God Help America!

Posted April 8, 2010 by krazykrause
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Here is a topic that comes up at lunch all the time

Politics

I will refrain from displaying my own political agenda, for now

Please take a few moments and watch this video of Georgia Congressman Hank Johnson and what he said during an Armed Services Committee hearing….

All I can say is God Help America.

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My name is Chilla and I’m an addict!

Posted April 1, 2010 by chilla
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My name is Chilla and I’m a tech addict.  Best Buy, The Apple Store, Tiger Direct, and New Egg are my personal meccas.  The bushed steel, polycarbonate white, and sound of a cooling fans get me all a thither, not to mention any new or old camera that I haven’t seen or phone that I haven’t touched.

Currently I’m working on Wormy’s apartment to update it to all the latest and greatest tech.  I must say Wormy is the best girlfriend ever, she never says “Don’t get that it’s too expensive?” , “Why do we need that?” , “Don’t we already have 3 of those?” , “Why is the apartment starting to glow nuclear radiation green?”.  Sooner, hopefully than later I’ll have the whole apartment rigged with most things being voice activated or at least on timers.

Chilla's Command Center (Version 1)

Chilla's Command Center (Version 1)

From my computers, yes I have 4 desktops, 1 laptop, a netbook, I also have 4 digital cameras, a digital camcorder, 3 TVs, an Xbox, and some other various stuff.  If it has a power button I get excited. Most of my time I spend in front of a computer, 10 hours a day working and the other 10 pissing around trying to learn or experiment.

I also have a minor bag addiction.  I have an irrational phobia of what would happen if the apartment burned down or were robbed, call me crazy I know.  The bags are also preconfigured for where I’m going/what I’m doing for the day.  So most of the time you’ll find me lugging 10 lbs of crap around with me like a security blanket.  Well a new iPad purchase is calling my name so I need to go shopping.  TTYL.

Beer, Lettuce, Mars, and Venus

Posted March 30, 2010 by mbolz
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Beer Pops anyone?

So, as guys, we all know that the optimum temperature for beer is exactly 1/2 degree above the temperature at which it turns to slush.  And we all know that since we keep beer in the refrigerator, we should keep the refrigerator at that optimum temperature.  Unfortunately, setting the refrigerator to this optimum beer temperature tends to freeze things like lettuce and eggs.  As a guy, the comment you would make after the lettuce is found frozen would be something like “well, we can’t have a salad, how about a beer,  it’s nice and cold”.  Nearly the same thing will come out of a guy’s mouth on a Saturday morning upon discovering that the eggs have all frozen.  “Well, since the eggs are frozen, let’s get a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit from mickey D’s and have a beer, it’s nice and cold.”   Unfortunately, wives don’t have the same zen-like response to discovering that the lettuce and eggs are frozen.  They usually come up with something like “What the f**k did you do to the fridge, the lettuce and eggs are frozen!”.  To which the guy would respond “I don’t see a problem here, the beer is perfect, let’s have one now”.  Mars and Venus.  Beer is such a happy food.

And a dog in the mix…

Posted March 29, 2010 by traininale
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So I finally talked the wife into getting a dog, well she thinks it was the kids (ha-ha), as I have had them all my life, too many to count, don’t want to remember them all, and still regret not understanding them at first, and I must have the beast trained to a degree probably more so than most. Case in point, I pride myself on my last pooch, a rottweiler named Rommel who I still miss every time I look at my new untrained dog. Rommel was tremendous. I trained him routinely for 9 months and at the end of it I could control him with voice commands even when another dog came into the yard. This is the promise I made to the wife and during this training process I am wondering if I elevated her expectation a little too high. (I have her on the beer counting, but this is altogether a horse of a different color).

So being “the trainer” I must keep the faith and constantly press forward with the demonstration of how to make this beast bend to my will with affection and kind prodding. So the first thing in training is getting the doggy house broken which I do by teaching the animal to do her duty on command along with Rule One: The dog shall never be off a leash within the first year, perhaps two, of her life. So now I have created a routine where I find myself in the front yard out loud telling my dog to excrete or tinkle; to not only make me happy but to give her the satisfaction of pleasing her master with a poo. (What? If you don’t hurry up I’ll put you in the cage and you will have to hold the poo? Move it already my beer is getting warm!) What a good girl. However, as the dog ages she has discernibly developed a vexation for the odors that she and I’m guessing that other dogs have created and thus I spend more time than wished as a witness to her purpose of where the next poo shall be placed. (For the love of Michael just crap already would ya?) .

