An Exercise in Futility: Calculating Your Worth.

I've been told that the human body is worht somewhere between USD$4.50 and 43 million. But how much are YOU worth? Seriously. I mean, we all know what we make, but it's not the same. I mean the government pays me somethign to the tune of $32/hour to scratch my balls, which means on any given day I net roughly $64 for diggin' in real good.

But how much am I worth? How much are all my skills, abilities, and cognitive feats valued? I'm going to be forced to answer this question very, very soon as I proceed along my journey of freelance desiogn. You see, whenever someone asks you to do a project, the fist thing they want to know is "How much will it cost for you to...." My usual answer is a blank stare followed by peals of maniacal laughter, but that's just a bargening tool meant to throw people off base. The real answer is I don't know. I haven't got a clue. Everywhere I look, I get different estimates of what a freelance designer should charge. Maybe I'm being thick here (but that's never ever happened before) but I cannot honestly tell you what I should charge.

         

Nope, can't tell the difference.

People will never give you an idea of what they are thinking, either. Think about the last time you inteviewed for job. I nbet you anythign they asked you, "Well, what would you like to make?" They already know damn well what they're going to offer you. Bastards. they just want to make you look like a fool. So here's my proposal. If you want a service from someone, tell them what YOU want to pay. If you ask me to design you a CD cover, tell me about it and then say "How does $xxx sound?" If I grimace and begin punching you in the groin, it's too low. If I give you the thumbs up, do a flip, and start hollering "Hallelujia", chances ar it's a bit high. But I'll take it, and we're both happy because you are paying what you want to. And in the end, I'm opnly worth as much as you're willing to give me.

Well, that's a depressing thought. I think I'll go kill myself now. Sigh.

The Return of Sledgy

Kinkos. The very name strikes fear into the heart of graphic designers everywhere. When you need something done quickly, though, you rarely have another choice. Oh, how I loathe them. The level of ineptitude displayed by these glorified amoebae transcends rational thought. I think you have to take a test to become an emplyee ther... to prove you're up to thier standards of stupidity. The test is simple. It is one sheet of paper, with a single line of text which reads, "If you can read this sentence, you failed." If a potential employee does anything other than crumple th paper up and run around screaming and hooting, they are dismissed.


They're smiling because they just got thier daily banana.

I took an order to Kinko's last night. I know, I know, but what choice did I have? I need it quick. Of course, to them quick is dropping a file off at 6:30 and having it ready by the next day at 5 PM, but hey, I HAD NO CHOICE. It was a simple job: one disk with one file on it, to be printed 10 times on cardstock. Simple. I get a call this morning from Bob, the friendly clerk. What follows is a transcript of that call.

*ring*
Me: Hello?

Bobo: Hi, this is Kinko's *grunt* We can't find your file.

Me: Huh? Why?

Bobo: It's not on the disk you gave us. There's nothing on that disk.

Me: (already losing patience because I know where this is going) No, I'm sure it's there. I took it out of my drive and put it in my pocket, and handed it to you ten minutes later.

Bobo: Nope.

Me: Nope?

Bobo: (in a tone suggesting he is clearly of superior intellect) It means "no."

Me: I know what it means, you ape. But I promise you it's there. Check again, I'll wait.

Bobo: Ok, hold on. (random clicking noises, grunts, howler monkey mating sounds) Nope.

Me: (sighs) Are you, perchance, trying to shove that disk in a CD drive?

Bobo: Noooooooooooo..........yes.

Me: How about you shove it up your.... ok, try it again.

Bobo: Ok. (more howler monkeys) Nope.

Me: What color is that disk?

Bobo: Red. Well, Reddish red, anyway.

Me: (having given them a gray disk) THAT'S NOT EVEN MINE YOU ASSHOLE! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!?

Bobo: Oh. Ok. I guess I called the wrong person. Bye.

