Another day, another Loser Fair. For those of you who don’t go back with this bad ass blog (to September of last year), that is the term I use for “job fairs”. I have been to my fair share during this unemployment odyssey. I hardly get that rattled anymore. Before I carry on, I suggest you click on over to the original Loser Fair post to refresh yourself of one of my first experiences at such a “fair”. (Damn it, now I know I have to use all new jokes this time around.) See it here
http://kevolutiontheory.blogspot.com/search?q=loser+fair
I find it tough to still believe I don’t have a real job. An extended layoff plays with one’s head in all kinds of ways. I don’t know that I exactly find ‘comfort’ in being in a roomful of other unfortunate souls like myself. While the notion of attending these lose..uh job fairs bothers me less these days, there are still aspects that bother me. Namely, the whole prep involved. As documented in the above link, I am not a suit and tie, shave every day, sit in traffic, cubicle monkey, corporate type of guy. So the fact that I have to go through all these processes to get to be the above mentioned paradox is quite troubling. To better prepare myself, I actually shaved yesterday. I did so for the fear that my usual scruff has somehow left the never-seeing-the-sun-beneath-it skin maybe a paler shade of white compared to the rest of my mug. So I shaved just to check, and get it used to the sting of fresh air. That actually went OK, and the loss of blood clearly wasn’t in the transfusable level. And, yes, I just made up ‘transfusable’-I must go alert Webster’s that I have another new word.
In doing my due research, I see that most of these jobs are near the civil service level. Some branches of the armed forces will be there, as well as the local police. There are a few companies like Aldi and Mary Kay, along with some tech schools. In fact, this los..uh job fair was specifically advertised as being military friendly. Well, duh. Is there a company that ISN’T military friendly? I mean, who wouldn’t want to hire a former Marine or Iraq vet? “Sorry, Cpl. Johnson, but we have no room in our place of business for a Purple Heart winner.” I don’t know about you, but I sure would feel safe working with someone who has been in the Army.
This morning, I go through all the machinations of someone who actually has a job. Get up, eat a big ol’ bowl of Cookie Crisp, shave again and put my monkey suit on. Why can’t the suit companies make a more breathable suit? Rag on Don Johnson all you want, but he looked damn comfortable in the suits he was wearing in Miami Vice. I hop into the KevAmPire for the 15 minute trek to the place. It’s not more than 5 minutes into my journey that I run into a motard. Fuck, how do people do this shit every day? I am rolling up to a light where the lane divides into two; the left lane goes straight or left, the right lane is for rights only, which is where I need to go. Motard stops a good 2 car lengths before the split. And it’s like “c’mon, give me, like, three more inches.” (Man, if I had a nickel every time I heard that.) I start edging up to the right when suddenly his right signal comes on, and he slides right in front of me. Douchebag.
I’ve been to this restaurant/banquet hall before for lo…er, career fairs before. Even though there is a fairly big parking lot, it never fails to amaze me that lazyasses refuse to drive the extra 150 feet to the parking lot. No, instead, they park right on the fucking grass as soon as you drive up. This isn’t ‘event’ parking here. I hope none of those people got jobs today.
It also never fails to amaze me just what people wear to these things. Even a peckerhead like me knows you really can’t be ‘overdressed’ for these types of things. Not everyone got this memo. For example, I saw an older guy-as in the older enough to know better category-wearing a dingy NASCAR shirt and jean shorts. Huh? Really? You should know to hide your inner redneck at these things if I do. I saw kids wearing some A&F bullshit shirt with baggy pants. The prison ain’t gonna hire you, kid. And just another note in case you find yourself in the same boat as me; bedhead is never a plus at these types of things. Just sayin’ and all.
We are held like bulls in pens until the magic hour of 10 arrives. Then, we are unceremoniously released to assail the poor schleps in the room. Surprisingly, not all the companies are there yet. OK, so that doesn’t say much for the companies if they are late for the job fair. I mix and mingle with a few places; my little speech always ready. A small seminar about posting resumes, etc on the Net is also happening. I join that, and from where I sit there is a big cardboard display to my front right side. On this display is a big, happy blonde. She has a cell phone raised triumphantly in her hand. I guess the message here is supposed to be, “Look at me! I just got a job. Fuck you losers, I’m outta here.” Ok, so maybe that’s not what the message is supposed to be, but that’s what I think it is.
As the presentation goes on, my ADD will occasionally take me over to the blonde. Hey, what can I say, I’ve always had a thing for tall blondes. But this is a bit unnerving, because she doesn’t have legs. The picture is cropped right at her waist. But the image is so big, she still appears to be of regular height. I refocus back on the presentation, but I get the feeling she’s giving me the eye. (As most one-dimensional tall blondes do.) It’s hard to pay attention when a tall, legless blonde is giving you the eye. At least I know she'll never run away... I even thought of trying to snap a quick pic for the sake of this Klog, but that really would have ratcheted up the creepy meter to a place not even I am comfortable with. (Further GIS don’t reveal the girl I am looking for, but it sure is fun Googling pictures of blondes.)
If anything comes of this, we’ll see. I come home to find a reply in my Inbox to a music writing job I was inquiring about, so that’s a nice little kick in the ass. And it’s a sunny Friday. So it might be time to celebrate with a few drinks. I think the booze will go a long way to soothe the pain that is the air interacting with my face.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query loser fair. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query loser fair. Sort by date Show all posts
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Loser Fair
It’s a jungle out here. And by ‘out here’, I mean in Unemployment Land. It sucks and it’s miserable and can really play with your head after an extended stay. All these huge companies are laying off massive amounts of people. GMAC just laid off like 5000. Just this week, 2 Wall Street firms laid off like 10,000 people. And I am willing to bet most of the people who got the ax were the ham and eggers. No, not the execs who made the decisions and the moves to necessitate the layoffs. They’re still working. But all the normal, 9-5 heart and soul types got the ax. I blame Bush. Both the President and the band. Bunch of fuckers. One can be driven to do all sorts of nutty things. Like going to Loser Fair…uh, Career Fairs. Like I just did today.
I got wind of a career fair on Monday afternoon (as I write it’s Wednesday afternoon) so there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That can be good and bad. Plus, I’ve never been to a career/job fair before. I know how it works. You research the companies that most appeal to you. Be prepared for those. Then, branch out. Maybe get some “practice” in with some other companies. That was my plan going in.
Of course, there is more preparation than that. Especially for yours truly. First, it involves begging my wife to iron a shirt for me. As has been documented here before, I can’t iron to save my life. I can’t give up any edge here. My dashing good looks can only carry me so far.
The rest of the night is spent running “sphiels” through my head. Trying to envision how these things might go, what kind of questions they might ask, how I can sell myself in a brief exchange. It actually doesn’t keep me up all night, and the hamster took the night off, so it was going good so far. The morning’s kinda rough. There’s the usual running around. Then the dreaded “Getting ready” time. I shave-again YYEEOOWWW. How can guys do this every day? The sink looks like a bloody Saw-like mess. Shower, then the old tying back of the hair. Slap on a suit, and head out.
As I do, I see the vision of all my neighbors running out their doors, in blue vests, and laughing at me like Nelson. HA HA! This just isn’t me. I hate looking this way; I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel confident, I don’t feel me. When I am in a suit, 2 things happen. 1) I sweat. Like a pig. My achy body is used to wearing shorts & flips, so when I wrap it up in fancy pants, shirt (with buttons no less), shoes and a jacket, I feel claustrophobic. And the second thing is it makes me pee. Every damn time. As soon as I put a suit on, then head out to wedding, funeral, or interview, my bladder suddenly fills.
This Career Fair is at Lincoln Financial Field-where the Eagles play. So right there, the stench of loser-ing will be prevalent. On the way down, I almost get t-boned, then swiped on 95. I get stuck in a little bit of 95 traffic. This sucks, how can people do this every day? Now I can understand why when I look around, everyone seems so miserable.
I try to get my head on straight. I try to come into this with no preconceived notion.
OK, actually, that is a blatant lie. I had a lot of preconceived notions.
