tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10222894703463147332024-03-12T17:30:44.271-07:00Cynical BuzzA disposition to disbelieve in the sincerity of human motives and a tendency to express views by sarcasmCynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-54865493542857286592012-06-15T04:30:00.002-07:002012-06-15T04:30:37.787-07:00THE SPORT THAT CRIES WOLF<a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/</a><br />
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THE SPORT THAT CRIES WOLF<br />
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I love watching these games and you are right. ..I couldn’t even bounce a ball twice on my knee if asked so put my opinion in perspective. But watching this year’s Euro Cup I have to just say two words. “GET UP”!!!!!<br />
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Enough of these so-called collisions, falls, trips, spills, or miss shots giving the players an opportunity to cry, lie down and feint an injury. <br />
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I know. I know. It’s playing the umpires. Its part of the history and it’s the strategy of the game. YEAH YEAH YEAH.<br />
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But in my day if you EVER failed to jump up, get up or hurry your butt back on defense immediately in Basketball, Football or Lacrosse (sports where contact is at car accident levels), not only would you be ridiculed and benched until you were old enough to actually be retired in a wheelchair, but your own teammates, fans and MOTHER would completely disown you. And Yes, when I was young, I had to play UPHILL, BOTH WAYS IN THE SNOW. <br />
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Please Soccer (European football) players. JUST PLAY through the pain my son. Rub some dirt on it boyyyyyyy!!! It’s a scratch..it’s a bruise…OK OK. We get it, but know the difference between pain and injury … Injury means we won’t see you next week. Pain is defined as watching you hold your knee, foot or head after being kissed by a player the size of Napoleon while the rest of your team shrugs their shoulders in disgust and thinks…”Again?”<br />
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Seriously, you only fell down. Correct me if I’m wrong but you have been playing this sport since you were four and as an adult you still feel the need to lie there, crying and hoping to get a call, a break or a rest. <br />
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Dude, just get up and act like you have played this sport before. It’s a game, not a battlefield. You got bumped into….MY OH MY. MEDIC!!! MEDIC!!! Your own band of brothers can’t even believe you are lying there. Las Vegas has the odds 7-2 you won’t even grow a pair. That mark on your calf was what we call in AMERICA a BOO BOO and you are calling for a priest to read your last rites. <br />
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I have smacked flies harder than that in the woods and bled more from mosquito bites and you have the audacity to act like you need both an amputation and a standing ovation? <br />
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You are a world class athlete. No argument. You are a world class player in the most popular sport in the world. Congrats. But you are also the biggest cry baby I have seen since The NBA banned the Kim Kardashian from entering their locker rooms. (I watch WAYY too much reality TV)<br />
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The only words I ever want to hear watching your exciting and captivating sport is “GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL” not….. “Mommy, kiss it better.“<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-22872897607481664852012-06-14T00:50:00.000-07:002012-06-14T00:51:56.084-07:00BOOM BOOM BOOM<a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/</a><br />
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BOOOOOM- On my recent trip from Basel to London ONLY moments before we flew over the English Channel one of the TWO engines on my SwissAir flight blew up. No joke, as I don’t joke about my next breath of air.<br />
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AND I mean a Wikipedia defining type of engine disaster BOOM. Not a sonic boom, not a Boom Boom Boom lets go up to your room. Not Boom Boom Mancini…I mean BOOM as no matter what language you spoke or where you lived, everyone on my flight mouthed aloud (BOOM?!!!!?!!!?)<br />
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Now it might have been only five minutes but it felt as though the jet shook, rattled and was off balance for 20 minutes and then, finally the plane began to steady.<br />
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Yes, perhaps I was the only American on the flight but everyone else just silently stared straight ahead as if their teacher is having roll call? If you understood English you would hear me and only me expressing the conversation loud enough even the French coast below could hear me.<br />
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“What the H---,folks THAT was a BOOM, not a tick, not turbulence; not even a drop in altitude. IT was a BOOM of 6.9 on the Richter scale. Am I the only one needing a bathroom visit at the moment?<br />
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OK, where is the life vest again? Where is that FREAKIN red whistle and what is that small light on the vest for? Do I inflate it now or wait for water to enter my lungs? Seriously, I want that oxygen thingy to drop down so I can place it over my face first and then MAYBE help others if needed… Maybe.<br />
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NO NO…I didn’t listen to your repeated instructions or read the emergency card like I should have every time I have flown. I have got 1 million miles under me but I have no idea how to connect or tighten a seat belt, which I have done more times than even buckling my own pants.”<br />
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Now all the Swiss, French and Germans were completely quiet as the pilot calmly announced (first in German, then in French and then FINALLY in English) there was an engine malfunction and we are safely returning to Basel to "check out" the problem.<br />
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A problem? It was a BOOM. A problem is 2+2= or why does the chicken cross the road? This was a BOOM. I just kept listening for “ladies and gentlemen, please kiss your arse goodbye in any language so I could prepare myself to bend over.<br />
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After my heart slowed and my breathing naturalized, all I could think of was my last meal on earth was a compact version of a processed chicken in a steamed wrapper, sparkling water which was flat and a retired sweaty bodybuilder who sat next to me was sadly going to be the last person I will see before I leave earth.<br />
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Then I thought…honestly, could Hell really be any worse?<br />
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Please feel free to roam about this conversation in the safety of your own home.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0Schweiz46.818188 8.22751245.4274325 5.7006565000000009 48.2089435 10.7543675tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-16786095870922717402010-12-06T06:03:00.000-08:002012-06-14T01:09:04.897-07:00Take a Number To Be Abused<object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. If you EVER hear this in a medical office, the first sign you are NOT going to be special is when 7658 is your number and they are currently serving number... 9.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">I have had many physicals in my life. I have had exams before playing sports, starting jobs, even before getting life insurance approved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">They were all stressful, but predictable. The biggest fear in the past was seeing a new box of rubber gloves on the exam table…but I digress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">However, experiencing my first physical examination in Europe has changed my life forever or should I say, my ability to hold water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">It is hard enough not speaking the same language as the doctor, nurse or lab technician, but I learned nodding my head and saying yes to any medical question without comprehension is NOT a painless solution. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">I NOW know what the word, “enema” sounds like in any language-That I can promise as I am studying all the world’s dialects on that word from this moment on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Even a basic hearing test had psychological impact for years to come. I was placed in pre-war (not sure which war) dark, sound-proof hearing chamber with one small window 18 inches thick. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">No instructions, just a stick in my hand with a button to acknowledge I can hear something through my bright(CLOCKWORK) orange headphones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">When you get to be a certain age, even SILENCE makes noise. I could be dead and I would hear some ringing in my ears. Try explaining that when you now look like Cameron Diaz’ brother in SOMETHING ABOUT MARY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Mmmmmm (CLICK) MMMMMMMMMMM (CLICK) zzzzz (CLICK) mmmmm (CLICK) MMMMM (CLICK) ZZZZZZ… </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">OK, OK. You are right. I JUST kept pushing the button constantly as they either wanted to see if I could determine the mating call of a hummingbird or the sounds echoing from a black hole light years away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">I handle marketing, not clinical trials for dogs’ acute decibel sense of relativity. Just tell me which of my ears can hear the theme to THE SOPRANOS and which does not. Bada Bing (right ear)…Bada Boom (left ear). ‘nuff said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">The eye test was not as painful but much more frustrating. I was asked to REMOVE my glasses before I took the EYE test. I can not even read the top line that says…SEHTEST UNTEN</span><span class="shorttext" style="font-size: 100%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">(EYE TEST BELOW). So what do you expect from my vision going forward?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">“How about now?” Says the young eye technician after making a slight adjustment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">“How about NOW what? Can you tell I still am not wearing my glasses. Those are just mimic marks on my nose and ear from always wearing something which was designed to see just what you are showing me not to see.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Ok, and now?” she repeated over and over as the chart never focused only got brighter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">“Um. I can read the fact that you don’t care I can’t see without my glasses, but if you are asking me is that an E, M, or W, up, down or sideways? The answer is D, all of the above.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">After they ran complete and industry strength blood tests with six different test tubes, inserted needles into three missing veins on both arms and pricked my fingers so many times I left the lab resembling an old rusty beer can that endured a week at a red-neck rifle range…they finally ended my day with the customary drug test in a cup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">The moment of truth…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Please, be honest. Tell me if YOU would not also be confused if a nurse formerly from the Olympic discus team commands you to go #1 in a cup and place #2 in the box.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Wait….Wait, I thought the same thing until I saw there was a HOLDING BOX in the bathroom of where to place my number 1 test sample ----ONLY then, did I realize what she truly was requesting. WHEW. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">I am glad she meant(2) TWO steps to follow before I felt a need to leave a compliant number 2 present as I left the office. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">SEE!!!! This is why I will ALWAYS wear glasses for my physicals.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-72401378003551182812010-11-03T03:48:00.000-07:002010-11-03T23:22:13.352-07:00Swimming upstream both ways in the SnowI’m patiently waited for my flight to be boarded when I saw a British teenager in a colorful warm-up outfit playing with a shiny medal around her neck. I didn't recognize the color of the award until someone asked her what she won.<br /><br />A huge smile came across her face. "I finished in 6th place at a local swimming meet", shined self-proclaimed Suzy Swimmer. “Out of 8”<br /><br />Six out of eight? Wow...Suzy, just a heads up. I just ran into the kid who finished in 7th place. He was just stopped by security because of the magnificent size of his own trophy of modesty and look, there is the 8th place award winner making an acceptance speech near Passport Customs & Control.<br /><br />Now I appreciate hard effort and confidence as much as anyone, but bragging to strangers you finished in bottom run of a competitive race might just dampen any thought you have ever had of truly winning a flippant award in the future.<br /><br />Maybe it is me, but I can't even remember who finished second in last year's Super Bowl and Miss Modesty wants a standing ovation and a medal for finishing sixth. Does she realize I can float on a raft with a beer and finish only two places behind her?<br /><br />As we were ready to board, they flashed the top six names on the digital flight board who would qualify for 1st class upgrades.<br /><br />Little Suzy Swimmer took the lane in 6th place AGAIN. Et Moi? Oh, I missed the upgrade by one backstroke from my dubious karma.<br /><br />As I swam past her 1st class starting block on my way to seat 55b, I just happened to point at her tarnished pride and joy, "Hey Suzy,... Michael Phelps called, he said he has earrings bigger than that.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-8391252605298135762010-11-01T02:54:00.000-07:002010-11-01T03:17:31.950-07:00Planes, Trains and Wedding GownsPlanes Trains and Wedding Gowns<br /><a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</a><br /><br />On my flight back from Moscow, I waited in dreaded middle seat for my bookend seating partners as I witnessed a formally dressed Russian bride AND her groom head down the their second aisle of the day.<br /><br />They acknowledged they were my new soul mates in flight so I stood up, gestured and signaled with my terrible Russian, to please, PLEASE sit together so they could lovingly cuddle for the next four hours.<br /><br />The bride, with her veil still attached and her dress still fluffy, responded in perfect English they appreciated my gesture but she would like the window and her massive hubby will still take the aisle.<br /><br />Wow-It is hard to visualize this stunning bride with her beauty radiating from what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life wanting already to be SOOO far apart from her groom. But neither of them spoke a word to each other while I uncomfortably allowed them to sandwich me in seat 13B while watching “Rocky IV” on my iPad (just kidding). I kept wondering if this day would define their life, end mine or just be a first test in a long line of their matrimonial exams.<br /><br />“OKAAAAY, You too love birds, you have been married for only minutes and you already are letting a stranger and a bad travel agent separate you for the next few hours. Are you now going to ask me to ask him to pass you the SKY MALL magazine so you choose your own individual wedding gifts? Are you going to make me sit between satin and wool, white and black, Y and X? I don’t think so.<br /><br />Sweetheart, your new spouse has a barrel chest; howitzer arms and you are now suggesting I share an ARM rest with YOU? My feet are too big, my lower limbs seem to have Restless Leg Syndrome, and you want me to focus on sitting still as I sit between Moscow’s version of Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen?<br /><br />Then I’m going to be the American Dr. Phil- but with MORE hair, “How is this early separation in your passenger of life sharing, working for YOU right NOW?”<br /><br />I am beginning to see a few trust issues. You waited to hear if he was going to order the meat or veggie dish before telling him WHAT to choose and I saw him roll his eyes when you ordered your second glass of wine before he started his first.<br /><br />I am excusing myself and I will return with THREE glasses as we are all throwing back some of the duty-free vodka I bought before getting on this NEWLYWED GAME plane in your honor because my sweet young Russian lovers in the air of bliss, “Мне нужно пить/I need a drink”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-1558469368474718672010-07-29T05:58:00.000-07:002010-07-29T14:01:01.805-07:00To be a Fly on the Wall<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><div>To be a Fly on the Wall</div><div><br /></div><div>http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</div><div><br /></div>How can it be ONLY loud obnoxious flies get in the house the one time you actually open the door.<br /><br />No other creature, animal or insect in the world spends their entire existence waiting for this opportunity to rush in at the most opportune moment to disrupt my sleep during the night.<br /><br />Seriously, not water buffalos, not GEICO geckos, not even Aflac ducks ever get in my house.--JUST a fly. I need to know. Do they hang out on the outer edge of a door and pray for a knock on the door from the UPS driver awaiting a signature?<br /><br />I will not surrender. I will not let this minuscule creature of other people's demise win. Because for only $1000 I have found a solution. I combine my Dyson Air Multiplier in front of my face (um.. just a quiet cool fan) and Bose noise cancellation headphones (um..a device which fits around your ears that makes you look "SPECIAL" to drown out any sound including a atom bomb.<br /><br />Hours later, I wake up peacefully with an ear ache, wind blown hair and red, dried eyes...BUT, all with a victorious grin knowing this one fly buzzed all night long without affecting my sleep. aw, the sweet taste of victory, "COUGH, COUGH". oops, found the bugger. FML</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-26465333231182948902010-06-30T05:04:00.000-07:002012-06-14T01:09:31.604-07:00Questions for the day<div class="MsoNormal">