(hangs up)

Of course, after I called back, I got a different idiot, and explained the situation. Apparently they accidentally fucked up my data by leaving the disk (I am seriously not making this part up) on a stack of Kinko's promotional magnets for a few hours. Way to go. So I had to e-mail them my file, and god only knows what horrid monstrosity I'll see when I go to pick up my prints. But god help me, I am taking Sledgy with me and we are gonna trip the heavy fandago all over these bumlickers if need be.

Chapter 11, in which Winnie the OMFUG gets a Job

W00t! So, I had an interview on Friday to possibly do freelance work for a pretty nice company (who will remain nameless here, for thier image protection). This place is the BIZ-OMB-- they give thier employees free breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Of course, no one is ever there for all three meals, since people come and go as they please, but still... that saves SO much money. Anyway, the interview went well, and I'll be handling some design for them.

Which means, of course, that they want someone to bill other than a shady dude in an El Camino, whose addres is listed as "123 Transient St." So, I am now the proud owner of a Brand New Business(tm). What an amazing feeling... now I can abuse my employees just like real bosses do! Of course, being the sole employee might make that counterproductive, but hey, I'm willing to try.

So let's see, that makes the score OMFUG 4, naysaying corporate whores 1. I smell an upset!

Parking Wars episode 4: There's No Hope

Goddamit, why is the concept of putting your car out of the way so fucking difficult? I made a diagram showing my exodus this morning..... it weren't pretty. I'm pretty sure I pulled some muscles lifting that damn concrete barrier out of the way. See below for info k thx.


Bombs go here, here, and... here.

So on the left you see the initial setup. Obviously, asshatery abounds here. I parked in the back to let everyone know I had to drive today. That's SOP, and King Dumbass knows it. Now, the girls upstairs (Queen Dumbass and her court) are apparently too stupid to pull around me and park in front of me, and iin front of me to the right. There is more than enough space there, but apparently they've got some rare disorder that precludes all spatial thought. Scary, since they're teachers. If they had parked in front of me, then King Dumbass could have parked next to me, and things would have been ok. Except for the stupid assholes who park too close to the driveway, but hey, I can deal as long as I don't have to play caber-toss every day with the goddamn concrete parking barriers. But King Dumbass, more importantly, PARK ON THE GODDAMN STREET, YOU LAZY SONOVABITCH! Would it kill you to walk a block or two? Oooooooh, but then you might have somethign happen to your precious Porsche. I'm not kidding here, folks, the car that King Dumbass drives is a Porsche. I say if you can afford a Porsche, the you should be able to afford to live somewhere nicer than WEST FUCKING PHILLY. If something happens to it on the street, tough. Gimme a quarter for being stupid, you mental midget. I can almost see these fucking inbred drool factories pounding huge square pegs into little round holes with glee. Tonight, we're going to have a pow-wow, and SOMEONE is going to have to suck it. And I promise it won't be me. Why? Three reasons:

1. I've been here the longest.

2. I leave the earliest.

3. I am capable of unfathomable acts of revenge and violence.

Updates coming soon.

I got's dem parking spot blues

Got up today. Monday. Exactly one week after some asshat left me a note saying I was taking up two spots. By the way, asshat, I'd still like to tell you to fuck off. So I went downstairs, and lo and behold, a car is parking our driveway in. Where, oh where is my lovely little note-layer now? Now, I don't care today because I didn't drive to work, and frankly I'm sick of being the one who has to deal with all the rectal wranglers who park me in. Let someone else do it for a while. Hopefully, one of the girls who live upstairs will have her boyfriend's hyuck-hyuck truck run over the fucker. But seriously, how stupid do you ahve to be to park across an obvious driveway with an obvious signn telling you that if you leave your car there you will obviously be towed? I hope whoever parked there has gets shot in a gnag war on the way to the towing company. Fuggem'.

In Rememberence

Today, I'm reading a seciton on CNN's website that pays respect to some of the unsung heroes of September 11, 2001. There are some terribly sad stories to be told, and in the background I can hear the names of the fallen being read aloud on television by their friends and family. It is eerily silent here on base... but when words are spoken, they are friendly, and everyone seems to be uncosciously trying to comfort everyone else.