What can be going through her brain? She has to smell all previous poos because for the Savior

Ava the Boxer

St. Francis you wouldn’t want to be caught at the dog park without a lookup in your poo database of another dogs ass odor. Think of the embarrassment?

Dog1: “What you never snorted Peekapoo poo? What? Is that a nose or something to shove in a crotch for the good Book of John?”

Dog2: “Dammit, is that Purina or Dads?”

Dog1: “Rookie!”

But what type of breeding have our forefathers deftly plied into the domesticated dog to make them crave: affection, table scraps, a walk in the park, and other dogs butts? I mean the Border Collie will move  a herd of anything; a German Shepard will listen to the cops every command; the Terrier will kill vermin. All of these traits are good so when did a breeder state, “The disposition is pleasant but how good is he/she with the stench of poo? Chop chop man! You’d be wise to send that snout up a crotch! It can’t know poo with how you have handled him!” They spend way too much time indulging in this practice for it to be otherwise. It has to be a trained response. I mean between the personal hygiene thing and the interest in what another animal didn’t want so they placed it on the ground, is there something we humans are missing?

At any rate, my front yard is a mine field, the grass is dead, when my neighbors come to visit their shoes smell, the dog jumps up, she tinkles on the floor with excitement, the wife yells, the kids run and hide under their beds, and I know for sure I am one happy dog owner.

Why wives count their husbands beers.

Posted March 27, 2010 by 21daybeerkeg
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This has been one of my favorite repeat topics at lunch!! It’s never been a long discussed topic but a filler if you will, many, many, times.

Why do wives count their husbands beers, night after night, after night? When I ask that question I don’t even mean just the lunch guys wives. There is no way our small group is just microcosm of this problem. This problem must be a deadly virus that requires in-depth investigation and swift action because it is a pandemic and I don’t use that word lightly. I have learned from the CDC by observing their handling of the swine flu pandemic that the word (pandemic) should only be used in the most dire of situations. This situation clearly calls for the word pandemic. Based on the CDC’s impeccable estimating techniques I can say this affliction probably effects over 20 million wives even though I only have 3 confirmed cases of beer counting. Sorry starting to morph into another blog, I will get back on topic.

So if we look back into the past, our wives past, I know beers were never counted when we were boyfriends or fiances so what happened that caused this cataclysmic effect? I have a few theories and at least one cure.

It could be a wife likes to have the feeling of control over their husband but when the husband has beer he is less susceptible to her requests and will give back his own opinion on the situation causing long drawn out conversations. It could be the embarrassment of the recycling bin on the front curb for all the neighbors to see. It could be the more money that is spent on beer means less money for the important (trinket) household purchases.

@21DayBeerKeg's house at Christmas

The most plausible reason I think is plain jealousy. Women (wives) are just not built to be able to handle a 2.0 alcohol level and still get their housework done like husbands are able to. I mean come on…. have you ever seen a woman do laundry have kicked in the butt? No never, it just doesn’t happen. Do you want to see colored clothes bleached or sweaters shrunk to the size of Speedy Gonzalez? On the other hand I have seen many husbands operating dangerous machinery (chain saws), climb a tall ladder or mow grass for 2 hours after 5-7 beers with no ill effects. Unfortunately we can’t train our wives to be a master of grain and hops they just don’t have the midi-chlorian levels in their blood that we do. There is something we can do and that is gentlemen you must buy a beer meister !! Counting is almost impossible and Jedi mind tricks can be used. (I did not have a second beer.. hand wave). Good luck and may the Yuenglings be with you.

Is Customer Service Dead?

Posted March 27, 2010 by krazykrause
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So this evening my better half and I decided to go to dinner. We like to support our local establishments and we have a favorite, but unfortunately it was packed so we decided to go down the street to another place. Choice number two is a bar and restaurant that has about fifteen tables and it’s probably just a step or two above a dive, but the food is good and reasonably priced, so off we went. It was 6:30pm and the lot was well over half full when we pulled it, but we decided to take our chances and see if there was a wait.

As we walked in there was a booth near the door we selected, but it was dirty so we staked our claim and waited for someone to come over and clear it. Ten minutes later we were still waiting and did I mention that both waitresses had passed us SIX times with out a single word of acknowledgment. Five more minutes had passed and finally the table was cleared, menus were provided and life was good again, or at least I thought.

Our order was taken and believe it or not it took twenty minutes for our drinks to arrive and another fifteen for the appetizers to arrive. For those of you who are keeping track that’s Fifty minutes from entry to appetizers. Surprise, the food showed up two minutes later. Did I mention how much I hate that! One bonus was the food was good as always and the meal finished with the check showing up just on time. Where I promptly paid the bill and gave $0.00 tip. Then turned the bill over and wrote a little note to the manager and or owner.