Questions for the Day</div>
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http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</div>
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As I sit down on my return flight from Miami. I ask myself (actually others) some very important questions:</div>
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Why am I the only one who remembered to bring their LITTLE official zip lock bag for toiletries and not the Janitor in a Drum size bag which can hold a small pond? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Honestly, if you have to bring THAT size jar of Vaseline, you need more than one security line to be concerned with.”</div>
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Why am I the only one who remembers to have carry-on luggage which officially FITS in the carry-on storage area and NOT a duffel bag that could transport two bodies and a dog?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, NO..it will not fit under the seat in front of you or MINE combined. Check it or forget it!”</div>
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Why am I the only one who remembers to remove my shoes/belt or heavy metallic items in security line BEFORE someone tells (YELLS) me TO. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Yes, yes, Mr Leisure suit Larry, cell phones will always set off flags and alarms in this security minded era..even your cheap one.”</div>
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Why am I the only one who can find their SEAT NUMBER (it is numbers and letters, not hieroglyphics people) and do you truly forget which symbol is identified for aisles versus windows (hint, the window shape has not changed in 85 years and the aisle is the OTHER ONE)</div>
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Why am I the only one who remembers to bring something to read or listen to so you Do NOT have to talk to ME for 8 hours? I never thought I would know so much about someone’s husband’s cousin’s neighbor’s dog. And SHOOT me if I ask you to repeat the story.</div>
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Why am I the only one who remembers to NOT eat airline hamburgers? Do you truly think it is going to remotely taste like something you have had before? Pre-packaged nuts are the only true edible item on the flight, unless you count what you bought at Duty-Free.</div>
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And why O why.. am I the only one who remembers it could be worse, I could have to LIVE with these people.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-59644372214260745072010-05-18T05:27:00.000-07:002010-05-18T08:39:03.616-07:00Massaging the Masses<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Massaging the Masses</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</i></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I walk through the shopping mall, I am stopped in my tracks while viewing the retail circle of public massage tables and their no-shame patrons who have less pride than a stupid human tricks participant on David Letterman.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I see you and I realized there is no way you can have the same stress as me. It is impossible you are going through the same life I am, if you can lay your body in a contortionist chair in the open while a small family of masseuses place their hands on their victims. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> By the looks of it, you were given the ‘special uncle’ masseuse, who after he reached 18 received a restraining order from every elementary school in the free world.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>How DO you press your face in an upside down catcher’s mask and not care your community’s neighbors, cellmates and cynical voyeurs like me are repulsed with the fact you are sharing your exposed, posture, sounds and exhales of a $25 rubdown in between a matinee and Panda King lunch?</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>In my humble opinion, it is impossible to tune out the world placed in a crouching lazy dog position as an elbow is being buried in your shoulder blade while the rest of the shoppers eat pretzels, Thai food samples and peruse the Apple Store just feet from YOUR feet.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I’m in full view of you as I am surrounded by the iPad, iTouch or an iPhone but all I hear is you iGrunt, iMoan or iSigh. At one point, after hearing you, I swore some smart ass opened up all adult entertainment sites on the new iMAC next to me.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>But no, it is just you completely tuning out the fact that you are in a retail outlet known more for its One Day Sales, not its One Hour Happy Endings.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I can’t even laugh at you anymore. I can’t even begin to shake my head in embarrassment for you. I just walk out of the store, past your 21<sup>st</sup> century rendition of a roman torture chamber and head up an escalator giving your own personal gladiator masseuse with cheap lotion a thumbs down to end your, and more importantly, MY misery.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I pity you as I get to the next floor, because you don’t realize like I do, you COULD go sit in a <st1:stockticker>FREE</st1:stockticker> massage chair upstairs at Brookstone. At least there I KNOW I can recline on my BACK while the rest of the shopping world laughs at me.</o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-40623859693651751732010-04-06T05:28:00.000-07:002010-04-06T11:34:04.149-07:00The Root of All Evil<p class="MsoNormal">THE ROOT OF <st1:stockticker>ALL</st1:stockticker> EVIL</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">“I on’t n o wat to o ith y ongue orry”,</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mouthed to my execution loving dentist as he gave me a root canal last night. For how deep his hands explored, I assume it included a frontal lobotomy at no extra charge.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I should have known this was going to be one of those days where I give anything to trade places with a tortured hostage than have this current Spanish inquisition weaponry explore my mouth simultaneously as I tried to breathe through one nostril and a quarter of my mouth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">“I’m going to numb the area before I numb the area,”</span> the sanctimonious oral hit man declared right before he swabbed my mouth with expired Q-tips.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Numb the area before you numb the area?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hmmm. how about truly numbing the area you are going to numb the first time so you don’t have to numb again on top of the numb area?.. Numby!!!</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">“Why don’t you watch TV, ESPN? CNN? OPRAH?” </span>he elaborates, hoping a 27 inch flat screen in my face will comfort me while he forces his elbow into my chin holding my tongue out of the way preaching his “painless” method of inflicting pain.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Love how he says each time HE takes a breath sing songing <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">“HEY buddy, the worse part is overrrrr.”</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>REALLY?..the worse part is over?…So I won’t have to be concerned you will use that combo Black and Decker Sander/Drill/Saw on my gums anymore?...Seriously, you aren’t going to suck the insides of my lungs out with that wet/dry vac from your a Dyson designed fire hose.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Yes, thank you for building up my confidence for the crescendo of your final performance of the day. I’m sure you tell your wife the same thing after you have your bimonthly “checkup” with her right after the Friday evening news and before Jay Leno.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>After what seems like hours, but I’m sure it was days, he loses his patience. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">“Please relax…Stop struggling, I’m almost done.” </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>EXCUSE ME? I’m not a child with a low pain threshold…I will have you know I have watched Season 9 American Idol and was able to endure their lack of talent and voices. A little mouth surgery is NOTHING compared to that weekly pain.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>If you want me to stop struggling, change places for one minute and let me hold your mouth open SOOO wide Pinocchio and Gepetto mistaken YOU for their next dark adventure.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>As I got up to rinse, I realized the numbness worked at least in one respect. I was drooling like a 90 year old with incontinence of the mouth and I would vent about the expensive bill, but <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">“I an’t omplainin ‘bout anyhing ats ets me outta here aster”. </span></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-44699864116162274232010-01-19T05:55:00.000-08:002010-01-20T04:16:10.216-08:00Canned Tuna In The Sky<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</a> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> Canned Tuna in the Sky</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>On my last flight, as I watched the 10 year old safety video from my airline’s monitor above the row in front of me, I ponder the collective expressions of the actors/employees who are portraying passengers in case of an emergency.