There are no rants today. This is a day to put aside all the troubles of the world and pay tribute to the thousands of men and women who were affected by the September 11th attacks. Some were victims, some were heroes, but all will be remembered.

May you find peace.


Photo by Bobby Allison-Gallimore.

And he will come among them, and the masses will know thier saviour...

I have dicovered through the magic of Something Awful that there were Spaceballs, presumably Assholes, at this year's DragonCon.


Lt. First Class Larry Asshole, reporting for duty.

My faith in humanity and the godliness of nerds has been restored.

Pullin' my pants up to my chest and gumming my dentures

Let me start by saying I'm all about racial equality. Now, you know whenever you hear someone say that, they're about to say something horribly racist, possibly about Aryan love and the beauty of a single-skinned populous ruling over Mordor or something similar. But it's ok, because they've already built in thier escape clause..... becasue of that, when questioned, they can always respond by shrugging thier shoulders and remarking, "I was just sayin', is all..." Sorry, but I'm not making any apologies. Fuck, it would appear that I just did. Ok, no MORE aoplogies. Anyway, I feel that the idea of political correctness is one of the worst things the 20th century has birthed. Look, we're all people. Period. My skin is white, yours is black, and you, over there in the corner, have purple skin. Oh wait, that's a corpse. Regardless, we're all people. BUT humans are aesthetic creatures, and tend to refer to the world around them by remarking on it's visible features. ... such as colors. I know people who, in a conversation, will try to describe someone to a friend but be completely unable to simply because they won't attach a color. Example:

Bob: Hey, what do you think of Tim?
Robert: Who?
Bob: You know, Tim. the new guy.
Robert: I don't know who you mean-- we've got about 3 or 4 new guys.
Bob: The tall one, you know, who is in accounting.
Robert: Ummmm.....no, I still don't know. they're all tall and work in accounting.
Bob: The, uh...he's got brown hair, and....uh.... you know.
Robert: Oh, you mean the black guy?
Bob: (shoots self in the face out of compassion for the plight of the put-upon Tim)

What the fuck is wrong with you people? Look, you don't see blondes getting thier folicles all bent out of shape when you refer to someone as "the blonde over there", do you? Or the guy with green eyes going apoplectic when you talk about blue eyes being nicer? FUCK NO. But they have just as much right to....you're commenting on a part of them that they were born with, that they had no choice over. If you REALLY must be PC, stop being a hypocrite and become truly blind. No, seriously. Here's a stick, go put your eyes out. Political correctness is bullshit. I'm not saying there is no place in the world for sensativity. Obviously, there are things you definitly shouldn't say unles you have a burning desire to get your ass kicked. But that's not political correctness, people-- it's common goddamn sense.

So I said all that to say this. I understand cultural differences among people of different descents, and honestly find them fascinating. Usually, there is a cultural explanation for behaviour by a given people, whether it be traditional or not-- at some point, there was a reason things were done. For example, take the practice that black women have of buying large, highly decorated hats to wear to church. From what I can tell, this was a way for these women to assert themselves in a time when they couldn't do so any other way because American society wouldn't allow them to have meaningful jobs to earn meaningful pay. So, they took something that everyone had access to, and made it into thier own with some creativity and a bit of flair. I applaud that. More importantly, I find it interesting and a valid part of black culture. Cornrows-- they make sense, because ethnic hair is really, really hard to manage. Groovy. Same with do-rags, to a lesser extent. But there's always a but, and here's mine. But what in the seven circles around Satan's anus is going on with urban black teenagers right now? EVERYONE is wearing plain white t-shirts 8 sizes too big. What is the cultural significane of that? Is this a contest to see how poor you can look? I mean, if you start somehow appropriating this as your own, fine, but do SOMETHING.


Yo, can I get that in a more culturally significant size?