I saw this as reeking of desperation. I saw this as reeking of losers. I saw very little upside. I knew someone who went to this last year, and said it was one big clusterfuck. I had 2 scenarios of how it would go. One saw me as the town drunk in those old wild west bars. You know, the one that when all the cowboys came in, paid him a nickel, then made him dance by shooting at his feet. The other scenario was that we (all the unemployed) were puppies in the pound. We wanted to find a home, so every time a potential owner came by, we put on our best puppy dog eyes, and did all kinds of tricks to gain favor.
I imagined the exchange going something like this. They would tell me how wonderful their company is. How they are the “leader in the field”, how they are “cutting edge”, how it’s a great atmosphere to work in, blah blah blah. I would have a few scant seconds to tell them how I’m a “great worker, can multi-task, display intelligence, blah blah blah.” One big fucking circle jerk. I likened it to eating crabs; it’s a lot of work (breaking the shell, sucking out the meat, etc) for sometimes minimal reward. (Hmmmm….crabs….)
They hype in the paper was something like “Employers, you have the jobs, and they (the unemployed losers) have the dreams.” Oh vey. I don’t know anyone whose dream it is to work as a telemarketer. Last year, they were trumpeting that they had over 70 exhibitors and over 5000 attendees. The pessimist in me sees that as 500 people per 7 exhibitors. In case you can understand that, I will break it down even more. So that’s…500 divided…by 7 equals…umm..equals…Indiana! Shit, I was never any good at math. But I think you see my point.
I am a bit wary. Wary because I have never been in this situation. I feel I am at my best when I have one interview to concentrate on. I can focus better. So the prospect of something unfamiliar throws me off a bit, I lose focus. I am not comfortable with this “gang-bang” style of interviewing. I picture long lines of desperate scuzzdogs. You maybe get a 5 minute shot to shine. But it’s something new, and I certainly have nothing to lose. Something about this reeks of desperation to me though. I hate that it’s been this long.
How do those preconceptions actually measure up?
I roll into the Linc, early. Already, there is a fucking line out the wazoo. It goes from the gates all the way past the entrance to the parking lot. This can be no good. But it’s OK, it’s to be expected. I hop in line, as the line grows behind me. I hear one guy behind me, calling someone and telling them “the line is husky, man, husky.” I take time to look at my competition. I see lots of guys in dark suits. Always the safe way to go, nice and conservative. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was kinda surprised about the vastly different types of guys who were there. Guys who looked like they were well beyond retirement age. Guys who still looked like they were in high school.
And I see guys who just have no freaking clue. Guys who automatically bump me up the ‘professional looking’ scale. I wonder just what the fuck they were thinking. I saw guys in jeans. I saw guys in kick flip flops and socks. What the fuck are you thinking? At least pretend to give it a shot here. I saw guys in ties but with short sleeves-kind of a fashion no-no from what I understand. I saw guys in polo shirts. This isn’t casual Friday. Even from a fashion nudnik, I know enough to dress in a suit and tie, even if it makes you sweaty and have to pee.
Girls kinda get a pass here. They can wear something totally casual, and it counts as work. They don’t have to wear ties or suitcoats. Just like the guys, there are some who are clueless. And some girls are dressed..well…not professionally. They are dressed like…well, for lack of a better word, sluts. Wearing all tight clothes, low cut tops, etc. You know, the girls who got al the good jobs today? And I saw a bunch of foreign women wearing those full body burkas. You know, those dark brown ones, that cover everything but their eyes? I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing something that I can only see your eyes, you’re not hired. Maybe that Star Wars looking shit works in Tatooine or whatever, but not here. You’re in America now, dress like it. Don’t you see all the slutty girls are getting the jobs?
I’d say there’s a couple hundred people in line, with 15 minutes to go. The line just keeps growing, they have to move it to allow other out of work naredewells get in the parking lot. There’s a wind blowing, and I kinda freak out that I will get flyaways in my hair. I will go from respectable looking hippie to dirty looking hippie just that quick. The guy in front of me is trying to put his jacket on, but can’t with the wind blowing. I can feel the wind stinging my freshly shaven face. I do him a solid, and help him put it on. But I don’t tell him his collar is up. Hey, it’s still war here, pal. Finally, the gates to gainful employment are thrown open, and there is a mad dash in, and up the stadium steps. All you heard were shoes and heels climbing up the steps, like a mad pack of loser horses.
I dodge into the first men’s room I find. I am shocked to find that it doesn’t reek of overpriced Budweiser and vomit. I piss like a (loser) horse, and check myself in the mirror. Cripes, I ain’t getting any prettier, but look good. Yea, good enough. You have to give a resume, just to get in. Again, I am shocked that I see a dude in a neon green polo shirt, jean shorts, and some ratty ass hat. Can’t somebody just kick his ass out? “Yes, sir, we’re sorry, but no one is going to hire you wearing a Miller Lite hat.”
In return, you get a handy dandy ‘program’ with a brief bio of the companies. I find this helpful. I zero in on the companies that I focused on. I’m at the first one, when I realize they don’t have any jobs in my chosen field. D’oh! Who doesn’t want a “witty Klogger”? OK, foul tip there. I now realize that in each bio, they list the jobs available. This is good because it jibes with some of the companies I focused on. It also lead me to some companies that I otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with.
I am surprised that it isn’t quite what I envisioned. While the room was certainly filling up with more couch surfers, it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. There were a few lines that were super long. I checked, and they were all primarily banking/finance. See above about Wall Street layoffs. Getting there early was a benefit, because I was able to hit the ones I wanted to, then branch out. Ever envision me working for Philly Gas Works? Neither did I, but they got a resume and some facetime.
Still I see some folks wandering around that I really wonder about. I saw some guy, in polo shirt, jeans and fucking wireless headset like he was all that. He looked totally stoned. Please, if he ever got a gig out of this, don’t let me know. I see guys in shorts. I see more ball caps than should be allowed at a Loser Fai….uh Career Fair. I wanted to wear my mirrorball shirt to stick out.
I felt bad for the recruiters there. They gotta sift through this riff raff for 6 hours. I actually thanked one for spending so much time with me. And another one gave me a great tip: today is all about follow up, so all the ones I liked are getting an email, but certainly not a link to this Klog.
It didn’t quite reek of desperation like I thought it would. I thought I would feel so dirty that I would need to take a shower after I came back. It wasn’t quite the clusterfuck I thought it would be. I don’t have any high expectations from this, but I did learn something. And I do feel better that I tried something new today, and feel better for the next Loser Fa…Job Fair.
My eyes were really open to just the vast amount of startlingly different people don’t have jobs these days. All of ‘em got a story. Some of them are better off than me, others are far worse. Regardless, it all sucks. When I got home, I consoled myself by eating 2 junky breakfast sandwiches and a small bag of M&Ms. I proudly resisted the urge to dayload like the rest of those out of work losers. Small steps, small steps…
I got wind of a career fair on Monday afternoon (as I write it’s Wednesday afternoon) so there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That can be good and bad. Plus, I’ve never been to a career/job fair before. I know how it works. You research the companies that most appeal to you. Be prepared for those. Then, branch out. Maybe get some “practice” in with some other companies. That was my plan going in.
Of course, there is more preparation than that. Especially for yours truly. First, it involves begging my wife to iron a shirt for me. As has been documented here before, I can’t iron to save my life. I can’t give up any edge here. My dashing good looks can only carry me so far.
The rest of the night is spent running “sphiels” through my head. Trying to envision how these things might go, what kind of questions they might ask, how I can sell myself in a brief exchange. It actually doesn’t keep me up all night, and the hamster took the night off, so it was going good so far. The morning’s kinda rough. There’s the usual running around. Then the dreaded “Getting ready” time. I shave-again YYEEOOWWW. How can guys do this every day? The sink looks like a bloody Saw-like mess. Shower, then the old tying back of the hair. Slap on a suit, and head out.
As I do, I see the vision of all my neighbors running out their doors, in blue vests, and laughing at me like Nelson. HA HA! This just isn’t me. I hate looking this way; I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel confident, I don’t feel me. When I am in a suit, 2 things happen. 1) I sweat. Like a pig. My achy body is used to wearing shorts & flips, so when I wrap it up in fancy pants, shirt (with buttons no less), shoes and a jacket, I feel claustrophobic. And the second thing is it makes me pee. Every damn time. As soon as I put a suit on, then head out to wedding, funeral, or interview, my bladder suddenly fills.