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I’m in marketing, I get it. Show a calm business man as he sits comfortable, while a yellow plastic tube/mask drops from the console above and observe as he shreds any sense of panic and without hesitation, places the mask over his head to ensure a perfect fit to enjoy the smooth crash landing positions we all love.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I want what he ate before the flight. What was it? Quaaludes and crystal meth?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>COME ON!! If a red light and alarms pop on and an oxygen mask falls before my eyes, I WILL NOT be thinking about how “cool” I can look if I don’t panic. </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I will be hyperventilating and acting closer to George Constanza at a children’s birthday party when he smelled “fire” as I make a new door where there isn’t one. Parachute smarachute..I’m going to wear everyone’s coat from the overhead bin and brace myself for a Disney ride of a lifetime.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I try so hard not to laugh at the absurdity of how I am SUPPOSED to fasten a seatbelt, I listening intently as I have a thousand times before, as the intercom follows up with, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">“If the cabin loses pressure, please ensure you place the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST before helping others.”</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>SERIOUSLY, save your OWN breath. You do not have to tell me that. My seated neighbor and I have shared only an arm rest, we are not blood brothers.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>No offense, but with my long arms, I may even grab two masks and see which one exudes more oxygen before leaving the others to fight over the malfunctioned one.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Honestly, you think they would learn about travelers with frequent flier mileage and priority seat assignments. But Noooo. Each time I fly, I hear the flight attendant ask me if I am “comfortable” sitting in an emergency EXIT <st1:stockticker>ROW</st1:stockticker> and do I accept responsibility of what it means if we are forced to evacuate.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">“Mmmmm..lemme think..YES, IT means I get more leg room than anyone but Captain Sully and if something goes wrong, I’m out of this (TITANTIC) bird in the sky first and I will be sure to call CNN and 911 before the passengers two rows behind even consider unbuckling their seatbelts!”</span> (I hope they paid attention to how to UNLATCH)</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>BTW, Captain Sully isn’t on my flight but let me review this again in my head. He LANDED a plane and kept passengers ALIVE……(scratching my head)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is that NOT his job?</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Remember loyal fans of the Sully world (this is cynicalbuzz.com, not Thursday’s edition of 20/20)</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-56737343538215697772010-01-05T05:11:00.000-08:002010-01-05T11:20:24.609-08:00Failing Passport Control<p class="MsoNormal">Failing Passport Control- http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</p><p class="MsoNormal">_______</p><p class="MsoNormal">No matter how innocent and good I am. No matter how many times I travel outside the country; when I go through customs or a passport control, I feel like I’m a fugitive on the run.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Yes, I have accepted the fact I’m one faux pas or mispronunciation of the word “declaration” away from a border patrol officer sending me to a Turkish prison to star in the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">squeal</span>..oops-transpose that-I mean <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">sequel</span> to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;">“Midnight Express”</span>.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>CUSTOMS: -Business or Pleasure?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">“Well I did take a photograph of a nude statue, but I don’t plan on selling it…so does where does that get filed and would you like to see it?”</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> CUSTOMS: -How long have you been in this country? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">“Um..in hours? Are you kidding me? I think I arrived Thursday, but with the time difference, it could have been Wednesday. Do I get sent somewhere special for being able to tell time?”</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>CUSTOMS: Son, I <st1:stockticker>DON</st1:stockticker>”T ever JOKE. Do you think I’m smiling under these mirrored sunglasses?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;">“No, But the ’86 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;">TOP GUN</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;"> crew called, they want them back before sunset.”</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I’m sure my impersonation of the southern prison warden in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;">"</span><st1:stockticker><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;">COOL</span></st1:stockticker><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;"> </span><st1:stockticker><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;">HAND</span></st1:stockticker><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33CC00;"> LUKE"</span>, “What we have hear is a failurrrrre to communicate” didn’t help my situation much with his “scent” of humor.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I do freak out over the smallest things. I’m even thinking to myself (What is the penalty for omitting the fact I have two souvenir spoons and refrigerator magnets stuffed in my suitcase). That is how paranoid I am. Thankfully I forgot I had a box of chocolates in my computer bag or I would have been a wreck.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>As they stare at my passport, there is a big sign above their heads stating in big letters,</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> (If you are chosen to be searched, </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p>we will provide both an officer </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p>and witness observer)</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>OOOOH. LOVELY, I have BOTH a pervert and a voyeur asking me if I’m a packing mule or just happy to see them. I am never leaving home again. MOMMY!!</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Honestly. I must not be meant to deal with the law at any level. Last night I was pulled over from a local police officer who asked me if I have been drinking.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Officer, I have not drank anything other than the 2 liter bottle of Gatorade I had after working out, but I’ve been swerving on the road afraid I’m going to have different kind of accident trying to control my bladder <st1:stockticker>AND</st1:stockticker> simultaneously watch you in my rear view mirror as you TAILGATE my butt for the past 20 minutes <st1:stockticker>JUST</st1:stockticker> waiting for me to swerve.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I wonder how <st1:state><st1:place>Wyoming</st1:place></st1:state> is in the summer. I hear the border patrol there takes makes you check your belt buckle to verify your name before letting you mosey along.</o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-49501275208828938382009-12-29T07:40:00.000-08:002009-12-29T08:07:46.220-08:00Attention Deficit In OrderAttention Deficit In Order<br /><br />http://www.cynicalbuzz.com<br /><br />I see you. YES, I see you again. There you are waving emphatically. There is a handmade sign you have flashing in and out of my peripheral vision to where I can't ignore you. You HAVE to have something better to do with your morning than to pop up and down begging for attention as you stand behind the glass studio wall for <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">NBC's TODAY SHOW</span> while I try to finish my breakfast.<br /><br />I'm so glad you are proud of your Alma Mater and feel a loyalty to make a homemade sign for attention. I'm thrilled that you are celebrating your 50th birthday with your friends on a trip to NYC and happen to stroll by 30 Rock at 7:00 in the morning. But no one else cares other than the four other ladies with you who EVEN Al Roker is trying to avoid.<br /><br />We truly just want you to move to the next tourist stop on your day trip so we can watch the news, weather, sports and how many more times the police were called into Charlie Sheen's house last week. (THE important, critical news of the day only please)<br /><br />Standing on someone's shoulders at a rock concert is annoying itself, but DOING it just to be situated above Matt Lauer as he talks about airline security is tacky at best, aggravating at its worse.