Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Tech-NO-logy


Tech-NO-logy
by Rob Cottignies

Picture it- New Jersey, 2014.

My communication needs had been met for the previous 6½ years by my Motorola Razr, which worked just as well as the first day. I could make calls, text. (No et cetera.) And I adored it. I adored that Razr. When I needed to text without looking, I could feel those glorious buttons and send my message with unwavering confidence.

A trip was coming up and I wanted to pack lightly, but realized bringing a laptop, GPS, and camera would be bulky and annoying.

‘Ugh’, I thought, ‘maybe it's time to “upgrade” my phone’.

After much hesitation, I bought a “smart” phone that ended up working horribly. The thing would turn off randomly, not send or receive texts at will, refuse to download things, and much more et cetera. But it met my basic needs for several months.

However, I would always look longingly at my Razr, which was proudly displayed on my nightstand.

The following September, a six-week trip was imminent. The new phone had (sort of) prevailed during a ten-day stint but this would have driven me to insanity. Or, more likely, I would have thrown it into a river, and I don’t approve of polluting. (Think green everyone.)

So, I got a big-boy phone in September of 2014. It’s very convenient and, honestly, I would not go back to the Razr but still catch myself staring at it, remembering the best of times.


Speaking of memories, I recently heard a story about a kid who questioned his mom about why she said, ‘Hang up the phone’.

Think about that.

Kids today have no idea that phones had two distinct parts connected by a wire. All they know is buttons, which most current portable house phones have as well. Call over, push END, throw the phone across the room.

That's how I finish conversations, anyway.


To quote Louis CK on technology, "Everything's amazing and nobody's happy."

I think he's spot-on for two reasons:

1) Instant gratification

People want things NOW. They often think they need things immediately, but that's just not true.

The store-to-door time for pizza delivery hasn't really changed since its inception. NASA has always counted down from ten before a shuttle launch. Even microwaveable meals still take 5-7 minutes to heat. Nobody questions these things.

Yet when your stupid friend texts you a video of her dog sleeping in a shoebox, you freak out if it takes more than five seconds to download.

You're awful and I hate you. And your stupid friend. And sleeping. And shoes.

2) The need to complain

When a new piece of technology is released, what's the first thing you hear about it? What doesn't work, or at least isn’t as good as its previous version.

How different are these things, really?

‘Oh, the iPhone 10 doesn't have as many megapixels as the 8.’

You're talking about a CAMERA on a PHONE that fits in your POCKET and allows you to look up weather, talk to anyone from anywhere, and CLOSE YOUR GARAGE DOOR!!!

The word 'spoiled' comes to mind.


Speaking of complaining, have you ever heard somebody whine about doing laundry?

Today, that activity goes something like this: Put clothes in a machine, add goop, push a button, eat a sandwich. After the machine tells us the clothes have been fully washed, we put those clothes into a nearby machine, add a weird napkin thing, push another button, eat another sandwich.

In olden days (and some parts of the current world), doing laundry went something like this: Put clothes that haven’t been cleaned in months and soap into a basket, balance the basket on your head, grab a machete, walk nine miles to a river, fight hyenas and thieves along the way, walk into the river, try to not get eaten by river monsters, wash each article of clothing individually for seven hours, put sort-of clean clothes into the basket, put basket back on your head, walk nine miles home while battling lions and fiends, hang clothes to dry, hope it doesn't monsoon, make dinner for fifty people.

Doesn't that sound awful? No sandwiches at all! Unless sandwiches are what’s for dinner. If so, no need to complain.


Cars are where my major technological fears reside.

I currently have a 2010 car which I plan to drive until the engine falls out. I am very afraid, however, about the status of cars when that unfortunate time comes along. They'll probably have all these fancy features like wi-fi and push-button ignition and motorized cup holder covers.

*THIS JUST IN*: Cars already have all those things and I'm furious.

Remember car alarms? They still happen but when was the last time somebody heard one and, concerned, said, 'Oh my heavens! Let us phone the local police brigade at once should there be a vicious automobile criminal afoot'?

1992, that’s when.

