I had no idea it would be so satisfying

Last week, I had a job interview.  It was from a company that had cold-called me from LinkedIn, so needless to say, I didn’t have any particular interest in them upon finding out who they were and what they did.  But they didn’t bat an eye when I dropped some inflated salary requirements, because I wasn’t really that interested, so I decided to take the interview anyway, because it would be good practice and who knows, maybe they would have wowed me in some way to make me reconsider.

The interview had several warning flags from the onset, specifically the fact that one of the guys on the call, I recognized their name, and I knew our paths had crossed at some point because if nobody’s ever told you, Atlanta isn’t as big of a place as people think it is, which is why it’s particularly important to burn your bridges with peril, because you just never know if you’ll run into people again.  I just couldn’t place it, but I know that I knew this guy from somewhere.  He didn’t seem to indicate that he remembered me, either.

Second, the nature of the company practically bored me to tears.  Something about transaction technology, development of some apps and shit, and honestly, I was already hard leaning towards not wanting this job in the first place, since they had listed for a “UX Graphic Designer,” to which most people aren’t aware, the two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, but there’s a far bigger divide between the two than the working world is aware of.

Needless to say, the indication I got from the position is that the company doesn’t know what they want, and mashed two disciplines together, hoping they’d be able to find a singular person to do two jobs.  But it also meant that for a company that doesn’t know what they’re looking for, I could’ve either gotten into the door and coasted to a good salary, or I’d fail to meet expectations that I wasn’t aware of and be in a disadvantageous position.

But it’s the third strike where I completely checked out and definitively knew that I was going to turn this opportunity down: the sample project.  Basically, because “they wanted to get in my head and get a sense of my style,” they wanted me to reimagine and redesign one of their landing pages, “in my style.”  

Basically do some work, for free.  I have no problem with competency tests or assessments, because those are usually pretty quick, and can show a lot of insight.  But to be assigned a multi-day project, for no payment?  No fucking way.

In my mind, upon hearing this, I’m basically saying, bitch, I’ve got two kids and no time as it is, and you want me to do some fucking work for free?  Fuck.  That.

*no joke, I might not have written this post if I didn’t realize it was great opportunity to use this Sonic gif I made eons ago because I actually do like it that much

Continue reading “I had no idea it would be so satisfying”

Being a man of my word

A wise man; the Ultimate Warrior to be specific; once said: blah blah blah skeletons, blah blah blah, sacrifice.  Rooooarrrrrrrr snarrllllll

Chris Jericho said it best about the Ultimate Warrior: I don’t know what he said but it sounded cool yaaaayyyyy

Anyway, this isn’t a post about the Ultimate Warrior, Chris Jericho, or professional wrestling, for once.  Those were referenced just to zone in on a single concept, that’s kind of stuck with me, especially when it comes to trying to tempt fate and potentially get the things that I hope to get: sacrifice.

I have this belief that seldom do good things occur without some degree of sacrifice involved.  It’s basically like when kids behave and act good because they want something.  And when I’ve wanted things like, the Braves winning the World Series, I most definitely think that there should be some sacrifice made by all Braves fans, if they really wanted to see a World Series win.

A few weeks ago, I dogged on Dugout Mugs, and basically how I thought they were the most useless products on the planet.  And how in an era of pandemic, wealth inequity, teetering on the precipice of financial ruin everywhere, the absolute last fucking thing anyone needed was a cup made out of a baseball bat.

One of the last things I blathered about how was that I should probably make a sacrificial bet that if the Braves won the World Series that I should get a Dugout Mug, in spite of just how abhorrent I think they are, because if I really wanted to see the Braves win, I should make a sacrifice, after all.

I wasn’t at all writing all that, in an attempt to superstitiously manipulate fate, and put on a show.  Believe me, I have done it before, and naturally it doesn’t work, but my disdain for Dugout Mugs is very much legitimate.  They’re useless products, AND they have a ridiculously ludicrous $70 price point for a fucking hollowed out bat head.  The Braves winning the World Series would definitely cost me something, that I would never purchase in any other circumstance.

And despite the fact that I made this bet with myself, and probably zero people even read or knew about it, when the Braves finished the Astros, I went ahead and bit the bullet and purchased a fucking Dugout Mug.  Thankfully, there was some sort of promotional deal for early purchasers, and I was able to get my mug for not-$70, but it was still basically the cost of a brand new video game once taxes and shipping were applied.

I didn’t have to do it.  I could’ve denied everything and just said eating my words should be enough.  But when it comes to fates and superstition, I am that gullible, so I believe that it’s probably for the best that I remain a man of my word and fulfill the obligation I made for myself if the Braves were to win.  