<br /><br />Seriously, even if I did KNOW you and you came from my hometown, I would never admit I did. I truly would have even disowned you if you were my Mom holding a sign that said, "Hi Erik, look at me and Aunty Em". When they talk about the 15 minutes of fame for each of us, I truly hope those 15 seconds I'll never get back count towards <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">YOUR ENTIRE TIMELINE </span>of fame for at least MY lifetime.<br /><br />Perhaps I am envious. Yes, maybe I would love to have Kathy Lee Gifford turn and wink at me. (is that a wink or a astigmatism?) But I would never, ever, clap like a seal in front of 40 million people so I can see myself clap on the TV monitor facing me and OH wait! HEY..wait, that is my college friend standing right there next to Meredith Viera. <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">HI ..HI can you see me?....WOW. How cool is that.. He is so lucky. Wink</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-9771534166355162832009-12-22T11:13:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:14:46.198-08:00FULL SERVICE STATIC AT THE SELF SERVICE LINE<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">FULL SERVICE STATIC AT THE SELF SERVICE LINE</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/" target="_blank">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Sounds like the best idea yet. Eliminate the cashier and let me scan and pay for my "STUFF" with a swipe of a card. Ahh, the <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">EZ PASS </span>for the pedestrian of the shopping lanes. What a concept...right?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">NO! The biggest issue isn't that innovative idea, but the fact, the self checkout line at a Home Depot or a Walmart is ONLY AS FAST as the neophytes shopping before you .</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">OMG, LADY!!!</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> the machine has it spelled out for you in not only <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">BLACK AND WHITE, but in BRAILLE,</span> it TALKS to you, it has a HELP button and it even has the bags OPEN there for you to put your 50 pack of batteries in. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">PULEASE Mister, It's a scanner, not a MRI machine, swipe the freaking bar code, but don't hold it there until the new year. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">YEAH YEAH. The Bar code...that thing that has attached itself to every item since 1972. OK, now repeat after me, each time it "BEEPS" you get charged. So right now you owe $450.00 for that pack of gum you keep swiping as your <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">OCD kicks in</span> at just the wrong time of the checkout process and MY life. It is paid for. I promise you and if not, I'll buy you a pack of gum for <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">MOVING YOUR HUSH PUPPY </span>shoes a little further down the line and leaving the premises without hitting that "help" button again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Barcode you ask again? "Yeah yeah, the Morse code THINGY that is on the side of your paint can. YO, Norman, do you really need to use that much EGGSHELL paint at your age anyway? TRY white, your eyes can't be that sharp, you just hit the ASSISTANCE button five times to ask if your credit card will work in this type of machine. No, of course YOURS won't work. You have the only credit card out of the 400 million Americans who has a Visa that won't swipe in a VISA branded slot. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Seriously, if you don't move your corduroy brushing self out of the way, I am going to break down and yell "THIEF" because you forget to scan the two bags of SALT in your cart because its bigger than the glass you would have to lay it on."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Three steps is all it takes <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">My Dear Hindrance of the Shopping Highway.</span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">1) scan the item</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">2) place in bag </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">3) swipe your card and approve.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Any more steps than that and you can join those drivers in the EZ PASS lane that didn't read those two miles of signs ahead of time in NEON LIGHTS that said, "EZ PASS HOLDER ONLY" lanes to the left. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There is truly another world for you to shop in and it doesn't include me. I would tell you to stay home and shop online, but you would be waiting impatiently for the purchased items to be expulsed out of your printer paper slot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Next time a store wants to make my life easier, don't try to <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">AUTOMATE, </span><span style="color: black;">TRY</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"> ELIMINATE......By IQ. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Anyone who can't figure out how to check out should be required to pay a premium for a personal shopper and stay to the rear of the store until the rest of us leave. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Now that I'm finally ready to check out........um...does anyone know what<span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"> "ITEM NOT RECOGNIZED MEAN?" </span>As there is no way I'm hitting that 'assistance needed' button after that long rant. ;)</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-58003113909982133772009-12-18T08:57:00.000-08:002009-12-18T09:06:16.446-08:00Predictive Analytics of the Day<p style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);" class="MsoNormal">Predictive Analytics of the Day</p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">"promising 3 inches...guaranteeing 6 inches....predicting 12 inches"</span><span style=""> </span>In my conservative opinion, I think it's time we regulate the meteorologist industry to rethink their vernacular before they go on TV and forecast a big blizzard or better yet, they should keep <span style=""> </span>their excited opinions about their personal depth perception to themselves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is there any other career where you can miss 7 out of 10 times at your craft and still excel at your job (not including baseball)? Please, please!! <span style=""> </span>In my next life, pay me to be a weatherman for Phoenix or San Diego or Bora Bora where I stand there for 10 minutes a day and go.<span style=""> </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">"It's going to be a pretty nice day. There were worries about seeing a cloud or two, but that was only a heat spot on the Doppler radar. Tomorrow should be more of the same and the weekend looks ...well...um...pretty darn good too."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I TOO, want to stand in front of you and point to a digital map which only, I, interpret as good, bad or indifferent based on some "neat charts". I want to wear bad blazers, flashy ties and bonded teeth to tell you what you already know, "It is COLD, WARM, HOT" or the all time favorite as they point, <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">"if you are HERE...you should be feeling some rain in your area about now."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, sign me up to have 'some good ole banter' with the sports guy next to me who is reading the old news and scores off the internet<span style=""> </span>with a clip-on tie and my co-anchors who are excellent ..I MEAN..excellent at reading scrolling copy at 45 wpm.<span style=""> </span>But please correct yourself when read, "Afghanistan Militia" when hyphenated. <span style=""></span>It's sounds so wrong when you say, "Afgan and Stan licious". </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My next life, I promise to pay more attention to air pressure, barometer readings and jet streams as I will ask my future parents to name me Storm, Chilly, or Rain to ensure my career as a futurist of precipitation does not go unnoticed, unrewarded and to guarantee I get a cool red jacket with blow dry hair to wear on the air to tell you to "HAVE A ____ DAY", depending on the inches of course.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-64714643262410360892009-11-24T09:21:00.000-08:002009-11-24T09:31:38.192-08:00Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</p><p class="MsoNormal">For my vacation day, I decided to not travel to far away places, read a good novel, or sleep past <st1:time minute="0" hour="7">7 am</st1:time>. No, that would be smart. For my day off, I decided to be productive, get up early and clear up some bills, tasks and paperwork from my last month’s trip to my doctor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">All morning, I’ve been on the phone with a helpdesk “automated” operator. How do I know she is a machine?