This Career Fair is at Lincoln Financial Field-where the Eagles play. So right there, the stench of loser-ing will be prevalent. On the way down, I almost get t-boned, then swiped on 95. I get stuck in a little bit of 95 traffic. This sucks, how can people do this every day? Now I can understand why when I look around, everyone seems so miserable.
I try to get my head on straight. I try to come into this with no preconceived notion.
OK, actually, that is a blatant lie. I had a lot of preconceived notions.
I saw this as reeking of desperation. I saw this as reeking of losers. I saw very little upside. I knew someone who went to this last year, and said it was one big clusterfuck. I had 2 scenarios of how it would go. One saw me as the town drunk in those old wild west bars. You know, the one that when all the cowboys came in, paid him a nickel, then made him dance by shooting at his feet. The other scenario was that we (all the unemployed) were puppies in the pound. We wanted to find a home, so every time a potential owner came by, we put on our best puppy dog eyes, and did all kinds of tricks to gain favor.
I imagined the exchange going something like this. They would tell me how wonderful their company is. How they are the “leader in the field”, how they are “cutting edge”, how it’s a great atmosphere to work in, blah blah blah. I would have a few scant seconds to tell them how I’m a “great worker, can multi-task, display intelligence, blah blah blah.” One big fucking circle jerk. I likened it to eating crabs; it’s a lot of work (breaking the shell, sucking out the meat, etc) for sometimes minimal reward. (Hmmmm….crabs….)
They hype in the paper was something like “Employers, you have the jobs, and they (the unemployed losers) have the dreams.” Oh vey. I don’t know anyone whose dream it is to work as a telemarketer. Last year, they were trumpeting that they had over 70 exhibitors and over 5000 attendees. The pessimist in me sees that as 500 people per 7 exhibitors. In case you can understand that, I will break it down even more. So that’s…500 divided…by 7 equals…umm..equals…Indiana! Shit, I was never any good at math. But I think you see my point.
I am a bit wary. Wary because I have never been in this situation. I feel I am at my best when I have one interview to concentrate on. I can focus better. So the prospect of something unfamiliar throws me off a bit, I lose focus. I am not comfortable with this “gang-bang” style of interviewing. I picture long lines of desperate scuzzdogs. You maybe get a 5 minute shot to shine. But it’s something new, and I certainly have nothing to lose. Something about this reeks of desperation to me though. I hate that it’s been this long.
How do those preconceptions actually measure up?
I roll into the Linc, early. Already, there is a fucking line out the wazoo. It goes from the gates all the way past the entrance to the parking lot. This can be no good. But it’s OK, it’s to be expected. I hop in line, as the line grows behind me. I hear one guy behind me, calling someone and telling them “the line is husky, man, husky.” I take time to look at my competition. I see lots of guys in dark suits. Always the safe way to go, nice and conservative. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was kinda surprised about the vastly different types of guys who were there. Guys who looked like they were well beyond retirement age. Guys who still looked like they were in high school.
And I see guys who just have no freaking clue. Guys who automatically bump me up the ‘professional looking’ scale. I wonder just what the fuck they were thinking. I saw guys in jeans. I saw guys in kick flip flops and socks. What the fuck are you thinking? At least pretend to give it a shot here. I saw guys in ties but with short sleeves-kind of a fashion no-no from what I understand. I saw guys in polo shirts. This isn’t casual Friday. Even from a fashion nudnik, I know enough to dress in a suit and tie, even if it makes you sweaty and have to pee.
Girls kinda get a pass here. They can wear something totally casual, and it counts as work. They don’t have to wear ties or suitcoats. Just like the guys, there are some who are clueless. And some girls are dressed..well…not professionally. They are dressed like…well, for lack of a better word, sluts. Wearing all tight clothes, low cut tops, etc. You know, the girls who got al the good jobs today? And I saw a bunch of foreign women wearing those full body burkas. You know, those dark brown ones, that cover everything but their eyes? I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing something that I can only see your eyes, you’re not hired. Maybe that Star Wars looking shit works in Tatooine or whatever, but not here. You’re in America now, dress like it. Don’t you see all the slutty girls are getting the jobs?
I’d say there’s a couple hundred people in line, with 15 minutes to go. The line just keeps growing, they have to move it to allow other out of work naredewells get in the parking lot. There’s a wind blowing, and I kinda freak out that I will get flyaways in my hair. I will go from respectable looking hippie to dirty looking hippie just that quick. The guy in front of me is trying to put his jacket on, but can’t with the wind blowing. I can feel the wind stinging my freshly shaven face. I do him a solid, and help him put it on. But I don’t tell him his collar is up. Hey, it’s still war here, pal. Finally, the gates to gainful employment are thrown open, and there is a mad dash in, and up the stadium steps. All you heard were shoes and heels climbing up the steps, like a mad pack of loser horses.
I dodge into the first men’s room I find. I am shocked to find that it doesn’t reek of overpriced Budweiser and vomit. I piss like a (loser) horse, and check myself in the mirror. Cripes, I ain’t getting any prettier, but look good. Yea, good enough. You have to give a resume, just to get in. Again, I am shocked that I see a dude in a neon green polo shirt, jean shorts, and some ratty ass hat. Can’t somebody just kick his ass out? “Yes, sir, we’re sorry, but no one is going to hire you wearing a Miller Lite hat.”
In return, you get a handy dandy ‘program’ with a brief bio of the companies. I find this helpful. I zero in on the companies that I focused on. I’m at the first one, when I realize they don’t have any jobs in my chosen field. D’oh! Who doesn’t want a “witty Klogger”? OK, foul tip there. I now realize that in each bio, they list the jobs available. This is good because it jibes with some of the companies I focused on. It also lead me to some companies that I otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with.
I am surprised that it isn’t quite what I envisioned. While the room was certainly filling up with more couch surfers, it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. There were a few lines that were super long. I checked, and they were all primarily banking/finance. See above about Wall Street layoffs. Getting there early was a benefit, because I was able to hit the ones I wanted to, then branch out. Ever envision me working for Philly Gas Works? Neither did I, but they got a resume and some facetime.
Still I see some folks wandering around that I really wonder about. I saw some guy, in polo shirt, jeans and fucking wireless headset like he was all that. He looked totally stoned. Please, if he ever got a gig out of this, don’t let me know. I see guys in shorts. I see more ball caps than should be allowed at a Loser Fai….uh Career Fair. I wanted to wear my mirrorball shirt to stick out.
I felt bad for the recruiters there. They gotta sift through this riff raff for 6 hours. I actually thanked one for spending so much time with me. And another one gave me a great tip: today is all about follow up, so all the ones I liked are getting an email, but certainly not a link to this Klog.
It didn’t quite reek of desperation like I thought it would. I thought I would feel so dirty that I would need to take a shower after I came back. It wasn’t quite the clusterfuck I thought it would be. I don’t have any high expectations from this, but I did learn something. And I do feel better that I tried something new today, and feel better for the next Loser Fa…Job Fair.
My eyes were really open to just the vast amount of startlingly different people don’t have jobs these days. All of ‘em got a story. Some of them are better off than me, others are far worse. Regardless, it all sucks. When I got home, I consoled myself by eating 2 junky breakfast sandwiches and a small bag of M&Ms. I proudly resisted the urge to dayload like the rest of those out of work losers. Small steps, small steps…
Friday, October 5, 2012
Reading Hate Mail
Almost three years ago, I wrote this
post, that still generates a lot of hits for this here site.
Perhaps you should go read it so you know what we're talking about
here. The cheap hits will also help my Google ranking, so we all win!
Yesterday, I got this hate mail about
it.
Shut the fuck up! this is a rotten pool
of slimy leeches who feed off government entitlements and thinks the
world owes them. And Kevin, are you gonna tell me you don't google
EVERY person you meet? You're a fucking disgusting loser who probably
lives at home, Stares at useless shit all day on your computer,
downloads speed metal from Itunes using your mommy's credit card,
smokes pot all day, and lives about 90% of the time in your pajamas.