My fear is I won't be able to buy a car that simply goes from A to B and has a CD player. (ABCD thing not intentional.) Yes, I still buy CDs and shall continue doing so until they and/or I go obsolete.

That's all I will want, but Jerry the car salesman will offer me vehicles with tons of features that I’ll deem unnecessary.

And when cars drive themselves (which either all or none of them should do), you will find me far away from roads, wandering fields and mountains in search of simplicity.


If movies like The Terminator have taught us anything, it's that technology is evil and should be avoided at all costs before it kills us. Of course, it took technology to make that movie. And I typed this article on technology while you are using different technology to read it.

Some would call this a paradox. Others would mistakenly call this irony. I call it a good time to end this rambling.

Technology can be great when used properly. Some inventions were truly wonderful and necessary:

The wheel led to rapid transportation. Fire led to heated homes. Stage plays led to television shows. (So why are there still stage plays? Do people even say 'stage plays'?)

What's next? Automatic and/or flying cars, for sure. Maybe a meal in a pill. Teleportation. People living just a hundred years ago couldn't even fathom our current world. Their faces would explode and they'd burn you as a witch. And you'd deserve it.

Point is, stop whining about technology and everything else. Enjoy your life, read a book, and talk to people but leave me alone.

Don't make Snake Plissken enter the world code…

Friday, June 19, 2015

Turn The Paige




Turn The Paige
        by Rob Cottignies

At a brewpub one afternoon, I was hoping to eat in relative silence.

The only other people at the obsessively-clean bar were two extremely-stereotypical motorcycle riders. A couple, perhaps. Him- leather, tattoos, beer gut. Her- leather, tattoos, beer gut.

They soon left and, after the obnoxious fart sound of their engine, I got the silence I was seeking.

The bartender asked how I was doing and I said "Fine" with a genuine, confident smile.

The door then swung open and a hipster walked in with a middle-aged man. Boldly ignoring the dozens of empty seats at the bar, the duo sat two away from me, and I was on a corner so they were pretty much on my lap.

Furious, I texted my friend Melissa because she understands. I told her what was happening and that if they started talking to me, she would hear about it on the news.

But the pair (loudly) kept to themselves while running the gamut of my disinterests- mortgage rates, bank loans, baseball, hunting trips.

Having no choice but to listen to this garbage, I heard the hipster mention Paige, who I quickly learned was his girlfriend. He wanted to buy a house with Paige and a marriage proposal was being discussed.

The older man was not the hipster's father but Paige's father and this was THE conversation.

My mild appreciation that the hipster was being a traditional gentleman could not compete with the rage of having to listen to this nonsense.

Awkward questions, bad jokes, giggling; I just knew they were somehow going to rope me in.

My eyes focused on my meal, yet my peripherals showed that Paige's father was constantly looking toward me. However, my conviction was strong and my cheesesteak was tasty.

The manager came over and asked if I wanted anything else. While a pair of gloves and a loaded, unregistered revolver would have been great, I went with "Check, please", like they do in the movies to get out of awful situations.

On his way to the register, the manager noticed Paige's dad and shook his hand because of course they knew each other.

"…and this is my future son-in-law."

"Isn't it a little early to be telling people?", the hipster protested in an aww-shucks-golly-gee-whiz manner.

"You're right. But only the three of us know. And this guy next to us, but he won't tell anybody, right???"

I had been reading a book by a psychiatrist who advocates telling 100% of the truth all the time. The theory is interesting but I never fully realized the practicality of it until the situation at that bar.

Physically feeling the burning awkwardness of their stares, I looked up to meet six hopeful eyes and three pathetic smiles.

"I won't say anything because I don't care."

I said it quickly and returned to what was left of my beer. I was not seeking to spoil anybody's good time. I just truly did not care that somebody I did not know was almost engaged, which is even more pointless than being almost married.

'They' say honesty is the best policy and what reason did I have to lie to strangers?

But unholy moly, I felt great. I had thought of a good response and said it with precision.

I texted Melissa immediately for her approval, which was quite hearty. Then we said some mean things about Paige and these bozos but I obviously kept those quiet. (My favorite was, 'I hope they have a November Rain wedding.')

I then began to ponder the uncertainty of it all: Was I wrong? I could never tell in situations like this.

