them off? Why make up some story? There's no point. He could have at least called in sick. Everybody does that. It may not be entirely truthful, but it's considerably less evil than pretending someone died.

Another thing that's highly suspect is the use of the word "cousin." Joe has a friend named Skippy. And another named Frodo. I know this because he always uses names when talking about his friends or family. But he didn't mention his cousin's name. In fact, he'd never mentioned his cousin at all before now. He's talked at great length about other relatives, but this is the first anyone's heard of the dearly departed.

I suppose we could give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he did have plans with his son, but they had to be put aside due to this tragedy. And maybe the pain is still too deep for him to say their name right now. After all, If it were anyone else, I don't think anyone would think twice about believing them. But Joe has been known to lie for the sake of lying.

I guess part of it is his larger-than-life persona. In Joe's world, he's the ultimate workaholic. Mention to him that you stayed at work late, and he'll inform you that your feat is nothing compared to his mighty work ethic. Why, he used to work 80 hour weeks. Back at his old job.

One of my co-workers was talking about a time he was so busy at work that he didn't have a day off in three months.

"That's nothing." Joe says. "I once went three years." They even had his eyelids removed to keep him from wasting precious hours on sleep.

Sometimes our workload can get a little hefty. For all of us. When there's only four employees the work can pile up pretty fast. But that Joe, he must be working harder then the rest of us, and he let's it be known by letting out a frustrated sigh several times an hour and repeatedly dropping the F-bomb. To really drive the point home that he's just flooded with work, he'll say "Shoot me now and get it over with." You know, because he just has so much work to do and the clients are so difficult to work with.

I don't know when he used to work 80 hour weeks, but now he leaves every day at ten minutes to five. I can't imagine where he got his energy from back then, because he also used to ride his bike for miles upon miles. I'll bet he still would, too, but every time one of us--who happens to be an avid biker--invites him to go moutain biking, he always as some kind of family emergency to address.

It is rather strange that someone of this Herculean will to get the job done always leaves early. Even moreso concidering he frequently says "I'll be here tonight with my sleeping bag and a flashlight." Yes, he actually says that. And yes, it is stupid to say you'll bring a flashlight, because if you were staying late at night, you'd just leave the studio lights on. By the way, one of the other guys used to live far away from the city and has indeed stayed the night on several occassions. Joe has never actually brought in his sleeping bag.

One time at our old office, Joe had to leave work early, because a relative of his wife was having an operation, but he said that he'd probably come back later at night. We all wanted to know if he really was going to come back, so cyclist guy taped a large piece of paper to Joe's monitor. If Joe was going to do work, he'd obviously have to take the paper off his screen.

The other guy got work early the next morning and saw the paper still taped to Joe's screen. he asked Joe if he came back that night.

"Yeah, I stayed for a couple hours. I was f*cking tired!"

Even though he was caught in a lie, we didn't tell him about the little test. We just all laughed about it. But eventually it stops being funny because you start to wonder if this guy thinks he's smarter than us because he can get away with this stuff, that he can insult our intelligence that way. But that's our Joe. And the thing is, maybe he really is at a funeral right now. Who knows? He's lied so many times now that no one can tell when he's speaking the truth. On the other hand, yes, of course he's lying.

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 12:00 PM

Some people just need to be beat with a trout. People who think the word "mine" has two syllables, for example. People like a certain co-worker of mine, who also like to pronounce kindergarten as "kindy-garden". He treats the English language like it's Robin Givens and he's Mike Tyson. Conversations with Joe quickly turn into an Abbott and Costello routine.

"Is this yours or mi-yan?"

It's mine.

"Oh, okay. Here you go."

No, it's not mine. It's yours.

"But you just said it wasn't mi-yan."

It's MINE, you freaking clod!

"Then take it."

No, it's yours.

"So it is mi-yan?"

I'LL KILL YOU!!

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 8:00 AM

First off, I should be in a brand new office right now. I should be sitting in a sun-drenched room in front of a desk I put together myself. Best of all, Joe would have been in another room.