You call getting a few e-mails in your junk box harassment? Do you
write blogs about every piece of junk mail you get? Do what normal
people do when they receive junk mail, DELETE IT!! What an asshole,
Ah, there is nothing to spark the ol'
creative fires than a piece of hate mail. I'll be honest, I get
stoked when I get any kind of feedback, pro or con. Actually, that's
a lie. I want the hate mail. When I write something and get no
feedback at all, it gives me the sads. I try to write provocative,
edgy, honest things. And when I get no feedback on it, it makes me
think, “Wow, there really are a bunch of messed up motherfuckers
out there.”
So I was quite intrigued when this
showed up. And while I haven't been able to spend much time here on K
Theory, it's because I have other obligations since this piece ran.
Since the post in question, I have been rather content at a job I
mostly like for the last 2 ½ years. It has afforded me with money to
keep a standard of life that I believe would be classified as 'lower
middle class'. The job has sent me to some cool places and given me
some cool opportunities. Also, I have had a few writing gigs. I have
got two things published so far, and have gained valuable experience
working for a few different sites doing a few different things. One
day, I hope to get paid for all this fucking writing work, but that's
another story.
And while we're on the topic, this has
been pretty much the most popular thing I've written so far for K
Theory. (The other piece is from a few years back on Spokeo, another
possible “scam”. Coincidence?) For a long time, it was the top
entry in Google, which I imagine still has to burn Fred's britches.
Since the last time I checked many moons ago, it has sadly fallen to
#3. #1 is now a piece on AIL possibly being a scam. #2 is Fred's
LinkedIn account, and this is #3. So 2 of the top 3 are negative
pieces. Don't hate the player, hate the game.
To give my emailer a fair shake, and
check his argument, I went back to read the original piece, as well
as the ensuing thread. After I finished pissing my pants because it
was so damn funny, I felt in the proper place to fairly evaluate his
argument. So let's do this piece by piece.
Shut the fuck up! this is a rotten pool
of slimy leeches who feed off government entitlements and thinks the
world owes them.
 |
| You wouldn't be my First Lady, but you damn sure would be my last. |
Just what is this “rotten pool” you
refer to? I love how almost right away this turns into a political
debate. I will admit to not being politically savvy at all, so I
don't know how to make sense of that argument. Apparently, I am also
pro-Obama. I don't know that I would consider that true. I'll level
with you. The last time I voted was 2007 for Sara Underwood, and at
least she won.
And Kevin, are you gonna tell me you
don't google EVERY person you meet?
HEY! How do you know my name? Oh, wait
a minute... No, I do not Google every person I meet. Just the hot
ones. Hell, I'm doing that right NOW. With God as my witness, I
didn't know she had that tattoo there.
You're a fucking disgusting loser who
probably lives at home,
OK, you got me there on both counts. I
still consider myself a loser, yes, even disgusting at times. And
yes, you're are right, I live at home. My home. That I've been paying
a mortgage on (even when I was unemployed) for like 10 years now. And
one day, it will be all mine at 60% of what I paid for. I suppose you
could argue politics on that last point as well, so feel free to.
Stares at useless shit all day on your
computer,
Right again here, Criss Angel. All day
I stare at the site I use to report things for work, and watch it
drag, glitch, freeze and disappear. But at night I stare at porn and
DogShaming.com. So if you're calling hot naked chicks and cute puppy
dogs 'useless' shit, I care not to know you. And, hey, you're the one
who found my site.
downloads speed metal from Itunes using
your mommy's credit card,
Damn it, anonymous internet stranger,
it's like you're inside my head! Lately, I have been finding myself
getting into Maiden, Motorhead, etc. Prime metal stuff that I didn't
pay enough attention to. Does that count as speed metal? And who
downloads songs from iTunes anymore? You know music is, like, free on
the internet, right?
smokes pot all day
Without an ounce of a lie, I can tell
you I've never done an illegal drug in my life. Never smoked a joint,
dropped acid, took a pill. Really. I will gladly allow skin, blood or
hair samples to back me up. Ask your mom for my semen sample.
and lives about 90% of the time in your
pajamas.
Dude, wouldn't that fucking rule! Who
isn't looking for a job where they wear their pajamas? But, no sadly,
I don't. I sport business casual all day; polo shirt, pants, shoes.
You call getting a few e-mails in your
junk box harassment? Do you write blogs about every piece of junk
mail you get?
Actually, yes I do. Since this ran, I
have secured some regular writing gigs. I have done the occasional
'respond to hate mail' bit. I love reader generated content, makes
life much easier for me. In fact, one of my regular gigs is an advice
column where I answer emails from dipshits like you.
Do what normal people do when they
receive junk mail, DELETE IT!!
OK, you got me there. Internet point
for you.
What an asshole,
Dad? Well, I can only assume when you
left the comma hanging out there, that you had more vitriol to spew
forth, but suddenly decided you had sufficiently put me in my place.
Kudos to you.
Whoever you are, I sincerely thank you.
You brief email on a piece that ran almost three years ago does warm
my heart. You let me know I am doing my job. It gave me that spark of
creativity I have been looking for. In fact, I am now inspired to
keep writing material for one of my side jobs at the cost of other
obligations I had tonight. I do appreciate you voicing your opinion.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Concert Review: Asia
Originally written 6/23/7
OK, I wasn’t going to do this. I mean, I just saw Asia a few months ago, and reviewed it on the message board. Truth be told, this show was largely the same. But then I was talking to a friend, and they wanted me to write something. And I thought this would be an interesting challenge for my blooming writing skills. So, here goes.
My night stared off waiting for my friend, Famous Phil, to meet me outside the venue with our tickets. I got there a bit early, and as the more time passed by, the more I felt like a puppy dog in the window. “Where is Phil, and where are our Goddamned tickets?” never fails that there is always loser looking guys like this outside just about any show. To make things worse, there is always a guy there I went to high school with that I try to avoid. So now I have to move my waiting ass a few yards down, so our awesome combined loser rays won’t blind anyone.
A bit of history for those kids out there that don’t know who Asia is or their legacy. Asia was the first ‘supergroup’. i.e. made up of famous names from previous bands. You have Steve Howe from Yes on lead guitar. You have Carl Palmer from Emerson Lake and Palmer on drums. You have John Wetton from King Crimson on bass and vocals. And on keys you have Geoff Downes from the Buggles. Wha..wait? The Buggles? OK, so it’s a bit of a stretch to say Downes came from an established band. Of course the Buggles biggest (and only) claim to fame is the foreshadowing “Video Killed the Radio Star”. OK, so in the grand scheme of things, that’s no Brain Salad Surgery. And he also had a cup of coffee in a touring line up with Yes. Maybe he had to drive the bus in the early days. But to be fair, Downes had a hand in writing just about every song on Asia, including the big hits Heat of the Moment and Only Time Will Tell. His keyboard work is all over the first 2 albums.
So with that pedigree, Asia attracts a lot of the 70’s prog rock fan base. Here’s where I stand out. I don’t like any of that. In fact I hate just about all of it. I’m there to see Asia do Asia songs. Old men with mullets, or worse yet, skillets. It’s becoming clear, that even at my age, I’m still gonna be one of the youngest people in the place. I see one guy who is the stereotypical happy hippy. In fact, I saw him walk by the theater twice, so I am quite sure he was high. Long, think grey hair. Bitchin’ headband that screams “HIPPIE”. Long scraggly beard. Tie dye shirt, and just a bit of a stagger as he walked by.
One of the things I conditioned myself to do at shows was to see what shirts were being worn. It helps me get a read on the fanbase. And I saw a lot of new Asia shirts being worn. I think they played here last September of so. The shirts visually weren’t stunning or anything, but me being poor now and all, I wonder where else do these people wear an Asia T? Casual day at work? Out for beers on a Saturday night? At a family picnic? Not that there’s anything wrong with wearing an Asia T or anything, but sometimes I just wonder…
Famous Phil shows up, and we’re off to our seats. And I have to give credit to Asia for being pros, and giving the fans what they want. No opener. Really, who would want to open up for a tour like this? They go on pretty much at 8:10 or so. They play for about 2 hours. No intermissions. A modest stage show. Three video screens behind them. Sometimes they would add in these, cheesy, trippy visual effects. I am sure the stoners appreciated that. It was like watching a 70s video. Open up with Sole Survivor. As the song winds down, they are greeted by a half standing O. Fans raising and lowering their arms in praise. Our friend the happy hippie is beaming in his glory. Musically, they’re tight. Phil said it sounded like there was reverb in a speaker, but I couldn’t hear that through my earplugs. Wetton says they’ll be playing Asia songs, as well as songs from their pasts. Some yahoo is already shouting for Court of the Crimson King. I am sure there is one in every crowd.
