Comcastrophe

COMCAST pissed me off royally last night. Recap -

Appointment to activate a cable jack and deliver another cable box: between 6 and 8 PM.

I leave work early to be home. I wait. I wait. I wait. I fart a few times. I spray some Oust around the apartment so that the COMCAST technician doesn' t have to smell my farts, because I am considerate like that. I wait some more. I realize I just wasted my Oust because it's taking the technician so long to get here my farts would have dissipated on their own. I wait some more.

Call from technician at a quarter till 8: "uh, I can't make it tonight."

My thoughts: "You son of a bitch, get your ass over here and do your fucking job."

The words out of my mouth: "I don't care how late you need to arrive, it needs to be done tonight."

Technician: "uh, you need to reschedule."

My thoughts: "You sack of shit. You couldn't have called earlier in the day to reschedule?"


So now I have to spend another night waiting at home for two hours. What did the COMCAST customer service lady do to make me feel better when I called to complain? She gave me a $20 credit on my next bill. My thoughts: "Do you fucking know how valuable my time is? It's way the fuck more than $5 an hour. Bitch." (Do the math - $20 divided by the 4+ hours this will take out of my life)

I wrote a letter explaining how I deserve 2 months free service based on this bullshit. I sent it to their online customer service department. If I don't receive an adequate response, I'm going to mail merge their board of directors and executive committee address lists to a stack of envelopes with some hard copy "COMCAST customer service sucks, give me a fucking refund" letters inside.

Oh, and I'm going to blog about how much I hate COMCAST. This blog will come down once I have received proper restitution for the complete disregard for my time, money, and life.

The lines of text at the end are included only so that this diatribe is picked up by people searching for information on COMCAST. Oh, and take a look at this guy's blog too:
http://strategize.blogspot.com/2006/08/comcast-service-truths.html

COMCASTIC? More like COMCASTROPHE. COMCAST sucks. COMCAST sucks a lot. COMCAST is lame. COMCAST has poor customer service. COMCAST is the number one provider of cable and broadband internet access in the nation. COMCAST customer support. COMCAST customer complaints. COMCAST fraud. COMCAST scam. COMCAST lies. COMCAST undermines the morality of our children and the resolve of our allies (thank you Stephen Colbert). COMCAST high-speed internet. COMCAST Services for You. COMCAST Sportsnet. COMCAST - Official site, but not really. COMCASToffers you the worst possible service this world has ever known. COMCAST Cable TV and more - like headaches and stress. COMCAST stock, might as well plummet now so it has enough momentum to actually die once it hits rock bottom. COMCAST Service Information - it's like crap, with even a worse smell. COMCAST NEWS - we suck, we know it, we don't do anything about it. COMCAST anti-trust and monopolistic behaviors are evident everywhere . . . see treatment of customers. COMCAST blatant disregard for life, liberty, and any form of happiness. The truth about COMCAST service. The reality of COMCAST customer service. Long-term market outlook for COMCAST? Not good.

Justifizzle

"I didn't want to be the guy who dates girls in the tabloids." That is a quote from Justin Timberlake in the August issue of GQ. *Yawn* JT is rather unexciting, but his music is fun. Finally, maybe, we have an artist that doesn't have to ask reporters to stick to questions about his artistic work, because if you aren't talking about his music, JT is a bore.

I'm kind of pissed at myself for referring to him as JT like I'm some Justified tour junkie. It's just easier to type two letters. Other artists have shortened it up to their credit. Madonna = Madge. Sonny & Cher = Cher. Annoying bitch from the north = Celine. I think most artists get it right. Debut with your full name, and then let some hybrid name develop organically in your fan-base and the press.

It's akin to the naming of a serial killer. A killer doesn't announce their super-scary moniker to the world. Initial reports of his first hits will always refer to him as an "unidentified black man". Ultimately, after 10 more hits and being named the Suburban Stalker, it's revealed that an unassuming white male was the culprit. Whoa, can you say way too similar to The King of Pop's career?

Too many new artists are making the jump to nicknames. Take Ne-Yo for instance. Sounds like a muppet to me. Is his name really a question? Ne-Yo? No, I don't got any. Whatever brainstorm led to that name was more drizzle than storm. And by drizzle I mean light rain, not dry or drive or some other verb with it's vowels and root replaced by izzle.

JT is a fan of the izzle language. He sprinkles it in his lyrics like I sprinkle whey protein in my oatmeal - both hoping we'll be cooler for it, but really just proving we're sellouts. Plus, in my case, it tastes like shizzle.

Well isn't this a coincidence . . . JT's song Never Again just came on my Yahoo radio. I've never heard this song because I didn't buy his last album. Wow, this song is kind of lame. Ok, I'm going to up that to super lame. Skip please. That song was shizzle JT, absolizzle shizzle. I guess not every song can Rock Your Body.

