Self-aware old man moment

When Seth Rollins began calling himself “the Drip God,” I was curious, but didn’t really think anything of it.  Then, on an episode of My 600 Lb. Life the blob of the week’s son was wearing a shirt that just said DRIP on it, and it jogged my memory that I was curious.

I asked mythical wife if she knew, since she works with kids every day, that she might have picked up on some of their slang, but she didn’t really have any idea either.

So it was off to Google to find the answer for me, and I discovered that it was, of course, coined by some of today’s (c)rappers, and it’s to describe what used to be classy, swag, or just plain stylish in layman’s terms.  Sure, it makes not an iota of sense to me, and sounds fucking dumb, but at least I knew the general context of what the kids are calling drip these days.

But that’s when I realized just how much of an old man moment I just had, being so out of touch with new slang, that I had resorted to Googling it, in order to find out.  Given its general idea and origins I kind of wish I hadn’t, but when the day is over, I’d rather be in the know than not, even if it’s subjecting myself to stupid trash slang.  I guess that kind of mentality is prolonging the inevitable aging and separating from the generations beyond mine, no matter how in touch I may or may not try to be.

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.

I was interview ghosted today

As if the job searching process wasn’t frustrating enough, today I had an initial screening with some company, scheduled between 4-6 pm, that completely ghosted the fuck out of me.  I am quite unhappy about it, and I’m not entirely sure what my next steps are at this point.

I mean, a 4-6 pm window was already a small flag to begin with, seeing as how there’s an implication that someone is going to be continuing to work after the traditionally conclusive 5 pm hour, but I always like to remain as flexible as possible, even with babies handcuffed to me, I can get out of those temporarily for a noble cause like job interviewing.

But when I didn’t get a call early on in the 4 pm hour, I snidely remarked to mythical wife that, watch them reach out at like 5:55 pm.  But by the time 5:30-ish rolled around, I began to think that there was the possibility that they weren’t going to call me at all.  Sure enough, the clock hit 6 pm, there was no call, and worse off, there was no email or any sort of message or notification that this wasn’t going to happen.  I had just been ghosted.

The thing is, I had actually emailed the recruiter earlier in the day to see if they could narrow down the window of time, so that I could make sure my children were accounted for, plus the question on whether this was going to be a phone call or a video call, since all correspondence prior had been fairly informally through email.  That message was surreptitiously not responded to, which did slightly tingle my Spidey-sense.

So job ghosting really is nothing new to today’s spineless world, but most peoples’ stories about job ghosting is that the ghosting typically occurs after the interview, in which people’s hopes are high after landing an interview, and then doing the interview, but then never hear jack shit from the potential employer again.  However in my case, the ghosting happened before any sort of verbal communication could even happen.

Who knows, it could just be some recruiter just being bad at their job and genuinely making a mistake and maybe tomorrow I’ll get some apologetic email about how they’re soooo sorry for missing it, and try and schedule some other immediate time, or maybe they really are just a fucking asshole and decided to ghost me, after getting me to commit to a time appointment.  Frankly, I don’t really know how I’m going to react regardless of which of these outcomes is.

Honestly, this isn’t even really a job I’m that genuinely interested in.  I’m pretty sure it’s not remote, the area it’s in is a traffic shitshow, it might be considered a step backward from where I’m at, and the only reason I applied to it in the first place was that Glassdoor said the high-range of the salary was something I’d have been interested in, which means it’s probably nowhere near it, and I felt that I was a shoe-in to get their attention based on my current employer, which actually proved true, since they reached out to me, even if they did ghost me.

That being said, seeing as how I’m below lukewarm about this company in the first place, and don’t think I’m going to lose any sleep by severing this bridge, I kind of want to email or even call and try and get in someone’s e-face, and say my piece about how I don’t appreciate the time commitment I made being wasted by their lack of professionalism.  Or if it was an honest mistake, do I retaliate by ghosting them in return, if they dare to reschedule?

The likelihood of me enacting any sort of ghosting is probably not high, seeing as how I live my life a quarter mile at a time by the general rule of treat those how I’d want to be treated, and even if they ghosted me first, I fucking hated it and wouldn’t want to be ghosted, so I probably won’t be doing any ghosting no matter how much I’d really want to.

But it’s fun to imagine.

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.