A few kind words or a smile would have turned or visit from horrible to acceptable.

Heck, is it too much to expect an apology for making us wait fifteen minutes to clear the damn table? Now I should probably mention that in a previous life I was a restaurant manager and maybe that’s what influences my ideas about how customers should be treated. I also realize that earlier in this post I rated this place just above a dive.

Granted this is just one example, but unfortunately it’s becoming more of the norm rather than the exception. Seriously, is a little customer service too much to ask for? Are my expectations just too damn high?

Looping for the Dalai Lama…..Big Hitter, the Lama

Posted March 24, 2010 by jhooperiv
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Apparently hoop is a common name that a lot of people use for pseudo names and online IDs…who knew..

One of the many topics that comes up during lunch is golf.  If you don’t play, as about half of the lunch crew – current and former – don’t, I can’t fault you…George Carlin wondered what pin headed pricks were doing smacking a little white ball around a back yard big enough for a king.  Robin Williams has a skit mocking the Scotsmen who came up with the damn game…so like I said, I can’t fault you for not being a fan….I won’t even get into the recent headlines of a golf superstar, that might be another blog saved for another time.  But, for those of you who do, and even for those of you that don’t play, there is always something to take away from a sport or activity, depending on whether you count drinking beer while hitting said little white ball a sport or an activity…….right, onto my point.



So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper,

I grew up on a golf course.  Not in the typical way of my house sitting on an edge of a hole of a club, or playing a round or two every day to develop my skill as a scratch golfer.  Instead, I grew up caddying at a local private course in the south hills of Pittsburgh.  Every summer for eleven years, I carried at least one, more often two bags of golf clubs, golf balls, towels, umbrellas, jackets, water, crackers, and whatever else the golfer thought he might need at any given point during the course of four hours.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of the job.  Not only did I get to enjoy the weather, the outdoors, make great money, and get exercise, but I developed life long skills that not only I can use on a golf course, but that I can use in every day experiences throughout life.

I could go on about all of the eccentric people I looped for, or the steady gig I had for over four years with a golfer (and how I knew his game better than he did), or the time I got to caddy for Mario Lemieux.  But instead, I’d like to focus on those life lessons that were taught between the shots the golfers were taking.  There were qualities taught to me by some of the most successful local people in the area, some famous, some not so famous.  Those qualities and lessons include concentration, patience, focus, the ability to be still, quiet, and listen, and the occasional lucky bounce.

Patience defines a golfer.  Patience definitely defines a caddy.  Patience from the grace of a higher power is granted to caddies who loop for a really poor golfer.  The lesson of patience is the most important lesson I’ve learned and been able to take with me into my life and career.  Watching a round develop, takes patience.  You may run into a poor shot, or a situation where you need to take one shot backward to improve your position.  If you aren’t patient and don’t take the time to see beyond the immediate position you’re in, you’re going to become frustrated very easily.  You may be stuck behind a tree completely blocking your shot.  And if you don’t take the time to evaluate that position, you’re more than likely going to end up in a worse position than you were in by rushing into the shot.  This translates perfectly into many situations in our lives.  If you can’t be patient enough to see how things are developing, you may very well end up in a worse position than you were in before.  One impatient action can drastically affect the next several steps.

Listening may be the next best lesson taken from caddying.  Four hours is a typical round of golf, and there is plenty of silence during those four hours.  You have to be silent much of the time, because the player needs to concentrate.  But between those periods of silence (and cursing), there are so many valuable life experiences discussed amongst the players that it is necessary to be still and absorb what is around you.  There is no need to interrupt when someone is talking with you.  You may not always agree with exactly what they are saying, but your ability to listen (as well as your tip at the end of the round) says much about your character.  Moving beyond the course, listening is a primary factor in our ability to comprehend what is going on around us.  I’ve met few people who get to where they are by interrupting constantly.

Finally, the most interesting lesson I’ve taken from caddying is that occasionally, you may get rained on, or have a bad day, but you also get that occasional lucky bounce.  Some bounces feel like they have come back and kicked you in the shin, but there are those times where that branch was positioned just right that it took enough speed off of your shot and the ball ended up magically in the hole.  We need to be able to appreciate those lucky bounces.  They don’t come often, but when they do, enjoy them.  Take the time to look around at the beauty you’re surrounded by, both on the course and off and definitely enjoy those lucky bounces that come your way, you may not get another one for awhile.