Considering how long I’d been hoping to see this, $57 is a paltry price to pay, and even if I think this mug and all other Dugout Mugs are bullshit, at least everything will taste something like victory for a little while from it.  Even gross-ass IPAs.

What kind of message is the Rainbow Fish sending kids?

Spoiler alert: I’m basically going to tell the whole plot of The Rainbow Fish.

Yes, we’ve arrived at that point of my brog’s timeline where I am using children’s literature as fodder to write about.

Imagine a kid goes to school with a box from Costco, of Butterfinger candy bars.  The full-size ones, and not the annually shrinking fun-size nuggets.  Naturally, their ownership of all these candy bars catches the attention of all the other students, and one day, one of the kid’s classmates comes up to them and asks for one.  Seeing as how there is nothing offered in return, the kid refuses to part ways with a Butterfinger for free.  The classmate is disappointed, and others have witnessed this failed transaction, everyone steers clear of the kid, alienating them from everyone else.

Upon asking for some guidance, it’s suggested that the kid give some of his Butterfingers away, as it might make other classmates happy.  And eventually, the classmate who wanted a freebie comes back to beg for a Butterfinger again, and not liking being alienated, the kid acquiesces and gives them one.  Now classmates all around swarm the kid, and they start giving away Butterfingers to everyone.  Finally they are down to one Butterfinger, but now they have successfully bribed numerous classmates to be their friend.

The kid has basically bought friendships, and everyone seems to be okay with this dynamic.  The end.

That’s basically the story of The Rainbow Fish, except the kid is a fish and the Butterfingers are the fish’s ornate, shiny scales.  All the other fish in the sea avoid the Rainbow Fish, because they aren’t willing to give away it’s scales, which is actually worse than giving away Butterfingers, because fish kind of need scales in order to protect themselves but the point is the Rainbow Fish is alienated simply for wanting to keep their dermis, theirs.

But eventually, the Rainbow Fish gets kind of lonely, but then the wise octopus suggests giving away their scales in order to win favor with the other fish in the sea.  Right there, is a red flag of bad suggestion, as the octopus is basically endorsing bribery, instead of trying to earn friendships through conversation, commonality, or any other organic method.

Unfortunately, the Rainbow Fish heeds the advice and basically rips off their own scales one by one, in order to “earn” friendships with the other fish in the sea, and by the end of the book they’re down to just one last shiny rainbow scale for themselves, but at least they have all these friends.

This is not a positive message to be sending children, and I’m kind of disappointed at the message this is sending kids.  I don’t want either of my daughters to have to buy their friendships by giving away anythings that they might have in their possession that others might want.  I want them to develop friendships organically through teamwork, camaraderie or commonalities, like real, sustainable friendships should be; not by giving their shit away for free.

WWE’s Women’s short-strap blets bother me

I’m fairly sure it might have started with Sasha Banks after she won the Smackdown women’s title from Bayley a while back, but I didn’t notice it until she lost the blet to Bianca Belair at Wrestlemania last year: the strap was noticeably shorter.  It bothered me.

This was no more prevalent than during a “surprise” segment during the NXT show after Wrestlemania, when all three brands’ women’s champions all gathered in the ring to signify the whole NXT and NXT alum success thing, with all of them holding their blets, with Belair’s stumpy looking blue blet next to the red blet and the NXT women’s blet.

Obviously, it doesn’t take a genius to understand that the logic behind shortening the strap was likely due to the fact that Sasha Banks is pretty petite in stature, and a short strap allowed her to wear the blue blet without there being like a foot of excess hanging off of her.  I just figured the WWE would transition back to a longer strap on a need-be basis, but from what I can tell there doesn’t appear to be any long-strap versions of the blue blet anymore, or nobody with a waist larger than 20” appears to have held it to warrant going back to one.

To make matters worse, the red blet has been shortened now too, so now RAW is subject to having a stumpy looking women’s blet as well.  Yes, Becky Lynch has bounced back from pregnancy like a house of fire, and is probably slimmer than when she rose to the stars, but thanks to such a body transformation, now the red blet is all stumpy too.

I dunno, it just bugs me to see these blets looking all stumpy and shortened.  There’s something prestigious and traditional looking about a normal-length strap with all its rivets and snaps, and seeing it all shortened just makes them look lower-class and less prevalent.  Alexa Bliss would undoubtedly not be able to do her trademark pose with these new stumpy blets, which is kind of ironic considering she’s probably the most petite superstar there’s ever been, to hold a championship.

