A few weeks ago I purchased a “gently used” M-Audio MobilePre Audio Interface off of eBay. It’s really not important to know what it is, but you can click on that link and check it out if you want. Feel free to buy it too… I’ll make some money if you do.

Anyway, I paid $75 dollars for it, and had to wait about 4 weeks for the jackhole to ship it to me. When it finally came in the mail, guess what? Exactly! It didn’t work. You’re very smart!

I emailed the seller and received the standard response: “It was working when I sent it to you. You probably forgot to plug it in, retard. Go F yourself.” (I’m paraphrasing).

So I went to M-Audio’s website to see if anyone else was experiencing the same issue. I thought perhaps I was forgetting one vital step to get it functioning properly. I found a post from someone who seemed to have the same problem, but there was no resolution. Feeling dejected, ripped off, and totally horse F’ed, I left a feeble comment at the end of the thread simply asking if anyone figured out a solution.

Well, within hours, a representative from M-Audio responded to my message letting me know he would send me a FedEx air bill in the mail so I could ship it back for a replacement. I told him I bought it used off of eBay, only paid $75 dollars for it, and I didn’t have the original receipt. He said not to worry about it, and two weeks later, I have a brand new, in the wrapper, M-Audio MobilePre!

That may have been the best non-face-to-face customer service experience I have ever had in my life. I have to specify non-face-to-face because I’ve been to a Mexican strip club, and they take customer service to a completely different level.

So, thank you Paul from M-Audio, and suck it Mr. Ebay Seller!

“This” can range from a piece of computer software to a skateboard, duct tape, and a camera tripod. And “that” could be anything from organizing your appointments to making your own camera rig to photograph insects.

Anyway, today I found a post about how to handle a kitchen knife to reduce the chances of stabbing yourself of severing fingers. That post linked to the source article which went into more detail and also recommended a few kitchen knife brands. I did a double-take when I saw that one of the brands was called “F. Dick.”

Now, I’m sure if you’re knowledgeable about cutlery, you’ve heard of it before, but for the rest of us (well the rest of us with the mentality of a 12yr. old) it’s comedy gold!

I immediately Googled the brand to see how much their knives were. If they were reasonably priced, guess who was going to be the proud new owner of a genuine F. Dick knife?!?! Me, that’s who!!! What could possibly be more fun, or more juvenile than to show off my new F. Dick to all my friends?

Well, I’ll tell you what could be more fun, and more juvenile, and ridiculously more expensive…

Showing off my new 30lb F. Dick Manual Sausage Stuffer!!!

WHAT THE… WHO THE… WHAT THE HECK?!?!

Some things just make life worth living.

click to view larger image

I didn’t get to watch the game as I was being a good little worker bee and finishing up a freelance web design project. I’m pretty excited, because it’s my very first legitimate client that’s paying me with money, not food. So, pat pat on the back for yours truly.

When I was done being a responsible grown-up, I popped over to hulu to see if there were any new shows in my queue. It was empty, but they did have all the Super Bowl ads posted. Although as a general rule I hate advertising, like many other Americans, I look forward to watching the Super Bowl ads. It’s the one time during the year where advertisers deviate a little from the norm and show off their creativity.

This year’s submissions were nothing to write home about, although I did like the Google ad and the CareerBuilder Casual Friday ad. What struck me as both strange and frustratingly annoying was the fact that the ads had ads. The page itself had the Coke logo on it, and before every other clip or so, I had to hear “The following clip is brought to you by Coca-Cola. Open happiness.”

I was planning on making this post a giant rant about advertising, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. I’m just mad because if you’re going to voluntarily subject yourself to 61 commercials, it should be without commercial interruption. Except for the commercials. You know what I mean!

By the way, part of the commercial marathon was a 13 minute short film called “Hotel Hell Vacation” with Chevy Chase and Beverly D’Angelo, resurrecting their roles as Clark and Ellen Griswold. They stay at a hotel, get a really small room, receive bad service, and then are charged lots of crazy fees when they check out. That’s about it. I’m not even sure exactly what it was supposed to be about, or if there was a sponsor somewhere in the film. All I know is it sucked huge sack.

Okay, I live in a shitty neighborhood. I get it. But does that mean all the grocery stores in the neighborhood have to be shitty too? Do the grungy, low-life inhabitants of our tiny little patch of Phoenix not deserve fresh produce, properly stocked shelves, or dry goods that have yet to expire? Must we be forced to first walk through cigarette-smoking store employees gathered out front before entering the store? Can a brother get a gallon of milk without dirty fingerprints all over the jug? And what the hell is that weird smell in Food City?

I’ve always wondered about the relationship between economic class and the quality of goods and services in their respective communities. Do you naturally get a substandard shopping experience in a low income neighborhood because the quality of the employees and managers isn’t up to par? Or do the people of a poor community just ruin everything no matter how nice you try to make it for them? Even if the latter were the case, that doesn’t explain why all the fruits and vegetables at my local Sprouts are consistently bruised, rotten, damaged, and discolored while the produce at the one in Paradise Valley looks like it could be used for print advertising. It’s seriously like night and day.

I think, at a corporate level, the stores set aside the B-grade products for the poor people. This may sound cynical, but I might go as far as to say that they transfer the “unpicked” produce nearing the end of its shelf life from the nicer stores to the crappy ones. Either way you look at it, in my mind, that’s discrimination! Why should my bell peppers be wrinkled and soft while others enjoy firm, unblemished ones? Why should my cilantro be limp and brown, while someone only 10 miles away gets to have lush green cilantro that snaps when you bend it? Why?!?! WHY?!?!?

Although in a way, it feels good to finally be part of an oppressed group, I believe this is an injustice that has gone ignored for way too long. I’m going to boycott!!! I’m going to plant my own fruits and vegetables in the vacant lot next to the homeless guy! I’m going to open my own Farmer’s Market! I’m going to use my own waste to fertilize my crops (and maybe to throw at my neighbors for disturbing me at night with their domestic violence!) And then we’re going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we’re going to California and Texas and New York! And we’re going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we’re going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Yeeeeeeeeeeah!!!

Who’s with me?!?!?

I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have a cat anymore because I still unconsciously move around my apartment as if there were an invisible cat weaving between my feet. When I wake up, I look to see where she’s curled up so I don’t kick her when I swing my feet out of bed. I leave the bathroom door open just a tad so she doesn’t start meowing while I’m in the shower. I open cans of beans very quietly so she can’t hear (I think it’s mean to make her think I’m opening up tuna.) Every time I open a cabinet door, I expect her to run inside. When I leave the apartment, I open the door barely wide enough for me to fit though so she doesn’t sneak out. I look expectantly for her behind the door when I come home. I make sure not to throw my jacket on the bed so she doesn’t cover it with hair. When I first sit down at my desk I lean to one side to give her room to jump up on the chair. When I go to bed, I get into my sleeping position quickly because I only have about 5 seconds before she jumps up on the bed to find her spot.

Now, those five seconds pass, and then there’s nothing. It’s an incredibly lonely feeling.

My cat was my best friend. I love her and I will miss her.

The other thing that bothers me is the perception that this guy is fat. He clearly doesn’t have 8% body fat, but he’s far from being blubber. In fact, he looks pretty solid and healthy to me. The kind of guy I’d like to rub sesame oil all over and… oh.. nevermind.

The point is, here’s a guy who is enjoying himself and  just being silly and for some reason he gets undeservedly branded as fat and unattractive. Mr. Dancing Asian Man, I support you, and I appreciate you for who you are.

So without further ado, I give you Happy Dancing Energetic Asian Man:

Enjoy!

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