Ahh, next song is a winner: Freedom, by George Michael. If you watch JT's video for Sexy/Back, much of his solo shots in the video are George Michael-esque. I think it's worth noting that the same moves that worked a decade ago are still working today. Plus, as a male pop star, there is only so much you can do when you're dancing solo. I'm not saying JT is gay or is hooking up in the bushes along Hollywood Boulevard, but when he was asked whether he lives with Cameron, his GQ interview ended with the following answer: " 'Uh, nooo . . . I have my own house. It's very important. Healthy.' He laughs nervously. 'Don't you ever need your own space?' "

I get you, JT. I'll be by your place shortly so I can sizzle your dizzle.

Reinventing Registries

Today, while chatting with my friend Heather, and both of us bitching about the world in which we all live, the following came to me in a vision.

Wedding registries need to go the way of Jon Benet. They are a tired tradition. Today, most couples bring to the relationship a Noah's ark of utensils, George Foreman grills, and dishes . . . and no one needs two of everything. I only know two couples whose wedding's I attended that actually needed all the stuff they registered for. They were younger when they got married and they were definitely not rolling in the dough. Interestingly, the most destitute of couples I know didn't register anywhere, but instead requested charitable donations be made to some mission fund in lieu of gifts! I was actually offended by this because they needed to stock up on some Pottery Barn shit badly . . . don't be a martyr when you don't have to be.

I know weddings are expensive. Not my fault. I know receptions, with all their liquor and beer, can be expensive. Again, not my fault. I know that bringing a gift is a way of celebrating the couple's new union. Unless I set them up on their first date, not my fault. I know that bringing a gift is a way of thanking the couple for the fun party they threw at the reception. This "fun" is always debatable. Fun for a bunch of mascara-cake'd bridesmaids is not fun for me. Fun for mom and dad of the groom is probably not fun for me either. And not showing up because I'm pretty sure it's not going to be fun is not a choice, because I'll get bitched at for being a bad friend.

Solution: no more wedding registries unless you are under 25 years old and/or you live near the poverty line for your social group. You know what I mean . . . a doctor and an attorney getting married would still be near the poverty line if they were friends with Paris Hilton. But that same couple should not register if their social group is Mr. and Mrs. McDonald's Managers. And if you are going to bitch about how expensive the reception is, do what bars do: implement a cover charge. If I know there is free booze, I'll pay 20 bucks to go to your reception. Maybe even 30 if I like you. But don't push it bridezilla - you better have a handle on how much your "friends" are really willing to pay to see you show off your new self-confidence, which we all know is temporary.

Gift registries would be much better served to alleviate, rather than create, stress. For instance, xmas time is the perfect time for us all to register. Then we can announce where we registered in our xmas cards to all our friends. No longer will anyone agonize over what to buy their friends and family. Shopping in December would be easier, faster, and the stores would love it. Fewer returns after xmas, too. And unlike weddings, there really isn't an obligation to buy everyone who registers at xmas a gift. It's a wish list, not a contract for goods like a wedding registry.

Little gee god, thank you for blessing me with kick-ass ways to make the world better.

Commandments, etc.

A friend's blog started a brainstorm of my own on what it really takes to form the basis of a religion or some other sort of life-influencing philosophy. You can check out his blog, of the minimalist genre, here: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=95318252&blogID=150738847&MyToken=a5638ca5-6312-49e4-a6e9-8e784d5a3265

I know I might be a few years behind the times with this observation, but the little WWJD bands are a religion in themselves. No, not a praise jesus religion. I'm talking about fashion. The bible belt realized that if you can't prevent your neighbors couture from seducing your teenage followers, might as well get your own little piece of fashion to get your followers back on the right track, at least on the outside. The catholics have been doing this kind of thing for years. Back in the middle ages, necklaces must have been the newest tool of the devil ever invented, or we wouldn't have the rosary. I still think the rosary is the coolest mafia/ninja/hitman weapon ever. Especially when it's wrapped around the neck of a priest. Too much irony? Maybe.

But if it really only takes a slogan or a sentence that induces some thought and introspection to form the basis of one's religion or philosophy, can't we come up with something more compelling than WWJD? The answer to WWJD is easy: the right thing. Yet again, A+. Sunday school never really was much of a challenge for me. So I'm going to try and challenge myself with a more compelling question:

Who would Jesus fuck? Cliche? Maybe. Answers -

"Jesus would fuck no one because he is pure." Wrong. Jesus was a man. Men fuck. Sometimes they even fuck each other.

"Jesus would fall in love and only 'make love' to his wife." Wrong. Jesus was a man. Men fuck. Love making happens on occasion, but fucking happens more. Saying the words "I love you" does not make it love making.

Jesus would fuck all the beautiful people. Wrong. True, as the son of god he's probably gorgeous, well hung, and could attract all the hotties like flies, but isn't that a bit gluttonous? Jesus would be violating his own principles if he only did the hotties.

Jesus would fuck the less fortunate. Religion is equal opportunity right? Jesus reached out not just to the rich men but also to the poor, diseased, and infirm. So if you have leprosy, jump on the jesus train. This is the best answer for those that subscribe to the "Jesus as martyr" theory of religion. These people are also hell-bent on making themselves martyrs, and are therefore supremely lame.