All I know is that if the WWEShop ever changes their women’s replicas to short straps, there’s a 0% chance that I’d buy them for my girls.  They look silly, and they would undoubtedly fuck up the aesthetic that I’d try to go with their own hanging blets.  These women need to stop being divas, and get back to traditional, classic, normal-length straps.

No, it wasn’t

By the graciousness of my nanny, whom I excused from being on time to check at a QT for me, was she able to procure a reprint of the November 3rd commemorative Braves World Series victory edition.  This, was the highlight of my day.

So, I’m happy that I got the one thing that I had really wanted to commemorate the joyous occasion of the Braves reaching the top of the mountain and getting to be World Series champions, a sight and notion that is still hard to digest two days later, but I’m still peeved at just how hard it was to get a small piece of history to remember it by.

I’m pretty sure there’s something in the Constitution that says something along the lines of that news shouldn’t not be available to those who seek it, and it’s a stretch, but the AJC, whether it was deliberate or stupidity, suppressing production of the one and only obviously high-demand edition of their shitty paper, I would interpret as being fucking unconstitutional. 

As relieved as I am to have my own edition, predictably, the well-publicized high demand for these editions has created the dreaded and insufferable secondary market for them, and I’ve seen them on Facebook Marketplace going for at least $10 a pop, and mythical wife, after hearing me bitch and moan about it the night prior, spied some on eBay, going for around $27 a pop.

I’m not going to be a hypocrite about it, because I’ve definitely purchased extras of things before, with the intent of trying to flip them.  But whenever I’ve done that, that makes me an asshole, and what people are doing with these fucking AJCs, are making them assholes too.  I’m just glad that I didn’t have to pay a second-hand price for this, although I would have done so in order to get one.

The irony is that, it’s not even that good of a commemorative edition.  The AJC’s aesthetics and design has always been sixth-rate as far as major market newspapers go, and this commemorative edition doesn’t do the Braves justice.

The newspaper industry took a lot of flack over the last few decades over many publications taking cost-cutting measures and eliminating photographers, and instead tasking reporters to take pictures on iPhones.  I don’t know whether or not the AJC was one of those publications, but based on the shitty photo quality of my collector’s edition, I’m inclined to believe they are.

The photos are out of focus and have been enlarged way past the original resolution, and whatever staffers they have pretending to be graphic artists apply a bunch of high-pass filters to try and sharpen them, but instead make them look all posterized and pixelated.  I’d almost be embarrassed to actually display it after I frame it, but it will eventually become artwork for lack of a better term.

Anyway, I’m just glad I got my copy regardless of all the bullshit and hoops that had to be done in order for it to happen.  I just wish what seemed like a simple thing didn’t have to become such a joy-suppressing ordeal.

Fuck the AJC.

Fuck you, AJC

The only thing I wanted to commemorate the Braves’ World Series victory was a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution with some sort of front page cover of the Braves’ victory.  Unsurprising, so does just about every single fucking Braves fan in the Metro Atlanta area, or just people who want a slice of history.

But I guess it’s safe to say that misery loves company and that I am most definitely kept company, given the fact that the AJC printed a paltry 30,000 copies of a commemorative November 3rd edition.  Also unsurprising is that there are thousands of disappointed and upset fans who were unable to get one because there were only 30,000 copies of a fucking newspaper to a metropolitan area that has a population of nearly six million fucking people to which obviously not all of them are going to be Braves fans, but a whole fucking lot more than 30,000 are sure to be.

30,000 copies.  Only distributed at Krogers, Publixes, RaceTracs and QTs.  That probably means each location got like, 20 copies, to which they were obviously all sold out instantaneously by those who were lucky enough to be at the right fucking places at the right fucking time.  And me being handcuffed to a baby for 17 hours of every single day, I can’t even have the chance to even try to get one of these fucking surprisingly Jesus-rare newspaper editions.

Fuck you, AJC.  You’re not Nintendo withholding Switches.  You’re not Sony, artificially suppressing Piss5s.  You’re a fucking regional rag that somehow fucked up getting Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, by pulling this kind of bullshit stunt.  You could have printed 200,000 copies of this fucking paper, and they’d have almost all sold for $3 a pop, netting an absurd amount of revenue for a piece of shit publication that nobody would give two shits about on any other given day, but it just so happened to luck into the regional baseball lottery with the Braves winning a World Series.

Sure, they’re going to reprint a generous 70,000 more copies of it, but the cat is out of the bag now, and people now know the hot ticket these things are, and how many people want them.  And when that happens, if it already hasn’t, we’re going to have motherfuckers buying up multiples to try and flip them for profit, because the world is fucked up, everyone sucks, and I fucking hate everything right now.