They do songs from their first 2 discs. Personally, I think the second one, Alpha is better than the acclaimed Asia, but that’s just me. Alpha is firmly in my all time top ten. They also get into their catalog. OK, I admit, this is bathroom time for me. First up is Yes’ “Roundabout”. All the Yes fans roar their approval. A few songs later is ELP’s “Fanfare for the Common Man”. It’s an OK song and all, but I gotta go drain it. All the gearheads are creaming their faded jeans at this point, so it shouldn’t be a problem. There is a small line for the men’s room. The guy waiting in front of me is rocking his air guitar. Then he turns to me and asks “What song is this?” “Uh, Fanfare” “O yea, right, right. (Slight pause) Who does this again?” “ELP” Really, sometimes you have to wonder.
Later on is Court of the Crimson King. Phil points out to me that Wetton wasn’t in the bad at the time they did this song. While I’m not a fan of their previous bands, I think it’s cool they still play those songs. It’s not like Velvet Revolver. If you went to VR hoping for some GnR songs or STP songs, you would have been pissed. At least Asia gave the fans a taste of their heritage, even if it was the bloody obvious songs, but I guess that’s what a lot of people came to see. And it’s not like ELP, Crimson or Yes are touring entities anymore, so it’s the only place to get a live fix.
A bit later of, Downes dons a kick ass silver jacket for his “Hey, guys, what about me?” Buggles song. Asia closes out by not playing Don’t Cry and Heat of the Moment. So, yea, we know what the encore is going to be. They come out, do those 2, and it’s goodnight. Almost. The guys will come out after the show to sign stuff. This is kinda a rare thing. They did this the first time I saw them, and I was utterly unprepared. Sure, there is the CD cover and T-shirt thing, but I got something better I’d want signed. Back when our Marlton office was closing, and we were going to be working from our homes, there were tons of gold and platinum records and awards on the walls. After raiding them for themselves, management made the announcement that you could take one record with you. I had my eye on an Asia one, so I took that. How cool would it be to get that signed? It’s technically an award for gold, but the LP is platinum colored, so for the sake of making it sound cooler, I will say platinum record. I missed out the last time, but not this time.
As they were playing Heat, I left, went out to my car, and got the record. I went right back into the theater with no problem, and hopped in line with Phil. Ahead of use were 2 true hardcore fans. As me and Phil were debating when the first Asia album came out, the guy ahead of us said ’82, and had the t-shirt to prove it. No really. The shirt was from 82. He had another one from 83. These suckers were thread worn and paper thin. But this is what he was going to get signed. I can appreciate that, since those shirts must have had some meaning to him if he held onto them all this time. He asked me what I had, and I showed him the framed record. It was like I was holding a child. All of a sudden, his nerdly 25 year old stinky t-shirts paled in comparison to my plaque. I looked to see the line behind us, and I want to say it appeared a quarter to a third of the crowd had stayed to meet the band.
Of course there were rules for meeting them. No pictures. Only 2 things signed, and it had to be Asia merch. CDs, DVDs, hats, t’s posters, etc. No blank pieces of paper. I guess that’s a pretty fair thing. You couldn’t shake their hands due to their (and this was a great line) “musicianship”. Whatever, the band doesn’t have to do this, and the rules seem pretty reasonable. After waiting a while, we make our way up to the table. I slide the record to Carl. And he’s a bit taken aback. (After signing cruddy t-shirts and hats, this is now good shit) He asks me where I got this. There’s no real quick way to sum it up, so I just say I used to work for your distributor, and when the office closed, we could take one record, and I chose this. Their road manager was pretty impressed by it. Carl looked genuinely psyched to sign it. He grabbed a silver marker, and signed it. It even merited a 2007 after his sig.
OK, that was a good reaction, I’m now anxious to see how it goes with the rest of the band. Geoff just kinda looks at it, scribbles and is done. Up next is Wetton. Same thing. Same thing with Howe. And it’s done. I have nothing to bitch about, and another cool piece for my own rock and roll museum. Granted, you can’t tell whose signature is whose for the most part. But that’s fine, since these guys are signing thousands of things. And let’s face it, their no spring chickens. A quick, if unreliable, internet search tells me Howe is 60, Wetton 58, Palmer 56 and Downes 55.
These guys are no spring chickens. Don’t go to an Asia show expecting to see David Lee Roth type moves, or Poison like synchronized moves. Wetton just kinda stands there, but he did get a bit animated towards the end. Howe is kinda freaky. His head seems too big for his frail body. He dresses like your grandfather. But goddamn, can he still play a guitar. Carl has the most energy, and was animated, even for being behind the drumkit. And that leads me to Downes. O Geoffrey, Geoffrey, Geoffrey. How do I best explain this? Let’s just say he reminds a lot of some people who used to work for WEA. Downes had at least 5, if not 6 keyboards, and one computer. And he was sure active, one hand on one keyboard, the other hand on another one. He moves around a lot. He sure looks busy. But, damn, I’m just not sure what he does all night.
I’ve seen hundreds of shows. And only at Asia do I see so many keyboards set up. 3 in his front, at least 2 off to his back right. And he’s got this thing on the far left of the lowest central keyboard that he would occasionally wave his hand over. Really, what the fuck can that thing do? You look at him, and he looks like he’s surfing. One hand playing, the other hand back above his head. WTF? He even had 2 mics in front of him. Why? I mean, there are guys at NASA that work in front of less hardware. But there’s Geoff, playing Twister. Watch as his hands magically tinkle the keys, then jump to another keyboard to keep playing. It really struck me as a show. Like he doesn’t do much, so to cover to up, he hides behind 50 keyboards, all while he’s probably Googling those naked Amanda Beard pictures. Even when he was “singing”, he looked like it was brain (salad) surgery. I know Asia suddenly has like 10 live DVDs out. If any of them offers me an isolated shot of Geoff for an entire show, I would buy it right away. At times it got quite distracting, as I was watching the Geoff-looking-busy-show and not the Asia show.
In the end, it was worth the $65 I spent. I got to see a bunch of Asia songs, even if the show was largely unchanged from the last one I saw. The other songs are OK, but I know it helps draw people. And I finally got the record signed. If you like Asia, and didn’t see them the first time around, go see them this time. Thumbs up.
OK, I wasn’t going to do this. I mean, I just saw Asia a few months ago, and reviewed it on the message board. Truth be told, this show was largely the same. But then I was talking to a friend, and they wanted me to write something. And I thought this would be an interesting challenge for my blooming writing skills. So, here goes.
My night stared off waiting for my friend, Famous Phil, to meet me outside the venue with our tickets. I got there a bit early, and as the more time passed by, the more I felt like a puppy dog in the window. “Where is Phil, and where are our Goddamned tickets?” never fails that there is always loser looking guys like this outside just about any show. To make things worse, there is always a guy there I went to high school with that I try to avoid. So now I have to move my waiting ass a few yards down, so our awesome combined loser rays won’t blind anyone.
A bit of history for those kids out there that don’t know who Asia is or their legacy. Asia was the first ‘supergroup’. i.e. made up of famous names from previous bands. You have Steve Howe from Yes on lead guitar. You have Carl Palmer from Emerson Lake and Palmer on drums. You have John Wetton from King Crimson on bass and vocals. And on keys you have Geoff Downes from the Buggles. Wha..wait? The Buggles? OK, so it’s a bit of a stretch to say Downes came from an established band. Of course the Buggles biggest (and only) claim to fame is the foreshadowing “Video Killed the Radio Star”. OK, so in the grand scheme of things, that’s no Brain Salad Surgery. And he also had a cup of coffee in a touring line up with Yes. Maybe he had to drive the bus in the early days. But to be fair, Downes had a hand in writing just about every song on Asia, including the big hits Heat of the Moment and Only Time Will Tell. His keyboard work is all over the first 2 albums.
