Ma[i]licious Intent

For some reason when I choose to ship packages, I opt for the US Postal service. I'm not exactly sure why since I can ship for essentially the same cost at FedEx and UPS, and the dudes at the UPS store by me, in particular, are awesome. And of the three FedEx locations I've been to in my time in the city of wind, every employee has been a delight.

In general the USPS gets low reviews, but this location really takes it to a new level. It may even trump my local branch. I should know better by now, but even after being forced to buy an entire roll of tape just to use the tiniest amount (I get that they can't just give away packing tape completely free or some might taken advantage — which is why I asked if I could pay for just a small amount; this might even boost their revenues and would certainly reduce frustrations), I went right on rolling through with the rest of my transaction as the woman I dealt with treated me as if people generally did not ship packages from the post office. I should have taken her hint. Three weeks after my last attempt, I'd had my package returned to sender and they told me I'd have to wait in a long line to send again and pay, again, for shipping. If it can go all the way to its intended location and back to me for one fee, it seems that it can go back out for no additional cost. Still, at least my life frustrations are this simple.

For me, along with realizing I shouldn't use the post office for these types of things, it's about trying to get at just what it is that makes everyone who works there so ornery. I don't think it's a chicken or egg scenario. Are people annoyed to wait in long lines at the post office? Surely. But the fact that virtually everyone working there is rude, and treats all standard requests as if they are extremely unusual and unique special cases, blows my mind. Perhaps they are trying to discourage anyone from going there so they can just sit around. I don't really know what it is. Perhaps the next time I can just ask why they are so rude and ornery. Even when I hate waiting in line, I'm always calm and polite when I get there. Hell, once you arrive they'll generally tell you you're missing some integral information or form necessary to complete your transaction and they'll usually push your right back to the back of the line. It's not even simply my personal experience, it's observing all of the other transactions ahead of me.

The post office doesn't have to be Hell, but I can't see this trend being anything but perpetuated. Shitty experience and shitty delivery? Seems to be an unfortunate package deal.

As is generally the case when I write any of this stuff out, the moment the post is finished it drives home how little it matters. Boy I hope I find something interesting to blog about next time.

Stay fresh.

Chan[n]el No. 5

A little bit of

Brad Pitt

on a sign, a little bit of

Knightley

at one time, a giant effing bus ad's what we need. Want to buy some Chanel? Plant the seed.

I'd pass the Knightley face above, daily (not Daley, I get off before that) on my walk from the train, and then on my walk to the train, and perhaps on my walk to and from seeking out some lunch. Recently she was replaced by old Brad up there, whose quizzical, far-off look can likely be accounted for by his confusion that a giant perfume bottle is super-imposed in front of him. "Do dudes even wear this?" Brad Pitt doesn't care. Hollywood, a couple of roles in some nutter films (Seven, 12 Monkeys), Gwyneth's head in a box only to discover you're still dating in real life, and then a female Jon Voight eventually on the scene, with a gaggle of children, adoptive and biological. Life's different for you, wear what you like.

In simply googling those images, there was a swath of articles (really, I chose swath?) describing these ads. People are confused they say, but it's attracting attention. It certainly is. It's just crazy enough to work. My fragrance use won't go beyond whatever scent my Old Spice deodorant happens to be, but this may very well chan[n]el in some new sales.

Welcome to November folks. Seven weeks left in the world.*

*some say

Helloween

And goodbye as well. With Halloween 2012 drawing to a close, I'm also looking to fill my four-post-per-month quota. I'm weakly making it onto the weekly. I should be calling it Balloween since I'm feeling progressively more and more like balls.

Today I didn't get round to dressing up, but I was rocking a crew-neck t-shirt, which isn't that odd except that I'm so accustomed to the v-neck in the last few years that I actually feel a touch out of sorts in a crew-neck. Like my neck is confined or something stupid like that. Of course strangers don't know that I nearly exclusively wear v-necks (no, seriously, I cut my crew-necks into v-necks a lot of the time), so as usual, all in the brain. The moral of the story is that there's very little story here.

Smoking line, the cut-off line for cigarettes, so you can't. smoke. here. Each morning I walk by the Merchandise Mart and I'm fascinated by the smoking line that is painted onto the sidewalk. Fascinated because it exists, but also fascinated because it is obeyed. The idea is that the entryway is not flooded with smoke, and it's a nice concept, but given the wind in Chicago, the efficacy of the smoking line is questionable. That, and it's also really intriguing to me to see an arbitrarily painted line observed, one that adheres to the 15 foot rule. Why fifteen feet? Why not.

As you can see, I'm not too into linking the disparate parts of this post to one another. What I am into, is wondering if Skidz brand clothing will return. Peep these shots below. Those aren't costumes, those are fashion!

Merry go round indeed! They're not skidding! Or are they?

This girl right here!

Happy Halloween folks.

I Don't Work Here

Quite frequently in my life I'll be in a place of business and someone will make an inquiry of me that is the sort of thing you might ask an employee of that place of business. This is a roundabout and dumbass way of saying that people tend to think I work at most stores I'm in, regardless of attire. I certainly don't dress to code at any of these places. One of the earliest I can remember was coming off some temp office work during the summer before starting college and rolling into Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get some bedsheets before leaving for school in a day or two. I informed the woman who asked me where something was (that's right, I don't remember this detail just over eleven years later) that I in fact didn't work at the store (I was wearing a button-up and slacks — side note, people apparently hate the term slacks), and then directed her to where the item in question was. How can I remember that I directed her correctly but not remember the item? I just can.

