I like public broadcasting. I remember when I was young, it seems like every major event occurred with the faint dinging of Mister Rogers’ trolley in the background. I remember when B.J. totally ruined Barney’s show by joining the cast. And I remember the pre- and post- Shari Lewis years.
As I grew up, I moved on to National Public Radio. First, it was Morning Edition in the mornings to keep me awake when I had to rise at 5:00 a.m. for high school, then it was whatever was playing on the station in Gainesville (Science Friday was and is a personal favorite). Now, I listen whenever I think about it since they did away with classical music and switched to jazz in the evenings on WUSF.
Either way, though, I don’t listen as much as I should. It’s not because of a lack of relevant and interesting programming; it’s because they ask for money all the damn time and I’m sick of it.
When one of the weekly pledge drives crops up on my radio, it’s an instant turn off. Whenever one of these events in monotony arrives, it’s all I can do not to imagine Ira Glass in his big, dumb hipster glasses with a tin cup begging for change outside of a 7-11.
I love public radio, but I think there should be a way to give those who actually donate a way to listen to all of their fine programming without degrading yourself and selling tote bags and DVDs for hundreds of dollars. It’s unbecoming.comment (0)
I need to acquaint myself with Final Cut Pro for school, so today I set up a virtual machine running OSX on my system so I can run the OS-specific software.
I feel like I’m playing with one of those toys from the pediatrician’s office with the multicolor beads on a wire ground into a block of wood.comment (0)
Given my new status as a wannabe newsman, I suppose I should give my opinion about something not related to baseball or bacon for once.
Remember when CNN Headline News was, you know, actually a news show? Now, HLN has devolved into a hodgepodge of superficial news and uneducated opinions. Any given half hour of programming consists of about 20 percent news and 80 percent Twitter whoring. Look, I understand that it’s chic to employ social networking on the tube nowadays, but when your show is focused more on what Ethel May in Alabama thinks about building some mosque in New York rather than actually building the mosque in New York, I think your priorities are a bit backward.comment (0)
As my arteries and wallet will tell you, I have an uncanny knack of finding the most delicious food values.
During that brief time when McDonalds’ one dollar sandwich was a bona-fide double cheeseburger instead of the flimsy McDouble, I was there. When Wendy’s introduced its delectable double stack for 99 cents, I was there. And yes, when Burger King countered with its one dollar quarter pound double cheeseburger, I was there.
I fought beside brave trans fats at the battle of five dollar all-you-can-eat pancakes on the banks of the mighty IHOP; I flew with fearless endless chicken wings over the perilous Ale House ravine; and I landed with the super value squadron on the shores of the Taco Bell atoll.
However, all of my service in the delicious food corps has led me to a higher consciousness of edible values. And this, friends, is why I have one hell of a tasty bone to pick with Steak ‘n Shake.
Recently, these folks have advertised four meals under four bucks (though with tax and a Coke, you’re looking at increased minimums). Of these four meals, three consist of burgers and fries. The burger options include a single steak burger with cheese and bacon, a double steak burger with cheese, and a triple steak burger sans cheese or bacon.
So, if my well-trained palate and checkbook serve me correctly, these Steak ‘n Shake crooks would have me believe that a slice of cheese is equal to the cost of a couple slices of bacon, which is also equal to the cost of a patty of beef.
Now, I realize that employing transitivity in the delicate field of value pricing is a risky venture. This said, I cannot in good conscience allow this travesty of the taste bud to go unnoticed.
However, when it’s 2:00 a.m. and I’m in dire need of a steak accompanied by a shake of some variety, I’m afraid I’m pretty well painted into a corner. You may have won the battle, Steak ‘n Shake, but trust me: you won’t win the war.comment (0)
Last Thursday began as any other would: I awoke, went to my classes, ate my (pre-packed and cheap!) bagged lunch, and went to get my ticket for Saturday’s football game with Angus.
As we approached the ticket window, I decided to go to the line belonging to the fellow who had given us our tickets for the week prior. After I gave him our school IDs, though, I regretted trusting him with such an important task. After swiping Angus’ card and printing his ticket, he informed me that because my card wouldn’t swipe, I would have to high-tail it to the student union to get another one before I could have the ticket that I’d already paid for.
“So, they’ll replace it?”
“Yeah, for 15 bucks.”