So with that pedigree, Asia attracts a lot of the 70’s prog rock fan base. Here’s where I stand out. I don’t like any of that. In fact I hate just about all of it. I’m there to see Asia do Asia songs. Old men with mullets, or worse yet, skillets. It’s becoming clear, that even at my age, I’m still gonna be one of the youngest people in the place. I see one guy who is the stereotypical happy hippy. In fact, I saw him walk by the theater twice, so I am quite sure he was high. Long, think grey hair. Bitchin’ headband that screams “HIPPIE”. Long scraggly beard. Tie dye shirt, and just a bit of a stagger as he walked by.
One of the things I conditioned myself to do at shows was to see what shirts were being worn. It helps me get a read on the fanbase. And I saw a lot of new Asia shirts being worn. I think they played here last September of so. The shirts visually weren’t stunning or anything, but me being poor now and all, I wonder where else do these people wear an Asia T? Casual day at work? Out for beers on a Saturday night? At a family picnic? Not that there’s anything wrong with wearing an Asia T or anything, but sometimes I just wonder…
Famous Phil shows up, and we’re off to our seats. And I have to give credit to Asia for being pros, and giving the fans what they want. No opener. Really, who would want to open up for a tour like this? They go on pretty much at 8:10 or so. They play for about 2 hours. No intermissions. A modest stage show. Three video screens behind them. Sometimes they would add in these, cheesy, trippy visual effects. I am sure the stoners appreciated that. It was like watching a 70s video. Open up with Sole Survivor. As the song winds down, they are greeted by a half standing O. Fans raising and lowering their arms in praise. Our friend the happy hippie is beaming in his glory. Musically, they’re tight. Phil said it sounded like there was reverb in a speaker, but I couldn’t hear that through my earplugs. Wetton says they’ll be playing Asia songs, as well as songs from their pasts. Some yahoo is already shouting for Court of the Crimson King. I am sure there is one in every crowd.
They do songs from their first 2 discs. Personally, I think the second one, Alpha is better than the acclaimed Asia, but that’s just me. Alpha is firmly in my all time top ten. They also get into their catalog. OK, I admit, this is bathroom time for me. First up is Yes’ “Roundabout”. All the Yes fans roar their approval. A few songs later is ELP’s “Fanfare for the Common Man”. It’s an OK song and all, but I gotta go drain it. All the gearheads are creaming their faded jeans at this point, so it shouldn’t be a problem. There is a small line for the men’s room. The guy waiting in front of me is rocking his air guitar. Then he turns to me and asks “What song is this?” “Uh, Fanfare” “O yea, right, right. (Slight pause) Who does this again?” “ELP” Really, sometimes you have to wonder.
Later on is Court of the Crimson King. Phil points out to me that Wetton wasn’t in the bad at the time they did this song. While I’m not a fan of their previous bands, I think it’s cool they still play those songs. It’s not like Velvet Revolver. If you went to VR hoping for some GnR songs or STP songs, you would have been pissed. At least Asia gave the fans a taste of their heritage, even if it was the bloody obvious songs, but I guess that’s what a lot of people came to see. And it’s not like ELP, Crimson or Yes are touring entities anymore, so it’s the only place to get a live fix.
A bit later of, Downes dons a kick ass silver jacket for his “Hey, guys, what about me?” Buggles song. Asia closes out by not playing Don’t Cry and Heat of the Moment. So, yea, we know what the encore is going to be. They come out, do those 2, and it’s goodnight. Almost. The guys will come out after the show to sign stuff. This is kinda a rare thing. They did this the first time I saw them, and I was utterly unprepared. Sure, there is the CD cover and T-shirt thing, but I got something better I’d want signed. Back when our Marlton office was closing, and we were going to be working from our homes, there were tons of gold and platinum records and awards on the walls. After raiding them for themselves, management made the announcement that you could take one record with you. I had my eye on an Asia one, so I took that. How cool would it be to get that signed? It’s technically an award for gold, but the LP is platinum colored, so for the sake of making it sound cooler, I will say platinum record. I missed out the last time, but not this time.
As they were playing Heat, I left, went out to my car, and got the record. I went right back into the theater with no problem, and hopped in line with Phil. Ahead of use were 2 true hardcore fans. As me and Phil were debating when the first Asia album came out, the guy ahead of us said ’82, and had the t-shirt to prove it. No really. The shirt was from 82. He had another one from 83. These suckers were thread worn and paper thin. But this is what he was going to get signed. I can appreciate that, since those shirts must have had some meaning to him if he held onto them all this time. He asked me what I had, and I showed him the framed record. It was like I was holding a child. All of a sudden, his nerdly 25 year old stinky t-shirts paled in comparison to my plaque. I looked to see the line behind us, and I want to say it appeared a quarter to a third of the crowd had stayed to meet the band.
Of course there were rules for meeting them. No pictures. Only 2 things signed, and it had to be Asia merch. CDs, DVDs, hats, t’s posters, etc. No blank pieces of paper. I guess that’s a pretty fair thing. You couldn’t shake their hands due to their (and this was a great line) “musicianship”. Whatever, the band doesn’t have to do this, and the rules seem pretty reasonable. After waiting a while, we make our way up to the table. I slide the record to Carl. And he’s a bit taken aback. (After signing cruddy t-shirts and hats, this is now good shit) He asks me where I got this. There’s no real quick way to sum it up, so I just say I used to work for your distributor, and when the office closed, we could take one record, and I chose this. Their road manager was pretty impressed by it. Carl looked genuinely psyched to sign it. He grabbed a silver marker, and signed it. It even merited a 2007 after his sig.
OK, that was a good reaction, I’m now anxious to see how it goes with the rest of the band. Geoff just kinda looks at it, scribbles and is done. Up next is Wetton. Same thing. Same thing with Howe. And it’s done. I have nothing to bitch about, and another cool piece for my own rock and roll museum. Granted, you can’t tell whose signature is whose for the most part. But that’s fine, since these guys are signing thousands of things. And let’s face it, their no spring chickens. A quick, if unreliable, internet search tells me Howe is 60, Wetton 58, Palmer 56 and Downes 55.
These guys are no spring chickens. Don’t go to an Asia show expecting to see David Lee Roth type moves, or Poison like synchronized moves. Wetton just kinda stands there, but he did get a bit animated towards the end. Howe is kinda freaky. His head seems too big for his frail body. He dresses like your grandfather. But goddamn, can he still play a guitar. Carl has the most energy, and was animated, even for being behind the drumkit. And that leads me to Downes. O Geoffrey, Geoffrey, Geoffrey. How do I best explain this? Let’s just say he reminds a lot of some people who used to work for WEA. Downes had at least 5, if not 6 keyboards, and one computer. And he was sure active, one hand on one keyboard, the other hand on another one. He moves around a lot. He sure looks busy. But, damn, I’m just not sure what he does all night.
I’ve seen hundreds of shows. And only at Asia do I see so many keyboards set up. 3 in his front, at least 2 off to his back right. And he’s got this thing on the far left of the lowest central keyboard that he would occasionally wave his hand over. Really, what the fuck can that thing do? You look at him, and he looks like he’s surfing. One hand playing, the other hand back above his head. WTF? He even had 2 mics in front of him. Why? I mean, there are guys at NASA that work in front of less hardware. But there’s Geoff, playing Twister. Watch as his hands magically tinkle the keys, then jump to another keyboard to keep playing. It really struck me as a show. Like he doesn’t do much, so to cover to up, he hides behind 50 keyboards, all while he’s probably Googling those naked Amanda Beard pictures. Even when he was “singing”, he looked like it was brain (salad) surgery. I know Asia suddenly has like 10 live DVDs out. If any of them offers me an isolated shot of Geoff for an entire show, I would buy it right away. At times it got quite distracting, as I was watching the Geoff-looking-busy-show and not the Asia show.