In the years since, I've sold tennis racquets, shoes, advised a few folks on whether or not to buy certain articles of clothing, and I suppose that's about it. Actually, in a few recent instances I've dispensed doughnut purchase suggestions but then, for reasons even I can't fathom, I already wrote an entire (and long) post about that.

When I'm not mistaken for an employee, I can often be found giving directions, taking pictures of you when you're on vacation, or aggressively being hounded by canvassers (I include homeless people in this designation). Something about my general demeanor must make all of these things happen. The thing is I really don't mind most of these interactions because I enjoy helping people, I just can't figure out what it is that suggests I am either an employee or an expert on directions.

At any rate, I've a feeling I've blogged about this nonsense before (I've really got to get in the habit of checking that beforehand) but if you haven'r read it, it's new to you.

Next time you need help shopping, your photo taken, or directions, well, I'm bound to be in the vicinity.

Renesaince Rambling

I was on some company website the other day and I don't know how the hell I ended up there in the first place, but one thing I always check out is the team page. It's tough to write a bio about yourself or have one written about you, but either way it tells you a bit about how a company wants to portray themselves. And I'll say that generally I don't like it. On the bigger corporate side, these bios tend to be formally written, dry, a touch boring, but just contain the facts. This is as expected for what they want to portray. It's the smaller places though, the newly-launched tech and media ventures, or the ad/design shops looking to be edgy/cool that I tend to take the most issue with. I get that even when trying to avoid tooting your own horn, you still have to make note of some accomplishments so that someone who's never heard of you can get an idea of, well, your accomplishments. But too much of it seems to come from the same school of what's cool like, perhaps they are trying too hard.

The reason I bring it up is that one of the team members lists himself as a "Renesaince [sic] man." Apparently spelling is not part of his Renaissance. 

In more boring news, I'd also seen that someone on LinkedIn who was in my network had fallen into my 2nd tier. As this individual was in the 500+ connections realm, I thought it was pretty interesting that they would specifically disconnect from me. Perhaps it was in response to my not accepting what I presume was his wife's invitation to connect, though I'd never met her in real life. The thing is, I'm not a prolific LinkedIn user, and all of the people I'm connected to are people I know or have met in real life. And not every person I know in real life and is on LinkedIn is someone I am connected to there.

It just goes to show that peoples' online behaviors are weird. But then, people are weird. Especially in the sense that anything outside of our own prescribed systems is alien and difficult to understand.

Alas, Internet, I must give you a rest. Until tomorrow then...

Fall[acies]

You ever dislodge a booger and have it go up your nose? It's really disconcerting for some reason even though it's comprised of just those things that just left there anyway.

I was thinking about sinus infections because I get them every fall, and because my girlfriend's sinuses are always crap and I thought I'd make a hyperlink to someone signing the word "us." But in rudimentary googling, I returned no results. What a sad thought that in ASL, there is no us. Bad enough that it's already co-opted for A/S/L.

Mostly in fall I dream of cross country and the pleasant experience of running over hill and dale. Even the scent of port-o-john chemical leads to fond reminiscence. Of course it's not long then until it will be nut-bitingly cold. 

In other running news, the Chicago Marathon was yesterday. I was too lazy to get around to the course this year, but I did at least catch the last few miles on my computer. The NBC live webcast was rather awful, with cutaways every few minutes to interview god-knows-who or lend another update to the weather. I understand that not everyone happens to be a running enthusiast and they are trying to draw in viewers, but that is not the way to do it, especially not in the closing minutes of the race.

At any rate, watching these guys (Kebede and Lilesa), drugs or not, click off miles in the 4:40s and still be able to surge and drop into the 4:30s boggles my mind. And that they battled each other. It was an actual race. Multiple surges in races of 5k or less took their toll on me, though I suppose in the longer race there are more opportunities for moves and time to counter them. I can only imagine the horrible death of covering an early move and paying for it for 7, 9, 12, 15 miles.

One of the stranger aspects of the marathon to me is that you eat and drink during it (technically you're not quite eating in a lot of these instances). One year perhaps I'll get injuries figured out and be able to train to run a marathon in a time I'd consider reasonable. Maybe this will even be the city for it.

In political news, for the opening presidential debate it might be worth taking Matt Taibbi's word for it. 

42

Ah, the meaning of life. When you spend so much time looking for it, there's a good chance you might show yourself the meaning of being lonely. The idea that we're not alone in the universe, to me, also often comes down to what we define as our universe. It's semantic, it's aggravating, and there's a good chance it could drive you insane. But that's on the supposition that you're sane to begin with. And who gets to decide that is just one more can of worms. Why worms were canned and all that I'm not exactly sure of either, but when you open up that can, be prepared to go fishing. Does that mean vegetarians need not worry?

Okay, that's a touch abstract, and a touch not sensical, but I had to put something together in order to hit my four post monthly quota.

Have I actually said anything, though? And by what means was it dictated and arrived upon within the silly mass of what we call neurons and synapses and other scientific terms I'm blanking on. Hell, scientific is a term, and term is a term. But let's have this get terminal. No, not terminal, since I'm not really adept at programming, terminal, as in rather than this being the place where a flight takes off, or the descriptor for a bad illness except isn't every illness terminal because even if it doesn't off you it at least runs its course, does it not?

But this post has run its course. I like running courses.

Until October then...