Everything was set in place. My employers sold our office, which consists of two condos they've occupied for over 20 years, and bought a 4-floor place on a secluded street to escape the hassels of condo life and the monthly fire-alarm tests and plumbing problems that go with it.

We printed up postcards to send to all our clients to let them know we were moving. And, as if by some cosmic joke, a woman who recently started working for one of our vendors happened to live on the tiny street we were moving to. And she found fault with us moving in there, because the street is not zoned for business. My bosses said they did know that in advance, but didn't really see this as a problem, as we are not a typical "business." Four employees working on laptops, none of whom drive to work so we're not taking up parking spaces. We don't have people coming in and out all day; it's just the six of us, and we're gone by 5.

But this woman, who doesn't know anything about our business other than that we sent a postcard to her company, immediately called the head of the neighborhood association and had us blocked from moving in. My boss had tried to talk with the guy that runs the association, but he won't even listen. Total snob. This guy makes Judge Smails look like Judge Reinhold.

So for the past few weeks we've been in limbo. We were supposed to be out of here on Sept. 24. My boss got the new owners to agree to let us stay in one of the two condos for another few months while we look for a new place. which means my two bosses had to move their desks into our area.

They both have their radios on all day, and in one ear I have sports talk radio, and in the other I have todays top 40. Which brings me to my point. At least three times a day for the past couple of days, I've heard Eminem's new song. I have no idea what it's called or even how it goes, I just know several times during the course of the song, I can hear a noise I've become all too familiar with over the past few years. That's right, if I did't know any better I'd swear Eminem sampled Joe's infamous "Arrghurrrghrruagh"

Does Eminem know Joe?!

Labels: Joe

posted by John at 10:09 AM

You already know that in order to speak Joe you must tirelessly spew out-of-date and often misquoted catchphrases from television and movies. And that, whenever possible, speak in a poorly-executed lame accent. Here's your next lesson in Joespeak: Jaberwokify your speech.

The man makes up his own damn words! He's all Don Kingafied with his imaginarilacious wordiology. Usually, if he's referring to something and/or someone, he'll combine them with something similar (example: rather than saying "Absolute Delivery is at the door", Joe says "Absolut Vodka is at the door." Granted, that's not making up words, but it sure as hell screws up people that don't know how the little hamster wheel in his head works. But it doesn't stop there. He'll also pick a word in his sentence and add "-age" to it. So the already confusing "Absolut Vodka is at the door" becomes "Absolut Vodka is at the doorage." Throw in that idiot gurgle noise of his and you now officially can speak Joe:

Sane people: Absolute Delivery is at the door.

Joespeak: Absolut Vodka is at the doorage. Arrrughgurghrgh.

I can't even make this stuff up. When told that he has to superscript a registered trademark symbol, he said, (in a horrid Hindu accent, no less) "Okay. I forgotage that." Here are some more examples of things he's actually said:

"Time to cook the lunch-ed."

"I said hancock. Arurururgururgrurah!"

"I've got you're nice right here."

"I've got to go to the Cape (Cape Cod) tonight. Arrurrghurrurragh!"

By the way, even as I'm writing this, Joe just let out three "Arrurrghurrurah"s within five minutes of each other. He's on pace to break his own record. This guy's the Barry Bonds of repetitive annoying noises.

"You are all poo-ly poo lickers!" (Have I mentioned he's almost 50?)

"Na na na, na nana na, na na na na nananna na. The Banana Splits. Arhrhrhrahgghg"

"I'm off to the posty office."

"I'll see you boys in the 'A' and 'M'." (He says this every day before he leaves. When he comes in every morning, it's "Gutentagen!")

"TELEMUNDO SEGUNDO!!"

The important thing to remember here is that when he says these things, he's not actually talking to anyone in particular. He's just...saying it. "You sir, are a pooly poo-licker" And all you can think is "Is he talking to me? What does that even mean? Is he seven years old? God, my brain hurts."