In the end, it was worth the $65 I spent. I got to see a bunch of Asia songs, even if the show was largely unchanged from the last one I saw. The other songs are OK, but I know it helps draw people. And I finally got the record signed. If you like Asia, and didn’t see them the first time around, go see them this time. Thumbs up.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Cup
Most of you know, I am a diehard hockey fan. I can watch any hockey game, yes, even the dreaded Flyers. I will stay away from the “either you get it or you don’t” argument. But I will say most of the hockey fans I know tend to be fairly knowledgable, even if it’s only about the hometeam. They do seem to have some sort of passion, more so than the typical baseball or football fan. I see a lot of dedication with the rec players in our Monday night league. A lot of them rush from work, or travel a fair distance, eat on the way, etc. If you don’t know much about hockey, though, I am willing to bet you are familiar with the Stanley Cup. It’s the oldest professional sports trophy in the world I believe. I suppose I could Google that, but I am far too lazy to do that. It’s not like baseball of football that just make up another trophy for the winner every year. No, Lord Stanley has been around since 1892. Whenever a team wins the cup, all the names on the roster get engraved on the Cup. The names ring around the bottom of the Cup.
Being a true fan, I have seen this thing hoisted by the greatest players to ever play the game; Gretzky, Lemieux, Messier, Roy, Stevens, Bourque, Sakic, etc. Every June, I see it awarded to the winning team. Needless to say, the Cup is esteemed, admired, revered among hockey fans. It’s every hockey fans’ dream to get your picture taken with The Cup. I never thought I would have that opportunity. Until last Saturday.
Imagine my surprise on Friday when I found out that The Cup would be mere minutes away from Missile Command the very next day. How did I not know about this sooner? Doesn’t matter, either way, I was thrilled. Former Flyer Bill Clement, who’s probably better known for being a hockey broadcaster than Stanley Cup winner, wanted to raise some money for some local charities, so he was able to corral The Cup and a bunch of former Flyers to do an appearance at a technical school. Since I found out about this so late, I had it in my mind that not a lot of people knew about it. Hell, how many hockey fans will know about this? Besides, I am sure most Flyers fans do their community service on Saturdays. ZING!
So imagine my surprise when we rolled up, and saw a full parking lot; we had to park on the grass. We got there pretty early on. The line outside the building seemed fairly manageable. Until some guy said this was a “Disney Line”. In other words, while it seems like there’s a small line outside, the real line is hidden inside. Sure enough, there are seemingly 50,000 people in line. D’oh! Fuck, I really thought we could breeze through this in like 40 minutes. Guess this wasn’t so low key.
I am not a good waiter. I grow impatient easy. I am totally id driven; I want what I want and I want it now! So seeing all these puckheads in my way really cheeses me off. Actually, it’s not that bad. I mean this is my chance to get my grubby little hands on a piece of true sports history. This is a big deal in my otherwise shallow and pathetic life. So waiting for what will turn out to be 2+ hours seems like a pretty small price to pay. There are bigger fans who never get this opportunity. Everything will be OK.
It’s easy to hold on to something like that. The reality is that I am being driven bonkers by a line that is crawling along. It’s just a major victory to make it inside the building. Fuck, this is going to take forever. Poor T is not doing well. I know she’s focused on Hallowmas, and waiting in line is something that will drive her nuts, too. There’s not much to do, except people watch.
And sometimes the hockey stereo type is a reality. I see no less than 3 legit mullets. At least they weren’t wearing old Triumph shirts. It’s a pretty wide array of people. Young kids in oversized hockey jerseys. Dads who are coaches. Older women wearing shirts that were from the Cryers last Cup year; i.e. 30 year old yellowed t-shirts. I see a few brave souls like myself who are not wearing Flyers jerseys. I am proudly sporting my Avs jersey. I see a guy with a Red Wing jersey, so I go hip check him through the grass of the trophy case. Eat shit, Detroit! I see Penguins & Coyotes jerseys as well. But it’s a black and orange crowd for sure. I feel kinda bad, as there was a young couple in front of us that hung in for like 40 minutes, but then had to leave. What a buzzkill.
Slowly, the line winds it’s way to a table where you have to pay 2 bucks to get in. Mr. Big Spender over here springs for the wife. It’s the least I can do. I can tell she is bored as when I tell her how my day went. Deep down, I know she digs this, but wasn’t prepared for such a long wait. But I have a growing anxiousness. My mood is upbeat and positive. Soon, enough, The Cup will be mine.
I pay the 4 bucks, and guess what? We wait again, this time in a smaller line. It’s almost like they’re weeding out the weak. We go in, and immediately get in the line for the Stanley Cup. Yes, another line. And there it is. I can see it. The most prestigious trophy in all of sport. I never thought I would get in the same room with it, let alone get a picture with it. First impression is that it is not super bright. I guess that is common sense since it is so old. I just expected angelic light reflecting off of it or something. Again, I think of all the history associated with it. I don’t quite know the proper word to use here, but I am sure you do, so please insert it here. That’ll help, thanks.
Right in front of us is this old couple. The guy is one of those tall, craggy looking guy. His profile is dominated by a huge sloping nose, and he wears one of those old-man dickey hats that they give you when you turn 65. He was with his wife, but as we got in the picture line, he disappears. It’s just the wife in front of us. And she’s getting on my nerves. All she does is pace in small circles and is fucking constantly looking all around. I mean, Broom Hilda ain’t even looking where’s she’s going. Often, the rest of the line is like 10 feet in front of her as she stares off into the distance.
At one point, T was ready to slip by, but she turned back around. Every 2 seconds, she’s pacing around in small circles, looking in all directions. I don’t know if she’s looking for her husband or what, but it’s getting super fucking annoying. She is like a Weeble, just bouncing all around.
The line for The Cup now winds up and down three rows. As you paid, they were giving out these heinous bright orange cardboard helmets. I believe these were the same fay helmets the Cryers hand out during key playoff games. So you turn on the game, and see 18,000 motards wearing fucking cardboard helmets. They look like the SpEds that get the cardboard crowns at Burger King. I am sorry, but no self respecting hockey fan wears a fucking cardboard helmet ever. I don’t care how much Molson or Labatts you drink, it just doesn’t happen. And why the holy fuck would you put that on for your picture with the Cup? There should be a trap door on the stage when this gets through. “OK, sir, you there in the cardboard helmet. Step right up to The Cup.” Then-whoosh-trap door opens, and loser gets whisked down a Christmas Story-like slide out to the back of the line.
People do different things when they get to The Cup. I saw young girls kiss The Cup. I saw old men kiss The Cup. I saw grown men hug the thing. A lot of people have this very revered look on their face as they get to it. I see smiling families get their picture with it. I see numerous Flyers fan drape a Flyers T or jersey at the bottom of The Cup. I am sure there have to be tons of funny pictures of fans with The Cup.
Finally, we wind our way up. I do admit to feeling a twinge of nervousness-I guess that’s the word I am looking for-as it gets to be our turn. I bought 3 pictures-one of just me, one of just T and one of the both of us. That group picture kills me because she’s being disrespectful and wearing a fucking Flyers jersey. Needless to say, I am highly embarrassed that there’s a pic of me with my wife and The Cup, and she’s ruining it by wearing a fucking Cryers jersey. Finally, after over 2 hours in line, it is my chance. They are cool, and you can obviously touch The Cup. I put my hands all over it like it’s T’s ass. They have to readjust the camera or something, so I get a few brief extra seconds with Stanley. I immedialety look for the Avs names on The Cup. The only team I see is the Canadiens from the 50s. So I am not really paying attention when the camera finally does go off. I’m NOT READY! FUCKING D’OH! Fortunately, they are cool, and give me another shot, which is what you see.
Next, T comes up and we take our group shot. I swear, I am smiling ear to fucking ear. I leave and now it’s hoseheads’s shot at The Cup. Since she has a Flyers jersey on, the one guy actually directs her where to point on The Cup to the Flyers roster. Well, fuck me, the hot girl catches another break while uggo over here suffers.
And it was over. Just like that. Woosh.
2 hours all disappears. I vainly look back on my brief time with The Cup, and realize just how vain I can be. All I was really worried about was looking good for the picture. The most important trophy in the world, and I’m worried about my fucking hair. And yes, for the record, I did ask T how my hair looked before I got my picture taken. Luckily, it turned out OK. I got to lay my hands on The Cup. And I got my picture taken with me putting my hands on The Cup. Maybe that isn’t a thrill to you, but I can tell you that is top ten material for me. It easily trumps my Jenkintown Brewfest picture from a while back.