Most people would have congratulated them, shaken hands, even bought a round of drinks. I have always considered myself to be not most people.

Why was I supposed to care about their situation? Because they knew I overheard them speaking loudly? Because the hipster and Paige might boost the marriage success numbers? Because they were genuinely happy?

I enjoy when people are happy but rarely want to participate.

What was the alternative? Should I have vomited out a ‘Congratulations’ before wasting time and money lying to strangers?

This was a no-win situation but I somehow came out victorious.

Part of me wishes I was at that bar drinking away some big problem so I could have brought them into that world. I think it would have been fair.

I hate obligations and one I proudly avoided was being falsely kind to these people.

Honesty does not equal rudeness or 'being mean'. The truth can be expressed in a nice way but the bottom line is what you truly think.

You, dear reader, can get your own train of honesty moving right now by leaving a comment below about what you think about this article, my curmudgeonly stance on most things, or whatever else you would like to say.

Good luck and have at it!!!

 

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Dining Out Is A Horrid Nightmare


Dining Out Is A Horrid Nightmare
by Rob Cottignies

Food has always united people and though the first modern restaurant was likely in France, dining out has become a grand tradition all over the world. In the U.S., there are several eating establishments in even the smallest of towns.

Restaurants are where friends like to go and I often join them, even though…

…I internally despise every excruciating second of it.

Here's why:

First, I have to go to a place. This place may be big, small, specialty, chain, popular, empty, or whatever else. Upon entering, there is (usually) somebody a few feet from the door, smiling awkwardly. 'Good evening. How many?'

HOW MANY WHAT???

I'm immediately furious, though I know this bogus excuse for a question is short for, 'How many people are in your dining party?'

After answering the host's poor version of an inquiry, I have to be SHOWN to a table because I'm incapable of finding one myself. ‘Would you prefer a table or a booth?’

IF IT HAS LEGS AND CAN SUPPORT FOOD, TAKE ME TO IT!!!

But obviously I prefer a table every time because booths are hideous. ‘Oh, I have to get up. Let me be rude as hell and make the people next to me stand up, then slide out while they uncomfortably wait for me, then be ruder as hell upon returning by making them stand up again so I can slide back to my original spot.’

(Booths should come with their own toilets, as should stadium seating.)

I'm then given a menu and the host begins with, ‘Tonight's specials are…’

I DON'T CARE!!! IF THESE DISHES ARE SO SPECIAL, THEY'D BE AVAILABLE ALL THE TIME!!!

But no, I must sit through a list of meals I won't order because I'll instantly forget what was said.
I may ask which beers are on tap, only to hear, ‘I'm not sure. Your server will be with you shortly and can answer that.’

THEN WHAT'S THE POINT OF YOU??? I FORGOT ALL THE STUPID SPECIALS AND NOW YOU DON'T KNOW SOMETHING I ACTUALLY AM INTERESTED IN??? I HATE YOU SO MUCH!!!


The server comes over.

This person is my group’s new best friend. ‘Hey guys, my name is ZEKE and I'll be taking care of you tonight.’

TAKING CARE OF WHAT??? I'M NOT WEARING A DIAPER!!!

Maybe I am wearing a diaper but that's *my* business, certainly not Zeke's.

‘Can I start you off with something to drink like beer or wine? Or maybe you'd like an appetizer like spinach dip or chicken wings?’

I KNOW WHAT DRINKS AND APPETIZERS ARE!!! I DON'T NEED EXAMPLES!!!

I haven't even looked at the menu yet. Leave me alone.

But don't leave me alone because obviously I want a drink. ‘What beers are on tap?’, I ask, AGAIN.

At this point, there are two options: 1) Zeke gives me a beer list and STARES at me while I read it, or 2) I'll have to STARE at Zeke while he stutteringly vomits beer names from his wretched chasm of a mouth.

...

Now my table has ordered drinks and Zeke is gone. I begin to read the menu then assume that anything some guy in the back throws together is probably pretty good. After all, he's a professional. (I'm aware that plenty of places have lady chefs but I'm just making this easier for me. Go fork yourself.)