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Because she can’t be rattled, insulted or verbally abused. I know, I’ve tried. No matter what words I throw at her, enunciate, spell-out or scream; she stays calm in her monotone metallic response mode and calmly makes me spend hours on a phone which would be solved with a 5 minute live operator just saying “YES, you owe the whole bill thingy, no partial payments allowed. Pay it or we’ll confiscate your house.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">REALLY? Isn’t that all we want, resolution, closure and some truly LIVE person we can curse at afterwards and thank them for abusing you in real time? Is that asking for too much in my time of disgust? I can’t curse at R2D2 with a voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have repeated my option “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">BILLING ISSUES STILL”</span> and she has politely asked me if I’m approving my<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"> “LIVING TISSUE WILL?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She keeps asking me for my “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">PASSWORD”</span> as I told her that she erred with the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">"LAST WORD”</span> I constantly repeat my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">“RECENT ADDRESS”</span> but she keeps referring back to my diagnosis of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;">“DECENT STRESS”</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Stress?...Oh, maybe just a little right now…Keep talking<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> JUDY Freakin’ JETSON.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So now I’m completely lost, I can’t reset my password, I had no idea my 2<sup>nd</sup> dog had a middle name. I am only 50% sure of my state of birth or my password reminder 7-digit code that includes upper/lower letters and numbers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I inhale and try to breathe; I can only ponder if it’s a felon to kill a computerized voice that doesn’t listen to me either phonetically or literally. As I have now decided, if I want to be ignored to this extent, I’ll just go back to work.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-77914801152066599842009-10-13T05:15:00.000-07:002009-10-13T13:08:23.558-07:00The Flight of the WannabeSometimes the in-flight movie isn’t the most entertaining event on an airplane. On my way back from the Miami, I observed a lady, who has been sighing and “tsk tsking” with disgust ever since she was overlooked for a first class upgrade, and had to sit in the first row of coach.<br /><br />She began her flight of disappointment before we even were airborne by arguing with the flight attendant that because she USUALLY sits in first class, she should be allowed to use the 1st class lavatories.<br /><br />As she was denied repeatedly access to the port-a-john in air, she turned around in a huff and marched loudly to the restroom in the rear of the plane while the rest of us (content with our peanuts) continued to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding for the 12th time shown on a the 4-inch screen. Ahh, but I digress.<br /><br />Reference for non-travelers: All restrooms on planes are the same, there are no rose scented walls and silk toilet paper in 1st class facilities, trust me, it’s only an urban legend.<br /><br />After the disappointed lady of Debutantes’ past came out of the “steerage” facility, she hoofed past the rest of us returning to her seat. However, this time with more than she left; as row after row; crowded aisle after aisle; all the winged bus inhabitants witnessed her shirt tucked into her pantyhose and 15 feet of toilet paper dragging behind her.<br /><br />Excuse me for a second while I reminisce and laugh again. …..one more second…<br /><br />Ok, I’m fine now.<br /><br />As she passed me, I nicely pointed out her trail of embarrassment, “Don’t you just miss those first class bathrooms where the toilet tissue is perforated and the dressing room mirrors actually reflect the rear disposition of the past?”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-37978397515077591632009-09-28T05:50:00.000-07:002009-09-28T06:51:49.473-07:00DOING TIME WITHOUT THE CRIME<p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">DOING TIME WITHOUT THE CRIME</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Yes, my perception is tainted. My travels for work spoil me with lovely hotels in great cities. However, some hotels should not be occupied, but donated to prisons for overcrowding. It's supposed to be a home away from home, not the equivalent of doing 10-15 hours in a state penitentiary.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>I should have known better as even my GPS couldn't find this "Four Seasons" of solitary confinement <span style=""> </span>in rural New York state. <span style=""> </span>My loyal gadget of the directionally disabled not only couldn't locate it, it never even heard of the road or worse yet, the crime district it was in. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My GPS only kept telling me, "RECALCULATING...RECALCULATING...GO BACK NOW BEFORE YOU END UP IN HOSTEL IV or SCREAM 6".</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Too late. When you walk into a BATES HOTEL room and there are SIGNS all over to help you with the obvious, you know it's going to be a night to remember..or one you try to forget. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">There is a direct correlation to the number of "DON'T" signs and the stars in hotel rating system. A four star hotel will have only one sign, "THANK YOU".<span style=""> </span>However, a Minus four-star hotel with security cameras will have 20 signs within a 20 square foot space.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">-Don't hang anything here (it's a freakin' sprinkler on the ceiling..what am I going to hang? a Piñata?</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">-Don't use blow dryer near water (Thanks, but I like saving time to wash and dry hair at same time)</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">-Don't turn lights on after midnight (Does this mean the toilet is non-working after midnight too?)</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">-Don't touch A/C. (Why would I? I'm going to be perfectly comfortable all night in "lock down", one small window, with no lights after midnight to read more "Don't do anything" signs.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Alcatraz had more amenities, but it at least had a view of the San Francisco Bay. <span style=""> </span>I'm just staring at a flashing hotel street sign that says. WE HAVE CABLE. ...Cable?..wow...Now all is good in Whoville.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">After hours driving, I just want to sleep at night and shower in the morning. No need for breakfast in bed or strawberries at night. I'm easy like that.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">But what I can't cope with is only ONE pillow and a quilted sheet/blanket/bed spread combo to sleep with. What is that?...A QUILTANKET? <span style=""> </span>I didn't know if I was suppose to lay under it, in it, over it or put helium in it and escape from this prison yard of discomfort.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">If the next morning, the shower would be my saving grace, All would be forgotten. Too bad I would have been cleaner if a prison guard hosed me down in CELL BLOCK TWO before this luxury bathroom suite of cleanliness got the job done.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I'm over 6'3" and the shower head was 3'6" off the floor. It took me over an hour to wash with a soap wafer the size of a CHEEZ-IT. It is sad when you have to negotiate which parts of my body needed the soap more and the rest can wait for tomorrow. Worse yet, it took me 90 minutes to dry off as I reached to grab a towel . No, let me rephrase that. NO towel, just a SHAMWOW to squeegee myself off. YES, I felt like an Olympic diver as I used this 6-inch yellow faux chamois to rid my body of moisture.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I finally checked out, (or depending on how you look at it-released) and the front desk/security asked me how was my stay. <span style=""> </span>I just took a deep breath now that I've been broken and said. "THANK YOU SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?" <span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I did tell him I truly only wanted to see ONE more sign before I left this hotel/prison combo. He said, "What would that be?" I responded, "You've been Punk'd".</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Sadly, it was real and I only felt slighted the lights went out last night right before I finished giving myself a tattoo.<span style=""> </span>Yes, I got to get Inked or I would have no proof of doing my time. Peace out.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-60828045058079673762009-09-17T05:40:00.000-07:002009-09-17T08:54:56.219-07:00Play Crazy 8's Anyone?http://www.cynicalbuzz.com<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">Play Crazy 8's Anyone?</span><br /><br />On Acela train to Boston this week. I peered out the window contemplating why an Express Train makes 8 stops and slows down to about 8 mph in so many areas, when I caught eight (8) Department Of Transportation workers studying ONE spot on the road near the tracks.