And, no, I don’t have any excuse for Air Supply…

I was helping a user out at work the other day with her new laptop, and we got to talking about music.

Long story short, she is a fan of ’80s tunes (and, really, who isn’t?) and I told her I’d shoot her a list of what I owned and if she saw anything on it, let me know.

Before I sent her the email, I glanced over what I did own, and made an addendum to the unsent email:

“And, no, I don’t have any excuse for Air Supply. I can’t even remember why it’s there. I don’t even listen to it, but I know I downloaded it for a reason. Now it sounds like I’m feeling guilty and trying to explain my way out of it.”

Shortly after I sent it, I got her reply:

“As long as I don’t come across Tiffany, Debbie G., or the like, I’ll hold my tongue.”

“Holy hell. Don’t open that .txt document at all, then.” Came my rebuttal, lame as it was.

I looked at my mp3s again, a little closer, after I sent that reply.

I’m in for a beat down.

Now I don’t know what to think…

Last week I checked out American Gangster.  It was pretty good, and if you haven’t checked it out yet, you should give it a whirl.

Anywho, the day after I watched it a co-worker, Keila, and I were discussing it.

“You know,” I said, “American Gangster was pretty good, but now I’m confused.”

“Why’s that?” Keila asked.

“Well, in Boyz n the Hood, Laurence Fishburne said that drugs were brought over by the white man to keep the black man down.  Yet American Gangster shows that it was a black man that brought over the drugs.  Now I don’t know what to think.”

Keila studied me for a moment.

“Stewie,” she said, as if to a small child, “you have got to stop trying to learn about my people by watching movies.”

Laughter ensued.

One of which was me…

When I used to work dreaded retail back in the day, the company I worked for filed Chapter 11, forcing me to find another gig. Fortunately, I had made a lot of friends in the company, so another management position fell into my lap. The plus side was it was right up the street from where I lived. The downside was this was a mom and pop establishment.

While they paid me what I was making at my old place, the people who worked there had really liked the old management. Who had been terminated for the new management. One of which was me. I knew this going in, but I wasn’t prepared for the coldness that I was treated with.

One lady in particular, Miss Julia, was particularly nasty to me. Not to my face, of course, but when the owner of the store went to my boss, Marty, and said Miss Julia told him (the owner) that I better be watched because she thought I was stealing, it causes a little bit of bad blood. (And I don’t like people who insist on having a “Mr.” or “Miss” inserted in front of their first name anyway.)

Fortunately, the owner knew she what she was up to, and Marty had worked with me for years, so it was basically a non-issue.  A non-issue I had to deal with every time I worked with her, but I didn’t have to worry about job security.  Plus, she did what I told her to do without argument, so I got some satisfaction out of the fact it probably pissed her off to no end.

Yet I would hear shit she said I was doing (or not doing) all the time from either Marty or Jonathan (the other assistant manager).  I didn’t exactly dread having her on my shift, but I never looked forward to it.  And since she had worked for the company for like a 1,000 years, she wasn’t about to get terminated for gossiping — especially in a mom and pop establishment like this.

About six months after I started with the company, she died.  I was honestly a little surprised they didn’t shut down the store in her honor the way they treated her like a princess.  But since the store was to stay open, I volunteered to run it on the day of her viewing and funeral.  On the day of her viewing, Jonathan came in to relieve me that evening.  He asked me if I planned on going to her viewing when I left work.

“Nope,” I replied.

“Why not?” He asked.

“Why would I?”

“Because you worked with her.”

“And?  She hated me.  I hated her.  Her being dead doesn’t make me like her any more than she was when she was alive.”

Jonathan looked me with what appeared to be shock.  “You shouldn’t disrespect the dead, man.”

“What?  How am I disrespecting her?   Just because she’s dead doesn’t change how she treated me when she was alive.  I’m supposed to feel sympathy for her?  Maybe her family.”

Jonathan shook his head and walked off to take care of the store.

I honestly don’t get it.  What is it about someone dying that makes some people think the dead should be respected just because they are no longer hanging about?  Just because they are no longer wasting oxygen doesn’t change how they treated people when they were alive.

Respect the dead, my ass.  Besides, it’s not like they care anyway.

It’s Late…

It’s late, I just got home for work, so you get very little.

10 random thoughts:

1. You know that pic of me and my truckerstache? Well I obviously no longer have it. As a matter of fact, I’ve only shaved once since then (and that was about three weeks ago). I can actually feel my beard without touching it (that’s the best I can explain it, I’m betting guys with manly beards know what I mean). My goal is to make through Christmas without shaving. Just to do it. I’ll post pics because I’m an attention whore like that.

2. Today was a very good day. I’m suddenly happy I am on facebook, due to a very cool friend popping me a request today. That’s all I have to say about that.

3. The Lesley was of absolutely no help with blog ideas today. All she gave me was smart lip. One of her suggestions — the one where she said I should post some cleavage — made me laugh, though. For numerous reasons. And, no, you won’t get a cleavage shot. Unless it’s ass cleavage. And that, I just might do.

4. I think this writing every damn day bit is actually helping with my reviews. I wrote one on the train tonight, and the words were right there. I didn’t have to dig for them. It could be the fact that the movie was pretty bad (as in bad, this isn’t 1987 (although I wish it was)), and those seem to be the easiest to write. It could be I’m writing something every day. It could be both.

5. Joy called and said she and my nephew went and saw American Gangsta today. She was immediately corrected by my nephew that the movie is called American Gangster, not Gangsta. I giggled. On a side note, my nephew has been upset with his parents for while now due to the fact that he’s white. Seriously.

6. I truly love my co-workers Romka and Keila. They make even the shittiest days go by fast. I’m not just saying that because Romka reads this.

7. Romka is going to be down where I grew up on Thanksgiving. I warned him that he better rent a pickup truck if he plans to be there for long. Those hillbillies don’t take kindly to outsiders. I hate that town.

8. You know you’re all grown up when you get a meeting request email for happy hour. My buddy, Jafo, sent me one last week. I accepted, it went on my calendar. Today he sent another one with a date change. I responded with a “tentative”. Those who use Outlook should get that.

9. I handle laptop subsidies at work. Today, someone called for my opinion on a laptop. I also suggested an external drive. I told her 500 gigs should be plenty. I myself would like a terabyte. But only dorks need a terabyte. She laughed and said, “Yeah.” I can dig that.

10. I’m out of randomness.