But before I can even look at three choices, Zeke returns. ‘Here are your drinks and some bread.’

OBVIOUSLY!!!

‘Are you ready to order?’

ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! HOW CAN I BE EXPECTED TO DO ANYTHING UNDER THIS KIND OF PRESSURE??? GO AWAY SO I CAN READ MORE!!!

But don’t go away because I don’t want to hear that question again and would enjoy getting this awful menu out of my life.

Due to my superb etiquette, I always let the people I'm with order first. At my turn, I randomly pick from the two options I remember and chalk it up to a victory.


A few sentences and sips later, Zeke comes back.

‘How is everything?’

EVERYTHING??? HOW IS WHAT??? ALL WE HAVE IS BREAD!!! BBBRRREEEAAADDD!!!

‘Your meals will be out shortly.’

This is a stupid thing to say. The meal will come out shortly and Zeke will have lived up to his word, which is not impressive but expected, OR it will take a while and I will get ENRAGED. Should that happen, Zeke will apologize, which I will accept even though it means NOTHING.

IF YOU REALIZE YOU'VE INCONVENIENCED ME AND ARE TRULY SORRY, MAKE UP FOR IT BY NOT CHARGING ME $3.99 FOR A SIDE SALAD!!!

The meals arrive, followed by, ‘Can I get you anything else?’

WHY MUST I ANSWER ALL THESE QUESTIONS??? I'M SUPPOSED TO BE RELAXING WHILE OTHER PEOPLE DO THE WORK!!!


Zeke leaves and after two bites, the manager comes over.

Oh, how I HATE the manager.

‘How is everything?’

Apparently, everybody wants to know my opinion.

WHAT??? EVERYTHING IS FINE.

How bad could it be? If something about the situation is so horrible that I need to say something, I will.

Ugh.

The interruptions don't stop while eating. Zeke and/or the horrible manager will continue to gawk and pester until every morsel has been consumed.

Then what happens? The busboy comes over, looks at my empty plate, and asks, ‘Are you finished?’


The meal is over, I'm ready to leave, and Zeke is nowhere to be found. On top of me the entire time, now missing. I obviously consider just leaving but decide not to. (I did this once and it was completely justified, yet I still felt guilty.)

After many minutes, Zeke reemerges, asking, ‘Would you like anything else?’

‘Yes, Babe Ruth’s autograph.’ BRING ME THE BILL!!!

More minutes later, the bill is at the table but Zeke is gone, again. More minutes and more minutes go by before he comes to pick it up. Paying with cash avoids wasting even more time but I’ve got my credit card.

Where is Zeke? THIS IS HORRIBLE!!!

Finally the bill is back, the meal is still over, and I can leave. ‘Have a good night’, says Zeke.

TOO LATE FOR THAT!!!

All I have to do before breaking out of this prison is sign the merchant copy.

But wait, what's this dotted line above the signature line?


Tipping at the end of a meal is its own adorable nightmare. In many places around the world, good service is simply expected and leaving extra money is truly optional if you think the experience has been excellent. In some cultures, tipping is considered rude. ‘Oh, look at me, I have so much money so I'll throw some on the table for this menial peasant.’

This mindset was also prevalent in the pre-Prohibition United States. During the dry spell, businesses suffered financially, so they cut servers wages and encouraged customers to make up for it. Another societal casualty of that pointless period in our history.

(The more you know…)

Tipping anybody is awful and here’s why:

I order an expensive appetizer, a steak, and two beers for $50. Next time, I order a cheap appetizer, a salad, and two sodas for $25. Zeke did the exact same amount of work so why should the tip be higher for the steak meal? Makes no sense.

In fact, Zeke probably did more work during my cheaper visit, by pouring the sodas himself instead of waiting for the bartender to pour beers.


Back to our restaurant, I still have to tip Zeke.

How was everything? Good enough. We ate, we drank, there was bread. 20% is easy to figure out but the service wasn't exceptional. Yet 15% seems weak, culturally. Even with a calculator, figuring out an in-between percentage is just bananas.

Some restaurants actually print on the bill tipping amounts per percentage. This is the establishment blatantly saying, ‘We don't pay our servants enough so now you must make up for it.’ Disgusting.