Wait a second, Johnny Ticketmaster. My ID had never once swiped properly before. I watched you guys. You would try to swipe it on one machine, again on another machine, and then you would break down and enter my student identification number into your magical ticket machine, and I would have my tickets. Heck, I even watched you do it a mere seven days prior!
Upon telling him this, he simply told me to get a new card. No apologies, no explanations for his inability to deal with customers, not even a smile for the fat, hairy guy who was about to speed walk across campus in 300 degree weather.
So, after some choice words for my newfound archenemy, I went. I gave Bernie Machen $15 to replace a card that hadn’t worked since he gave it to me three years ago. I ran back to the ticket office, drenched in Eau de Peterson, gave some new choice words to the incapable one behind the window, and I was on my way.
However, leave it to me to find the silver lining. Though I may have lost $15 and gained a new (terrible) photo on my ID, I apparently have an unused vending account from years ago with $30 still left on it.
Take that, ticket tyrant! My net profit of 15 dollars has foiled your dastardly plan, and the citizens of the UF community can now sleep easier with the knowledge that you aren’t invincible.comment (1)
Well, a couple of weeks have gone by since the King of Infomercials passed on. And you know what? I am pretty well peeved by the fact that the death of this true American hero was overshadowed by the untimely(?) death of some eccentric white woman with an affinity for little boys.
Billy Mays, you deserved better than this. In the wake of Michael Jackson’s trip to the preteen farm in the sky (or, as it were, deep below the ground in the special section of Hell), your passing garnered nothing more than a footnote in the media.
I watched Jackson’s memorial yesterday. Mariah Carey and Lionel Ritchie performed. Thousands flocked to see his gold casket. They closed down a Los Angeles freeway for his funeral procession, for Christ sake. People seem to forget the fact that mere months ago, this dude(?) was a monster in the eyes of society. I know it’s not kosher to speak ill of the dead, but in my defense Michael Jackson looked like he died 15 years ago. His heart was just catching up with the times.
But Billy Mays? There had never been a bad thing to say about this bastion of capitalism. He never slept with children. He was never a weird guy. The closest he ever came to buying a chimp named Bubbles was doing that TV show with Anthony Sullivan. He was just an honest man with a timeless beard that peddled mighty products that helped Americans every single day.
America, you sicken me. Sure, Jackson may have busted a move now and again. But his legacy seems vastly overrated. His music, in my opinion, was all right. But it was nothing compared to the stain-fighting powers of OxyClean, the adhesive abilities of Mighty Mendit, or the absorbency of Impact Gel.
In the end, though, Billy Mays’ celebrity status caught up with him. Because when God called the toll-free hotline for Michael Jackson’s kicking of the bucket, he threw in the passing of a television legend absolutely free. Just paid shipping and handling.comment (0)
I have been extremely derelict in my duties these past few weeks, but I have a good excuse. Two of them, as a matter of fact!
First, like the rest of the state, I have been glued to the television watching the Orlando Magic try to get the big orange ball into their hoop.
I’m actually kidding.
In reality, I cannot stand that all of a sudden folks are jumping onto the Magic bandwagon just as fast as they did with the Rays last year. Now, I understand that there may be some hardcore fans of Orlando basketball, but from an admittedly cursory look at Facebook status updates and newspaper coverage, it seems to me like that most of my comrades from the Tampa Bay area have either been very secretive about their allegiances or this is another case of spontaneous bandwagon jumping.
Don’t get me wrong. I have been watching the games and I would like to see the Magic win it all in the Finals, but I find it humorous that folks can get so enthusiastic one week about something that they didn’t know anything about the week prior. And to anyone reading this who has had a legitimate love affair with the Magic prior to this playoff run, please forgive me and remember that the bandwagon tirade doesn’t apply to you.
A side note, though: Dad and I were discussing the extremely amusing prospect of starting a short basketball league wherein all players must be 5’7” or shorter. But that is neither here nor there.
The second reason that I have been so suspiciously absent is that I have begun my second tour of duty in Dunedin. Much to my delight, we still have many of the regulars, but Calvin doesn’t show up any more. Maybe he got promoted to AA.
I will now leave you with a video of the great D-Jay busting all sorts of moves this weekend. If you are in town, be sure to come out to a game. The $6 tickets and mascot revelry makes up for the abhorrent play of the team.comment (0)