He once said "Literature" in different accents for ten minutes. Sometimes I wonder if his brain works properly. I'd hate to call him the office jerk if he's really just the friendly office retard, like Benny Stulwicz in LA Law.

Labels: Joe, rant

posted by John at 3:18 PM

For almost two years now, I have endured the inane, tear-inducing prattle of inarguably the World's Most Annoying Co-Worker, Joe. I do not say that lightly. He has earned the title, believe me.

First off, he has stupid/annoying nicknames for everyone. We have a client named Dara and every time... every time he says her name, he refers to her as "Dara Dingle." I don't think I need to say that her last name isn't Dingle.

One woman's last name is Holmes, who according to Joe, is John Holmes' wife. Not only is that not funny, but that burns the unsavory image of Joe watching porn into my poor innocent retinas. He doesn't even try to change it up, you know, like by sometimes saying "Sherlock's daughter" or something. It's always "John Holmes' wife."

Another woman's last name is "Knox." Mention her name to Joe and he'll sing-song back that she has big knockers. Wow. Sexist and unfunny.

And he's loud. He taps his fingers on the desk. Granted, pretty much everyone does that, myself included, but he does it VERY loudly. And he taps his feet. Really, it's more like stomping. He even types loud. I usually have my headphones cranked way up, but sometimes, like a movie monster that just won't die, he actually overpowers the music. Even Rammstein is no match for Joe.

A Joe-ku:
Tried to block him out
But he keeps getting louder
Touché, Joe. Touché.

There's more, so help me God, there's more. Like the voices. He thinks he can do voices. Rich Little would be spinning in his grave if he were dead. And he takes our names and incorporates them into whatever song is playing on the radio. Sometimes the song isn't even playing on the radio; he just starts what I will generously call "singing" for no apparent reason. Not only does he think this is clever, but he must think it continues to be so after doing it several times a day, every day...for TWO FRIGGIN' YEARS!

He likes to come up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder, look at whatever is on your screen and say "Ooooh, preeeetttttyyyyy." I usually sit perfectly still in silence until he says "well, I'll let you get back to work." and clomps back to his desk.

But perhaps most annoying of all are the handful of catchphrases he spews out several times a day. I think if you recorded Joe's entire lexicon onto paper, odds are it would scarcely be as thick as a Monday newspaper. So it may seem odd to request he diminish his already weak repertoire, but I think the time to put some "classic" Joe-isms to rest is long overdue. Every one of these he uses at least once a day, every day. If Pavlov were around today, he'd be moist with jubilation at the prospect of studying such a creature. And so, I present the following phrases and sentences that should hereby be banned from escaping Joe's lips under pain of death. Or at least severe internet mockery.

Banned Joe-isms

10. "I've got your ________ right here!"
Reason: While used sporadically and appropriately, this crude response can actually be humorous at times, but given Joe's complete lack of comedic timing and wit, coupled with the fact that he uses it as a stock response for everything--inexplicably in most cases-- maybe it's time to wrap it up, put it in a box, put the box in a trunk, chain and lock the trunk, set it on fire, and dump it at the bottom of the ocean.

9. "That's what she said"
Reason: Again, this isn't even funny when used correctly, but the way Joe uses it defies all logic. (example: I'll say "I'm going to the post office." and he'll respond with "That's what she said!") Maybe in Joe's mind, saying this turns even the most innocent of comments into a sexual reference. I don't think Joe really has a grasp of the subtle art of double entendre, but as Joe would say "I've got you're double entendre right here!"

8. "Excellent, Smithers! All we need now is the Jade Monkey!"
Reason: Hey, who doesn't like a good "Excellent, Smithers" to punctuate a job well done? The problem is Joe always...ALWAYS follows it up with "all we need now is the Jade Monkey" Why? Why is it always the Jade Monkey? And how is it possible that whenever he says it, it's as if he's said it for the first time?