I'm exhausted. And full. Thanks for nothing, Zeke. Enjoy your 20%.


Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Getting Off-Track


Getting Off-Track
by Rob Cottignies

Like many of you, I recently found myself wondering, ‘How would I be charged in various scenarios which involve me tying a guy to railroad tracks?’ Armed with a curious mind and limited legal knowledge, let’s explore…

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks and a train killed him, how would I be charged?

I think, quite simply, you would be charged with first-degree murder. You would've had to plan the time and location of the scenario.

But the train killed the guy. I wasn’t even there when it happened.

Though an excellent point, I don't think this would be a valid argument. As long as you knew the tracks were currently in use, you would have left the guy to be killed.

What if I didn't know the tracks were currently in use?

Unless the tracks were rusted and overgrown with plant life, it would’ve been reasonable to assume they were currently in use. I mean, they're railroad tracks. It's not like you tied the guy to a tree in the middle of a forest and he was killed by a train.

What if I tied a guy to a tree in the middle of a forest and he got killed by a train?

I think you would receive a lesser charge and the worst train conductor in the world would have to answer many questions.

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks then a passerby rescued him, how would I be charged?

My guess is attempted murder.

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks then a passerby tried to rescue him but couldn’t before the train came and killed them both, how would I be charged?

Let’s say murder and endangerment or something like that. The Good Samaritan Act protects citizens from charges if they reasonably try to help someone in peril but injure them further in doing so. It does not, however, protect people from being hit by trains.

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks then a passerby saw the guy but did not attempt a rescue and the train killed him, would the passerby be charged?

Sure! There is an interesting thing called ‘Duty To Rescue’ which urges but doesn’t require citizens to help somebody in peril if it doesn't put the citizen at risk, but not in all situations. For the law to be enforced, there would have to be a relationship between the people.

What if there was a relationship between the guy I tied to railroad tracks and the passerby?

The passerby would have to attempt a rescue of the guy, as long as it didn’t put the citizen at risk.

What if an illegal immigrant rescued the guy on the tracks?

His heroics would probably be a positive factor in his deportation hearing.

What if the illegal immigrant was wanted for tying someone else to railroad tracks?

What does that have to do with this? Regardless, he’d be a hero to one family but a villain to another.

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks then a passerby rescued him but the guy was a maniac who killed the passerby, would I be charged in that murder?

Wow, great question. While you wouldn't escape the attempted murder situation, I think you would not be charged with the passerby's murder. However, there is a paradox- If you didn't tie the maniac to railroad tracks in the first place, he wouldn't have killed the passerby. And you would’ve had no idea how the guy would react after being rescued.

What if I knew the guy was a maniac before I tied him to railroad tracks?

Still, you wouldn't know what the guy would do. This would just be an unfortunate 'Wrong place, wrong time' scenario for the passerby and the maniac would be rightfully charged with murder of some degree.

What if being tied to railroad tracks directly caused the guy to become a maniac and kill the passerby?

Maybe he would be charged with manslaughter. I think you would still not be charged though. Your previous action would’ve resulted in the guy becoming a homicidal maniac, but how would you have known the passerby would be there?

What if I knew the passerby would be there? What if his name was Jeff and he used to beat me up at school and I knew when he crossed the railroad tracks every day?

That's clever planning.

If I tied a guy to railroad tracks then a passerby rescued him but the guy is a real maniac who immediately ran to town and killed ten people, would the passerby be charged with murder?

Probably not. How would the passerby know the guy is a real maniac?

What if the passerby did know the guy was a real maniac? Like, the guy was a serial killer. He got the charges on him thrown out even though he admitted he killed a bunch of people and would love to get at some more. The guy killed my sister so I wanted revenge. I couldn't bring myself to commit murder so I tied this guy to railroad tracks and left him there for a train to do it for me. The case was highly publicized so it's very unlikely the passerby wouldn't recognize the serial killer. If he didn't rescue the guy, he would have broken the law which was possibly made up earlier. If he did rescue the guy, it would have been reasonable for the passerby to assume the guy would kill more people. What was Jeff supposed to do!?!?