<br /><br />All eight had a white Ford F-350 truck, white hardhats and matching bright shirts. As I thought maybe I came upon the DOT world headquarters, I realized it was more the redundancy department of redundancy. Eight men with eight coffee mugs staring at the same area of a road equivalent to a size "8" work boot.<br /><br />If only I could have opened my window and overheard their value and accurate assessment, strategy and implementation of why all eight of them need to be standing around eight inches of erosion somewhere near the Connecticut border, I would have heard:<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">“Ed, I see the crack.”</span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">“Bob, that is not a crack. That is a crevice, a crack is much smaller.”</span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">“Both of you are wrong, that is a beginning of a pothole which will cause collateral punishment to 18 wheel vehicles within eight months.”<br /></span><span style="color:#993399;">“Speaking of punishment, did anyone see the Patriots game last week?<br /></span><span style="color:#ff0000;">“OH YES! We had the best tailgating party ever. I realized our company trucks hold more beer than the utility company trucks my brother-in-law usually drives to the game.”</span><br /><span style="color:#ffff66;"><span style="color:#660000;">“Is that the brother who always brings a six of beer, but drinks a case?”</span><br /></span><span style="color:#ff0000;">“No, that is my sister-in-law on my wife’s side. He is the one who put the hole in my pool table while we were playing 8-ball.”<br /></span><span style="color:#66ffff;">Speaking of holes, I guess we should all go back to the IHOP and write up a report on this crack.”<br /></span><span style="color:#33ff33;">“You mean, crevice?”</span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">“POTHOLE”</span><br /><span style="color:#666666;">“I’m hungry now!”</span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">“I said Pothole..not Pot roast”</span><br /><br />As my train picked up speed, I left the Ed and the seven dorfs to plan how they are going to fix this formidable fissure of the ages in eight months, with 800 men and $800,000. (includes lunch at IHOP)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-34181168980042813732009-09-11T05:34:00.000-07:002009-09-12T15:30:29.211-07:00No Sense of Urgency<a href="http://www.cynical.buzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com</a><br /><br />No Sense of Urgency<br /><br />I know we don’t CHOOSE to go to an Emergency Room. If we did it, it would be called the <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">“eh…it’s not so bad yet”</span> room. But having the privilege of walking into an Emergency Room just before midnight, incurs motivation to never, ever get sick, get in a accident or run with scissors after 11 pm because the words, “urgent care” truly means take a 3 digit number and don’t bleed on the waiting room couch.<br /><br />At that time of the night, when you are competing against <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Methadone</span> withdrawals, guys who try to pimp out their car without lights and children who have objects stuck up their noses, your opinion of what is critical quickly dissipates.<br /><br />But at least next time I visit an E.R., I’ll know what to wear to the event. I’m going to dress up in <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">80’s gym shorts</span> with a button down shirt and work boots to ensure I fit in. I truly wasn’t thinking fashion when I arrived through the automatic doors as I looked like I was wearing <a href="http://www.garanimals.com/">Garanimals</a> matching my shirt with a pair of jeans before heading out.<br /><br />However, I think the “medi-tease” is the worse part of the waiting. When you walk in and they instantly take your ID, credit card and blood pressure as you describe your situation; you assume they are prepping you for the immediate attention you have been paying insurance premiums for all these years.<br /><br />What they don’t tell you is that your deductible has now been withdrawn faster than a Bernie Madoff cash deposit and you are delayed and expendable until the lady who is hallucinating and the man who forgot his pants are treated for exhaustion, sleep deprivation and stress.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">“HELLO, EXCUSE ME, I have those three symptoms every day, but to me, that isn’t an emergency, that’s a Tuesday.”<br /></span><br />After two hours, I am asked to wear the “gown” of exposure and sit in the <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">Hall of Purell</span> because all the double occupancy exam rooms are filled with people who are STILL one pulse ahead of me in life AND death.<br /><br />The only people passing me in this cold corridor of numbness are spouses and significant others of the patients who are taking my spot on the human conveyor belt. …and their only goal is to get outside to smoke every 10 minutes because their loved ones are causing them stress….and these were the NON-smokers.<br /><br />Finally the doctor on-call stops by to ask me the same questions the receptionist asked me two hours ago and literally says, “So, what do you think it is?”<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">“Mmmm. Well Doc, based on my years of watching St. Elsewhere, General Hospital, ER, Chicago Hope and Family Guy, I think I am already dead and you need to call CSI and Homicide because I’m ready to kill someone.”</span><br /><br />But I don’t feel any pain now that I got that off my chest. Thank goodness my deductible is only $100.00 or I would feel I REALLY wasted my money.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-49880838271955549982009-08-11T05:12:00.000-07:002009-08-11T08:21:19.199-07:00Neighbor Can You Spare Some TimeMy favorite elderly neighbors asked me to come over yesterday to help them with some new FANGLED technology. I gratefully ran over salivating hoping to assist Mavis and Eddie with perhaps a Bluetooth music system or HDTV linked to their netbooks.<br /><br />As they graciously opened their door like their long lost son just returned from the war (I saw their furniture..we’re talking the Civil War), I see a box holding a—cassette loading refurbished answering machine and a VCR on a TV which was YES, you guessed it, still flashing 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01.<br /><br />My current age must not have resonated with them as they offered me cookies and milk as I set up their answering machine, even know I could swear I smelled their afternoon ritual of whiskey sours seeping through the air.<br /><br />I tried to simplify the process of them recording their message into the machine even testing it with them a few times before I felt confident they could handle it.<br /><br />Before I left, I adjusted their MAGNAVOX VCR clock and set the timer so they can tape their GUIDING LIGHT soap opera but I just didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s being cancelled in a few weeks.<br /><br />That evening, I felt obligated to call to see the technical progress of my “greatest generation” and their giant step into the 19.5th century as the answering machine kicked on.<br /><br />Then….the love I felt knowing they followed my directions to the every detail was just overwhelming.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">“HI…YOU HAVE….REACHED THE CIRELLI’S…."</span> “It’s not working Eddie..the light isn’t on..” <span style="color:#3366ff;">MAVIS, SSHHH….ERIK TOLD ME THAT IT ONLY NEEDS TO FLASH ONCE,…IT IS ON………PLEASE LEAVE A MESS---"</span> “Eddie…I don’t think that is the light he was talking about.. He was talking about the VCR light” <span style="color:#3366ff;">"MAVIS.. I KNOW WHAT I’M DO---.BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP”</span><br /><br />Mmm…the only message I could leave was. “Your answering machine sounds perfect. I hope you enjoy your PROGRAM tonight” as I rushed to send their phone number to everyone on my twitter account because no one is going to believe this message unless they hear it for themselves.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-26437728089648638992009-08-03T05:08:00.000-07:002009-08-03T05:33:21.890-07:00Averting DisasterThe merging lane was a disaster ready to implode. The intersection itself was already packed while the space was narrow and obstructed. I just avoided a rear end collision a few moments before as I diverted my eyes to see what was passing me on the side that smelled familiar. I returned my focus to the impossible task at hand and decided I had to either stop completely to avoid adding to the trouble ahead or shoot the gap.<br /><br />I didn’t hesitate. I accelerated to bypass the slower drivers and the undeciders. I shot through the lane and looked back to see two old ladies, a man with a Bluetooth headset and a family with twins scarcely miss the crash of a lifetime.<br /><br />But as I moved down to the cereal aisle, I noticed my challenges had just begun and I knew right then, I was going to have to take a quick detour to grab a cold chocolate milk and just endure what was going to be another Sunday crowd at the food store. I relent that some pain is unavoidable as I hear echoing over the lanes, “NUMBER 24, your Deli order is now ready”. --- I need more than chocolate. I’m Number 275.