Oh, and thanks to my brother Ryan for getting the actual dialogue from The Simpsons:
Mr. Burns: You must find the Jade Monkey before the next full moon.
Smithers: We found the Jade Monkey, sir. It was in your glove compartment.
Mr. Burns: And the road maps and ice scrapers?
Smithers: They were there, too.
Mr. Burns: Excellent. It's all falling into place.

He's not even doing it right!!! He said it to Homer, not Smithers. It was the episode where Homer goes back to college. "Hello, Dean. You're a stupid head."

Misquoting the Simpsons should be against the law.

7. "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman!"
Reason: I'm not really up on my 60's Batman, but I'd guess this was only said once on the show, if at all. As you may know, Robin's shtick on the old Batman show was to say "Holy something-related-to-the-plot, Batman!" But Joe always says "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman!" Not "Holy molten lava, Batman!" Or "Holy flying monkeys, Batman!" It's always "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman!" and it's said without a whiff of explanation. And unless D'Artagnan is French for "Joe's a moron" it just doesn't work in every situation.

6. "Hassan Chop"
Reason: The relevance of this one eluded me for the longest time. He'll blurt it out several times over the course of the day, again with no explanation whatsoever. Although saying "chop" or anything that rhymes with "chop" often triggers him to counter with "Hassan...CHOP!"

Apparently it's a reference to an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. But even though I now know where it comes from, I still can't comprehend why he says it all the time. I guess it's the same reason he does anything, whatever the bloody hell that happens to be. Stonehenge? The pyramids? These mysteries will be solved before anyone can even begin to try and figure this one out. I don't even want to figure it out; I just want it to go away.

5. "You...are...our...last...hope"
Reason: Here's a little story for you: one day, Joe saw the movie Galaxy Quest. The next day, and every day since then, he has imitated--poorly--that line from the movie. I liked Galaxy Quest, but Joe is single-handedly destroying it for me. Thanks, Joe.

4. "Three shall be the number, the number shall be three"
Reason: Often chased with "four shall not count," Joe's cringe-worthy faux British accent and extreme overuse of this Monty Python line makes you wish you actually had a holy hand grenade to throw at him. Or a cow.

3. Anything in the
A. Stock Southern Accent
Reason: What causes a grown man whose name isn't Robin Williams to break into a southern accent in the middle of a conversation? Sounding as authentically Southern as instant grits, Joe finds time in his hectic schedule to pepper gems like "Lurlene, I looove you", "The boy's touched in the heeeead" and "What song is it that you want to hear?" throughout his befuddling Tourette's-esque syntax. If the South does indeed rise again, I think their first target should be Joe.

B. Stock British Accent
Reason: Every day at 3:00, Joe walks down stairs to make a "Spot 'o tea." And every day at 3:00 Joe stands at the top of the stairs and asks "Would anyone care for a spot 'o tea?" That's bad. But not as bad as his Austin Powers' "Yeah baby!"

Already in the pantheon of overused catchphrases, Joe's take on "Yeah baby" has to rank near the top of all time worst impersonations. It's impossible to describe in writing, but somewhere between "Yeah" and "baby" he morphs into the Big Bopper. If you don't get that one, ask your parents.

2. "Arurrggrrururur"
Reason: I can't tell you how long it took me before I figured out what he was even trying to do here. A submarine? Chewbacca's mating call? Apparently, whenever Joe makes this horrible gurgling noise (which is more often than any one person should have to endure) he's trying to imitate Barney Gumble from The Simpsons. As Comic Book Guy would say, "Worst. Impression. EVER!" Really. It's not even close. And he does it every time he screws up...in other words, he does it a lot.

1. "What if I don't want to?"
Reason:It may take a few years to do enough research on the subject to make it official, but I think this may be the number one all-time most annoying response to a question in recorded history. Ever. And not only does he says it whenever you ask him to do anything (or anyone else; yes he actually says things like "What if he/she/it doesn't want to?"), but he makes the "I just said something clever" face when he says it. Every time. Every damn time. Unbelievable.

Labels: Joe, rant

posted by John at 1:09 PM