I was like a little kid. I was so damn happy.
As it turns out, this event was a huge success. They had so many people there, they had to turn people away at 1:30 because the line was so long and the parking lot was full. They estimated over 3500 people were there, and over $55,000 was raised for local charities. All the money I spent was well worth it, and I have something I will treasure the rest of my life.
As always, thanks for reading.
Being a true fan, I have seen this thing hoisted by the greatest players to ever play the game; Gretzky, Lemieux, Messier, Roy, Stevens, Bourque, Sakic, etc. Every June, I see it awarded to the winning team. Needless to say, the Cup is esteemed, admired, revered among hockey fans. It’s every hockey fans’ dream to get your picture taken with The Cup. I never thought I would have that opportunity. Until last Saturday.
Imagine my surprise on Friday when I found out that The Cup would be mere minutes away from Missile Command the very next day. How did I not know about this sooner? Doesn’t matter, either way, I was thrilled. Former Flyer Bill Clement, who’s probably better known for being a hockey broadcaster than Stanley Cup winner, wanted to raise some money for some local charities, so he was able to corral The Cup and a bunch of former Flyers to do an appearance at a technical school. Since I found out about this so late, I had it in my mind that not a lot of people knew about it. Hell, how many hockey fans will know about this? Besides, I am sure most Flyers fans do their community service on Saturdays. ZING!
So imagine my surprise when we rolled up, and saw a full parking lot; we had to park on the grass. We got there pretty early on. The line outside the building seemed fairly manageable. Until some guy said this was a “Disney Line”. In other words, while it seems like there’s a small line outside, the real line is hidden inside. Sure enough, there are seemingly 50,000 people in line. D’oh! Fuck, I really thought we could breeze through this in like 40 minutes. Guess this wasn’t so low key.
I am not a good waiter. I grow impatient easy. I am totally id driven; I want what I want and I want it now! So seeing all these puckheads in my way really cheeses me off. Actually, it’s not that bad. I mean this is my chance to get my grubby little hands on a piece of true sports history. This is a big deal in my otherwise shallow and pathetic life. So waiting for what will turn out to be 2+ hours seems like a pretty small price to pay. There are bigger fans who never get this opportunity. Everything will be OK.
It’s easy to hold on to something like that. The reality is that I am being driven bonkers by a line that is crawling along. It’s just a major victory to make it inside the building. Fuck, this is going to take forever. Poor T is not doing well. I know she’s focused on Hallowmas, and waiting in line is something that will drive her nuts, too. There’s not much to do, except people watch.
And sometimes the hockey stereo type is a reality. I see no less than 3 legit mullets. At least they weren’t wearing old Triumph shirts. It’s a pretty wide array of people. Young kids in oversized hockey jerseys. Dads who are coaches. Older women wearing shirts that were from the Cryers last Cup year; i.e. 30 year old yellowed t-shirts. I see a few brave souls like myself who are not wearing Flyers jerseys. I am proudly sporting my Avs jersey. I see a guy with a Red Wing jersey, so I go hip check him through the grass of the trophy case. Eat shit, Detroit! I see Penguins & Coyotes jerseys as well. But it’s a black and orange crowd for sure. I feel kinda bad, as there was a young couple in front of us that hung in for like 40 minutes, but then had to leave. What a buzzkill.
Slowly, the line winds it’s way to a table where you have to pay 2 bucks to get in. Mr. Big Spender over here springs for the wife. It’s the least I can do. I can tell she is bored as when I tell her how my day went. Deep down, I know she digs this, but wasn’t prepared for such a long wait. But I have a growing anxiousness. My mood is upbeat and positive. Soon, enough, The Cup will be mine.
I pay the 4 bucks, and guess what? We wait again, this time in a smaller line. It’s almost like they’re weeding out the weak. We go in, and immediately get in the line for the Stanley Cup. Yes, another line. And there it is. I can see it. The most prestigious trophy in all of sport. I never thought I would get in the same room with it, let alone get a picture with it. First impression is that it is not super bright. I guess that is common sense since it is so old. I just expected angelic light reflecting off of it or something. Again, I think of all the history associated with it. I don’t quite know the proper word to use here, but I am sure you do, so please insert it here. That’ll help, thanks.
Right in front of us is this old couple. The guy is one of those tall, craggy looking guy. His profile is dominated by a huge sloping nose, and he wears one of those old-man dickey hats that they give you when you turn 65. He was with his wife, but as we got in the picture line, he disappears. It’s just the wife in front of us. And she’s getting on my nerves. All she does is pace in small circles and is fucking constantly looking all around. I mean, Broom Hilda ain’t even looking where’s she’s going. Often, the rest of the line is like 10 feet in front of her as she stares off into the distance.
At one point, T was ready to slip by, but she turned back around. Every 2 seconds, she’s pacing around in small circles, looking in all directions. I don’t know if she’s looking for her husband or what, but it’s getting super fucking annoying. She is like a Weeble, just bouncing all around.
The line for The Cup now winds up and down three rows. As you paid, they were giving out these heinous bright orange cardboard helmets. I believe these were the same fay helmets the Cryers hand out during key playoff games. So you turn on the game, and see 18,000 motards wearing fucking cardboard helmets. They look like the SpEds that get the cardboard crowns at Burger King. I am sorry, but no self respecting hockey fan wears a fucking cardboard helmet ever. I don’t care how much Molson or Labatts you drink, it just doesn’t happen. And why the holy fuck would you put that on for your picture with the Cup? There should be a trap door on the stage when this gets through. “OK, sir, you there in the cardboard helmet. Step right up to The Cup.” Then-whoosh-trap door opens, and loser gets whisked down a Christmas Story-like slide out to the back of the line.
People do different things when they get to The Cup. I saw young girls kiss The Cup. I saw old men kiss The Cup. I saw grown men hug the thing. A lot of people have this very revered look on their face as they get to it. I see smiling families get their picture with it. I see numerous Flyers fan drape a Flyers T or jersey at the bottom of The Cup. I am sure there have to be tons of funny pictures of fans with The Cup.
Finally, we wind our way up. I do admit to feeling a twinge of nervousness-I guess that’s the word I am looking for-as it gets to be our turn. I bought 3 pictures-one of just me, one of just T and one of the both of us. That group picture kills me because she’s being disrespectful and wearing a fucking Flyers jersey. Needless to say, I am highly embarrassed that there’s a pic of me with my wife and The Cup, and she’s ruining it by wearing a fucking Cryers jersey. Finally, after over 2 hours in line, it is my chance. They are cool, and you can obviously touch The Cup. I put my hands all over it like it’s T’s ass. They have to readjust the camera or something, so I get a few brief extra seconds with Stanley. I immedialety look for the Avs names on The Cup. The only team I see is the Canadiens from the 50s. So I am not really paying attention when the camera finally does go off. I’m NOT READY! FUCKING D’OH! Fortunately, they are cool, and give me another shot, which is what you see.
Next, T comes up and we take our group shot. I swear, I am smiling ear to fucking ear. I leave and now it’s hoseheads’s shot at The Cup. Since she has a Flyers jersey on, the one guy actually directs her where to point on The Cup to the Flyers roster. Well, fuck me, the hot girl catches another break while uggo over here suffers.
And it was over. Just like that. Woosh.
2 hours all disappears. I vainly look back on my brief time with The Cup, and realize just how vain I can be. All I was really worried about was looking good for the picture. The most important trophy in the world, and I’m worried about my fucking hair. And yes, for the record, I did ask T how my hair looked before I got my picture taken. Luckily, it turned out OK. I got to lay my hands on The Cup. And I got my picture taken with me putting my hands on The Cup. Maybe that isn’t a thrill to you, but I can tell you that is top ten material for me. It easily trumps my Jenkintown Brewfest picture from a while back.
I was like a little kid. I was so damn happy.
As it turns out, this event was a huge success. They had so many people there, they had to turn people away at 1:30 because the line was so long and the parking lot was full. They estimated over 3500 people were there, and over $55,000 was raised for local charities. All the money I spent was well worth it, and I have something I will treasure the rest of my life.
As always, thanks for reading.
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