Some may say, "Now that's really not fair. A lot of these people are poor and can't afford more." You know what, jackoff? Fuck you. First of all, you just made an assumption based on nothing more than a few randomly firing nourons creating a possible, POSSIBLE, reason someone would do this. Second of all, you apparently have never bought Hanes t-shirts. Because if you had, you would know that any size over XL is MORE EXPENSIVE than the smaller sizes. "Well, by buying larger sizes the shirts last longer because you can grow into them." True, but I don't see many 8 foot tall, 450lb men walking around, which is roughly who these shirts would fit. So strike two. Wanna swing again?

Yeah, I thouhgt not. I don't really think there is a good reason... just like those stupid fucking bra-strap headbands girls are wearing, and have been for a few years. Thankfully, that's fading, but I still see it. Now, just so you know, this is white people phenomenon. WHITE. My own race is who I'm ripping on here, so all you assholes out there with the flamethrowers ready step the fuck off.


Elliemay Louanne-sue, you're as purdy as a cow in heat.

This is another example of trying to look as poor as possible. Why? Are you going to go down to the welfare office, apply and be turned down, only to lower your head in shame....when suddenly the clerk notices your hairband and says to themselves, "Well, shit the bed! This sorry-looking Saltine MUST be poor! She's ripped apart her bra to be able to hold her hair back, which is obviously at the top of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs! I mean, what can possibly be holding her titties in? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SOMEONE GET THIS WOMAN A NEW BRA!!!"

I'm just sayin', is all.

Rumbling of a wannabe alcoholic

Right. First off, I have the logo for that band done, and am too stupid to have remembered to scan it, which would have allowed me to post it. Score one for the ol' grey matter. But I'll do it tonight, because I know all of you (what are there? 2, maybe 3 people who read this thing?) are waiting for it with baited breath. Take my word for it though, it looks good.

Point the second: I hate assholes. I got up this morning, had a nice normal getting-ready phase, and trundled out the door to my car. Which, because I am a nice guy, I parked on the street. There are new neighbors upstairs, as I have mentioned, and that adds 3 to the number of cars in the driveway. Oh, plus thier GODDAMN BOYFRIENDS and thier stupid fucking Rhode Island-sized SUVs. What the fuck do you need an SUV in the city for? Especially if you're a young, unmarried, no child-ed fuckwit? What, praytell, do you plan on hauling in the thing? Or are you just going to run over all the little ghetto-rats and thuggies with it? I mean, if you're going to do that, fine, I'll gladly sign a petition and throw you some gas money, but methinks you've not got the sack to do so. And as such, KEEP IT THE FUCK OUT OF MY DRIVEWAY.


Good for you. Really, well done. Have a cookie.

Anyway, not the point. The point is, I had parked on the street to allow these cretins thier hyuck-hyuck truck space out of the goodness of my cold, unbeating heart. Now, since I park in the driveway all the time, I know how irritating it is to have someone pulled in a inch from the edge of the driveway on the curb, because it doesn't leave you any room to manuver when backing out. Plus, you can't see traffic coming, and people don't go down that street slow. So I parked a good foot or two back. Now, when I parked, there was a good sized space behind me, more than enough to put a mid-sized car in. This morning, however, I get to my car and there is a note tucked under the windshield wiper. It read, "Ur took two spots asshole." Right. First of all, before you decide that you're going to unleash your bile on me, you might want to think about why you're going to do so. I'm all for going off half-cocked, but at least it is for valid reasons (most of the time)(shut up, all of you). Now, I looked at the car behind me this morning (and FYI, the spot was still big enough to get a compact car in easily, and perhaps a mid-sized with a modicum of skill but I'll get to that in a minute) and it was different from the one that was there yesterday when I parked. And guess what, boys and girls? It was bigger. As a matter of fact, it's a fuckin' land-cruiser. So whoever wrote this note apparently never considered that I was parked there first, and the guy behind me, with his enormous boat, was the one taking up extra room.