I only had one goal, and it was a colossal failure and not for lack of trying.  In spite of my limited opportunities to leave the house, I still tried, failed, because the Publixes and Krogers I tried probably had like five copies.  Sure, there might be maybe 10 copies at each tomorrow, but I’m in the same boat of not going to have any chance to go check, and I probably won’t get them, and I’ll have to settle for the bullshit Friday edition or the Sunday reprint, that I’ll still get with hate and grudge in my soul.

The whole point of this was to get the paper on the fucking day after the World Series ended, and thanks to the AJC being a bunch of fucking fuck faces, dreams of traditionalists and Braves fans like me are all met with the same bullshit fate.

Fuck you, AJC.  I hate you more than COVID-19 right now, and I kind of hope that the Braves never win the World Series again, so that you’ll never have another opportunity to fuck up the golden ticket again.  Better yet, I retract my hopes that the Braves never win again, I hope they do win again, but when they do, the AJC is out of business and replaced by some publication that doesn’t fucking amount to toilet paper for the homeless.

Well that happiness didn’t last

The one thing I wanted to commemorate the Braves’ World Series victory was a copy of the November 3rd Atlanta Journal-Constitution, which I’m assuming would have the Braves’ victory on the cover.  I don’t want any hokey commemorative hats or shirts or a Dugout Mug, just a single copy of the local newspaper.

I asked my nanny to stop somewhere and pick one up, in lieu of coming on time, which she graciously did for me. However, it was the early edition that clearly started press last night while the game was in progress because it literally was a photo of Jorge Soler and text indicating that the Braves hoped to win one more game.  She didn’t know and neither did I, and I didn’t think the AJC was sophisticated enough to even do early editions.  So by no fault of anyone, mission was still not accomplished yet. 

I went out in the afternoon to a Walgreens hoping to accomplish three things: get my paper, drop off a UPS package, and pick up a prescription.  I accomplished none of them, and that’s when the wheels began falling off my day. 

This particular Walgreens is the worst on the planet.  It thrives solely on its optimal location, but the service and quality of the place is straight trash.  Prescriptions are never ready when you go there and they almost deliberately troll you to make you jump through hoops in order to procure.  Honestly, I’m past my wits end and I need to demand my wife stop sending shit there because I’m not going to go there anymore. 

So, the prescription I went to go pick up wasn’t ready.  Be like, 15 minutes.  By the way, I’m on the clock since #2’s going to wake up soon and my nanny’s going to leave.  Next

Oh, this Walgreens doesn’t collaborate with UPS. Only FedEx. Next

Oh, this Walgreens also doesn’t sell newspapers.  Fucking really?

So I go to the nearby grocery store in this 15 minute window to get a paper, and hope they have a UPS box or can accept outgoing mail.  Nope to UPS and all copies of the AJC are sold out. Next 

So I go to another grocery store, and they’re out too.  For as much as people always try and tell me print is dead, the demand for it today sure as fucking hell says it’s not.  At least there’s a nearby UPS store where I can finally drop off this fucking package I’ve been unable to drop off for the last 24 hours because UPS drop boxes appear to have vanished like voter suppression. Next

It’s been past 15 minutes, so I swing by Walgreens and mercifully, they have my prescription.  I’m on my way out and I make the call to last ditch try the gas station, since my nanny picked up her paper from one this morning.  I go inside and I see some guy wearing full Braves gear, and the cashier tells him sold out.  I storm out.

Now it’s time to get back home and relieve the nanny and put my handcuffs back on to baby duty. I will have no more opportunities to try and procure a copy of this paper today.  I am livid, I am dejected, I am just so drained, disappointed and hating the entire world at this moment. 

Going back to another topic, one of my biggest beefs is when people try and tell me print is a dying medium.  It definitely doesn’t get any respect from the working world, and it’s clear retailers aren’t bother supplying it, because on any other given day, copies of the AJC probably are thrown out.

But on days like today, when monumental things happen, there doesn’t appear to be anything people want more than a fucking physical piece of print, because something physical and tangible is the best fucking way to commemorate, fucking anything.

Fuck everyone who thinks print is dead. Fuck all the assholes who buy up multiple copies hoping to turn a profit.  And as far as I’m concerned, fuck the world right now because I just wanted one simple thing, and I can’t find it and I don’t have the time to look for it, and I’m probably going to miss out on something that really shouldn’t be this difficult to get my hands on.