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-59332495382268101162009-07-23T04:01:00.000-07:002009-07-23T15:09:23.799-07:00Driving Me Up A WallI had the displeasure to be in the passenger side of a newly licensed 17-year-old driver. To put it in perspective, I could have taken two busses, a horse and a refugee boat from North Korea faster than this kid would get out of the driveway.<br /><br />Ok, maybe US experienced drivers take this for granted. We get in, we turn car on and we GO. Including the seatbelt, I’m counting maybe five steps before I’m cruizin’ down the boulevard looking for some road rage to make my day.<br /><br />But this young Mario Andretti apprentice with “especially bought for the occasion new sunglasses” took the Art Carney art of driving and adjusted everything except his attitude. I sat with little control watching his seat move -up.back.down.forward. and back again-.lumbar support stiff-lumbar support normal-lumbar support recessed. The moon roof open…shut..open…shut…halfway open, tilted and then up again for venting.<br /><br />By the time the car even was started, the battery in the car was drained from finding the right song on the radio station to match his driving experience (think: repetitive and without talent). I truly felt like a dog walker who is watching the canine sniff for hours determining the right spot to relieve himself…as I screamed with controlled determination. “JUST GO!!!!….We are only driving to QUIKCHEK, not preparing for the INDY 500.”<br /><br />Seriously, does anyone really need to sniff the TREE air freshener before you back up? NO! If it isn’t working, you would know if you got the car moving. I’m not asking for much, I just want to be going faster than A/C that he is now adjusting … for each…and…every…..vent angle … “Dude, it’s AIR, not chocolate or beer coming through those vents…what are we waiting for…the new model to come out?”<br /><br />I understand the over caution, the newness and the fear of young drivers. I even appreciate the fact they focus their hands on the 10 and the 2, align proper mirror adjustment, etc.. , but I will bet NASA has less check points than this kid and three shuttles were launched and returned to Earth before I ever moved away from the curb.<br /><br />After cup holders were checked for proper alignment and the trip odometer was set at -0.0000….AGAIN, I lost all patience and decided to do what any adult would do in my situation. I bribed him. “Get me to the store within FIVE minutes and I will pay any speeding ticket, plus buy you a <span style="color:#3366ff;">BIG GULP of Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar</span>. However, if you don’t move this ½ ton piece of aluminum and glass in 10 seconds, your next adjustment will be prying your body off the pavement as I will push the one part of this car you haven’t touched yet….. the EJECTOR BUTTON.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-16793964214755339022009-07-21T05:23:00.000-07:002009-07-21T12:33:37.071-07:00Lesson in Time<a href="http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/">http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/</a><br /><br />________________________________<br /><br />Early one morning, I thought I was the only one in the office. I witnessed three noisy maintenance men with their hands full carrying big analog clocks to exchange and hang throughout my building. Because just changing the batteries would be too much for just ONE person.<br /><br />These diligent walkers of the hallways, (Think <span style="color:#3366ff;">Flavor Flav</span> with work boots & tool belts) stomped down past my work area not quite respecting my personal work space or need to concentrate.<br /><br />With my focus gone and my <span style="color:#3366ff;">Adult A</span><span style="color:#3366ff;">DD</span> kicking in..Did I mention I just saw a birdie?<br /><br />I couldn’t resist being the smart a-- and ask, “Hey, any of you have the time?” All three of them in complete synchronization, switched their armful of <span style="color:#3366ff;">Big Bens</span> to their other hand to check their generic wrist watches. As the realization of my remark set in their heads, the skinniest one of the three turned and said with both his big and small hands not moving, "Yes, I'ts SUNDAY, next time look at the calendar and maybe you won't worry about the time."<br /><br />Doesn’t matter now, but I'm sure it is too late for church.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-24241052154267998802009-07-08T05:24:00.000-07:002009-07-08T08:31:27.091-07:00Feeling Used at a Used Car LotBeen to a Car Dealer lately? In this economy, walk into a new or used parking lot and experience what it is like to be the hot chick at a night club. Laugh if you may, but they swarm around you with shiny gifts, gold chains and smiles. And they move in so close you know what they had for dinner three nights ago. I kept hearing<span style="color:#3366ff;">….“HOW YOUUU DOIN?”</span> echoed across the tiled showroom as I browse for my next mode of transportation.<br /><br />OK, the gifts are more like stale donuts sold by men with OLD SPICE and yellow teeth, but I’M getting attention and that is what matters the most.<br /><br />There is a new policy with car salesmen; they will be literally fired if they allow you to leave the facility without buying a car while on site. I know, as I saw the ‘memo’ pinned on top of his 1968, 1969 and 1971 salesmen of the month awards. (1970 was the year of the Ford Pinto…’nuff said)<br /><br />This isn’t a joke. I gave my car keys for them to evaluate a trade in and no matter how many times I tried to leave, my sales rep said he would be back with my keys but he conveniently ‘forgot’ and came back with a new offer instead<span style="color:#3366ff;">…”a better solution to get me to decrease my payments”. <br /></span><br />Please don’t ask me what I WANT to pay a month (its always $29.99 of course) and THEN think I will be happy if you add 172 months to the length of the loan to get the payments down. To me, THAT isn’t a “solution” but more of a rolling mortgage I’ll never pay off. I’m buying a car, not protection from organized crime.<br /><br />However, to be fair, I did walk in and tease them by slipping a comment of how I’m willing to pay in full…WITH CASH… just to watch their Leisure Suit Larry eyes bulge and the hidden cameras all go on alert as their manager, Jabba the Hut, tries to figure out how to get me to buy two cars and then agree to add LO/JACK and safety sealant to make back his profit margin after I leave.<br /><br />Seriously though, PAY CASH? I don’t even buy gum anymore with cash but Dwight Schrute’s twin sure got excited when I said, <span style="color:#3366ff;">“I didn’t know Ben Franklin was on EVERY $100 bill, did you?”<br /></span><br />The ad on the internet said the car I want is available today for the unprecedented low price of $10.00 over bluebook. Who’s blue book? The one on your desk that says, <em>How to lie to your customer and still look in the mirror?</em> I repeatedly told you that I didn’t want the lime green Taurus no matter what deal you can give me…AND more importantly, I like my interior to match or compliment the outside paint job, not look like the salt water taffy assortment pack I got at the shore last week.<br /><br />As I negotiate the price down to three Denny’s Grand Slam breakfasts and a gift card to 7/11, I left listening to him whine how he is now going to get fired for selling that car for so low.<br /><br />Too bad, I just want to drive away feeling like the new car smell is going to overtake any Old Spice that has lingered by my senses and not wake up in a cold sweat tonight wondering if I could have got a better deal if I wouldn’t have asked to add SiriusXM radio, moon roof, blue tooth enabled phone and a personal driver three days a week.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022289470346314733.post-42664510425817713232009-06-26T05:43:00.000-07:002009-06-26T06:47:52.218-07:00Karma for the DayYou can tell a great deal about people in a long line. At 2:00 pm, I watched a sharp dressed man go through security excusing himself all the way through-asking each person rudely if he could move up in front of them as he was “late” for his flight. Being the good person I (think) am, I allowed him to pass me to only catch a glimpse of his ticket and departure time of 4:18 pm.<br /><br />I tried not to show my disgust as I wouldn’t call out a complete stranger, but I thought I’d at least shoot a shot over his snobbish brow.<br /><br />Assuming he was only anxious to spend time in the First Class Lounge, I sort of mentioned to him as he passed, “Please go ahead and I hope you make your flight, but at least you NOW don’t have to be disappointed the Continental President’s Club is closed for renovations”.<br /><br />He quickly reversed his path past all the same people and excused himself mumbling about how he forgot something in his car and left the security area. Ironically, minutes later, I walked past the President’s Club and it WAS “close until further notice”. So, did I do the right thing because of the outcome or was my intent still the driving factor of my karma for the day?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CynicalBuzz" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p></div>Cynical Buzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17467677575556073286noreply@blogger.com0