Now assuming, you feel you've got a reason to write the Nasty Note of Chastisement, there are a few things you should bear in mind. If you're going to write something, at least take the time to spell out all the words and use something resembling correct grammer. Otherwise you sound like a locomotion-enabled comestain. Second, if you manage to get that first bit right, have the balls to put your name on it. Or at least leave a phone number. Society is so full of gutless smacktards who are willing to shoot thier mouths off and punch babies in the face, but the second you ask them to be accountabble through identity, they blanch and run screaming to thier root cellers. Fuck. That. Rest assured that if I leave someone a note, it will have some form of communication-enabling information on it. Because frankly, if something pisses me off anough to write a note, odds are there is much, MUCH more I would love to say to that evolutiarily challenged cockwrangler and I would like nothing more than for them to give me a call to chat. Third, understand where you are. I live there, asshole. I'm entitled to park wherever the fuck I please. If I want to park up your mother's smelly glory-hole and she happens to be on the street, I'm droppin' that bitch into low gear and pounding the pedal, and I'm not going to stop until I bump dentures. I know most of the cars on that street, and I'm sure everyone else who lives there does too. If you don't, it means one of two things. Either a), you've just moved in to the block, or b) you're visiting someone there. In either case, SUCK A DICK. I've been there longer and I have a valid reason to need to get out..... seeing as how I leave for work at 5:20 in the morning.


U didn't leve me enuff room ahole!!!11!!1 luv, daddys_aolprincess1984 LOL!

My take on all this, as I alluded to before, is that the person who left me this oh-so-hurtful AOL chatroom-reject calibur peice of prose is none other than some douchegobbling bungsniffer in an SUV who was pissed off because he wasn't legally allowed to roll over my car to get his precious Mercedes Benz fuelchugger into a shitty parking space ten feet closer the where he was trying to drag his fat, bloated ass to. But I doubt it was a guy... the handwriting was distinctly feminine, so it was probably some goddamn undergrad Penn brat trying to park daaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy's Beamer without the help of her chauffer. And she probably dropped her silver spoon onto her chaffed beefcurtains trying, which of course would piss me off too. As a matter of fact, what was I thinking? I apologize to whoever left the note... I'm sure you had a good reason. Now if you'd just be good enough to spell it out with your tongue on my family jewels, we'll call it even.

Updates, ya'll best RESPECT it.

Fuckin' a. So I'm updating the site a bit today, removing certain things from the reading queue, and adding a new bit: ROMper Room. This will list all the ROMs I've beaten to a pulp here at work, so you can see exactly how little I do. Nothign to rant about today, people. Move along. Oh, and if any of you other goddamn hosers what to send me something to put uinder your names as reading material, send 'em to me.

Almost forgot... in other good news, I'm been asked to design a logo for a local band. I'll post it when it's done... should be interesting, since it's rocka/psychobilly music with an interesting name. And hopefully I'll have the chance to do more design for them in the future..... we'll see.

The Eagle has landed

Well, I'm back. Sadly. Well not sadly, because I missed the wife and kids, but still, it's unpleasant as all hell to be at work again. We had a lot of fun, and I had one of the top 5 Most Drunk Nights Ever(tm). It involved screaming like a pro rassler, chair dancing, and having cigars put out on my face. Not to mention my bud Tom telling the DJ with a straight face, "If you don't play some Garth I'll kill you."

In response to Tommy Shu--
Great White North=facetious reference to any part of Canada. Much like calling it Frenchie-land. As for your girlie there, well, let's just say that when you said Yugoslavia all I got was a picture of a hair-lipped babushka selling turnips for a quarter. I know, I know, that's not very sensitive, encouraging, or (probably) right, but I never claimed to be any of those things. So suck it, Trebek. As for the campus cuties...... I think driftwood had a similar experience this weekend. We're getting old, my friend, and the world is moving on. Which is ok, because the sooner I can justify carrying a cane around the sooner I can start REALLY delivering much needed ass whuppins to the world.