Find a different way to walk home.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Wicked Not Awesome


Wicked Not Awesome
by Rob Cottignies

Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?

I lost a bet.

But first, some back story…

My friend Mike loves almost everything. He gets giddy at the very mention of Sasquatch, shakes with excitement over ordering martinis in spite of hating them, and buys endless memorabilia of orange-colored sports teams. He's a special guy, this Mike.

I said Mike loves almost everything because there is a song he absolutely detests. You, dear reader, are undoubtedly familiar with this tune and probably downright love it because it is wonderful. Of course, I’m talking about Love Shack by The B-52's.

What a feel-good song and video. A dance party where everyone is dressed handsomely, a great big car, some woman in a bathtub watching indentured servants work in the yard. Can you watch that video and not smile? Probably not, but Mike sure can.

And now, another back story…

Some years ago, Mike decided it would be a great idea to discuss Broadway during an NFL tailgate. This went on for hours and was primarily about Wicked, which is apparently the best play ever.

***SPOILER ALERT***
(Do I really have to put this here? Has anyone not seen The Wizard Of Oz?)

The Wizard Of Oz is one of the most popular movies in film's great history and the play Wicked is its ‘prequel’.

But wait a second…

How can there be a prequel to The Wizard Of Oz, which is about a girl getting knocked unconscious then having an elaborate dream and learning a moral or two at the end?

It must be a documentary-style film about farm life in rural Kansas. Perhaps it shows the three guys getting hired at the farm and how the Gale family got that little jerk Toto. Or maybe it portrays how Uncle Henry and Auntie Em met. Why is Dorothy living with her aunt and uncle instead of her parents? Whoa, can't wait to find out!!!

Oh, it's about the wicked witch? You mean Miss Gulch? Alright, I've always wondered why she was so cranky. Let's have it…

But instead of something which might make sense, Wicked tells the story of how Glinda (the good witch) grew up with the wicked witch (supposedly named Elphaba, though that has changed throughout the years).

Like me, you should be wondering how there could be a prequel to a girl's dream. Dorothy’s unconscious imagination invented these characters, so how could they have backstories?


Let’s return to the tailgate, where Mike and I debated respectively and respectfully over Wicked being a worthy addition to the story even though its storyline was completely illogical. Much to the amusement of those in our company, the contest went on and on with no mutually agreeable conclusion. That storm still rages today, and we've been best friends since first grade.

Long story short…

Regarding the bet I lost, the Penguins I liked were playing the Islanders, who Mike supported because of his affinity for sub-par orange teams.

We’d usually wager a dollar for fun but had grown weary of betting pretend money, so he suggested that if the Islanders won, I would have to see the Wicked movie with him.

Confident in the Penguins' abilities, I accepted and countered that if his Islanders lost, he would have to sing and dance to Love Shack at karaoke one night.

We shook hands and our fate was left up to athletic strangers. The game in question started out great but ended horribly when the Penguins decided to stop trying. They, and therefore I, lost.

I am doomed to see Wicked.


I've never seen the play nor do I remember its details from Mike's ramblings but I’ve heard that it's quite lovely.

That's not the point, though.

My postulation is that Wicked, along with Return To Oz, Oz The Great And Powerful, The Wiz, and whatever other additions to the story are all bogus. The Wizard Of Oz explained what happened perfectly- Dorothy got knocked out, had a dream which included likenesses of people she knew, and woke up after she had gotten the point of it.

Like Biggie once said, it was all a dream. Imaginary. No start, no end; just what she and only she saw in her head. That’s how a dream works. Dream dream dream. I recently did a crossword puzzle and the clue for 36-down was: 'Dorothy's visit to Oz, for example'. The answer was five letters long. Get me?

The only way for Wicked to exist would be if Dorothy dreamt that up as well, but according to Mike, she is not even mentioned in this story.

A sports team caused me to lose a bet and now I must angrily sit through a movie which already makes absolutely no sense to me. I also realized too late that I was dopey enough to bet a five-minute song against a full-length movie. On the bright side, the release date keeps getting pushed back so perhaps it will never come out.

(I wrote this years ago and the movie is still yet to come to fruition. Fingers crossed!)