But unfortunately, I don't believe my own lines of bullshit. At least not individually. So let's review them as a whole. If Jesus is a man, he wants to fuck all the hotties. If Jesus is the son of god, he has to be hot as fuck. If Jesus is as principled as he'd like us all to believe, then he'd at least have to keep up the charade and not discriminate against those a mortal would rather not fuck.

I'm left with the conclusion that "Jesus would be a slut". He would get on anyone he wanted and he would get on anyone who wanted him. Jesus is love, often an emotion jumpstarted by fucking. Jesus does unto others as they do unto him. Jesus would be on top, behind, underneath, and within every one of us . . . he would be the omnipresent fuck. How biblically consistent. Of course, like a porn star, he'd have to get high every time he fucked to keep from crying.

So unless jesus is a mormon and married everyone, he's also a dirty fucker who fucked everyone before he was married to them. So this simple question, who would jesus fuck, has reached an impasse. Jesus could either be mormon sinner or he could be a sex-before-marriage sinner. Of course, this whole stream of consciousness is an exaggeration, but it's this sort of fabricated religious conundrum that causes people to surrender their own decision making ability to priests, preachers, cultists, etc; it's this sort of thinking that gives rise to rules with no basis in reality; it's this sort of thinking that causes people to be racked with personal guilt when they violate rules imposed upon them by others.

Instead of listening to other's commandments for life, listen to your own. It's what I do. Narcissistic? Maybe.

Or you can listen to Joey's commandments on my friend's blog. At least then you'll laugh while you are racked with guilt.

So You Think You Can Make Me Hurl?

"So You Think You Can Dance" ended last night with a spastic fruit on stage.

Recap: Benji and Travis were the top two dancers on the show. Benji won. Benji began to cry/sob/contort his face into the most wretched thing ever. He already has a smile with a bit too much gum. But when he cries, his entire head turns into a prune . . . that shakes and shudders uncontrollably. Absolutely disgusting. It's hard to be happy for a winner when you are fighting off the urge to blow chunks.

Later in the evening, Project Runway put its ratings ahead of its credibility. Let's face it, the queen of the Oklahoma desert made the worst thing on the Runway. Sure, his garment had a waist. Big deal . . . up till now no one got any extra credit for having a waist. But Michael Kors will find some way to keep his cuties around. Then there was Vincent's sculpture-dress. Heidi did not mince words when she called Vincent insane. So why wasn't this creation finally Vincent's ticket home? Architect Laura answered that question for us immediately after the runway when she and Vincent got in an argument. Good tv needs bad designers. As a result, a good designer got sent home last night because she offered the show little more than professionalism, style, and grace. Her design was bad, but so were the other two. It's like affirmative action for crazy people . . . all things being equal, the crazy people get to stay on the show.

And do we have a little love triangle forming between Nina Garcia, Michael Kors, and designer Michael? Right now, Michael is still likeable. Let's hope he doesn't turn into the male Kara Saun from seasons past.

Shame on Books

I don't usually think Sports Illustrated is funny. However, I love watching Tiger Woods beat Phil Mickelson, and Sports Illustrated pretty much nailed this one. So check this out . . . http://www.cnn.com/si/2006/writers/alan_shipnuck/08/16/inside.golf/index.html?cnn=yes

Meanwhile, back in my own thoughts, this article made me realize that I don't have to be so hard on myself for not reading a cabinet full of books. This article was well written, humorous, topical, and even made me think a bit. Sure, it wasn't 300 pages long, but length has supposedly never mattered in any equation, right?

The amount of reading I do everyday, of things that receive no awards, praise, or blessings from Maya Angelou, more than compensates for my empty bookshelves. I cannot print out all the electronic media I consume each day. If I did, I would be accused of chopping down rainforests, whereas my brethren with volume after volume filling their shelves are lauded as effete intellectuals, conquerors of ignorance.

Don't ridicule me just because I found a more economical and environmentally friendly way of feeding my mind.

Yum, yum, yum . . . tastes like the 21st century.

Bad Boobs

There is no such thing as good customer service on the east coast. How's that for a sweeping generalization. The following is but one example of why it is true.

• Beginning of July - our one year old condo (which we thankfully rent and not own) suffers lots of water damage due to a combination of heavy rain and shoddy construction.
• Mid-July - day workers enter our condo and remove a bunch of drywall that is black with mold.
• End of July - we are still living with holes in our walls.
• Beginning of August - finally, we receive word that some repairs will be made within the week.

Throughout all of July we sent emails to and talked on the phone with numerous individuals responsible for assessing and repairing the damage, explaining to them where we saw water damage and where the drywall had been removed. We sent emails and made phone calls of our own initiative; we sent emails and made phone calls as "required" by little flyers posted in the elevators; we sent emails and made phone calls as encouraged by the 4 page letter explaining the water damage situation to everyone in the building (too bad the 4 pages was filled with zero useful information and ended with a reminder to keep things in perspective because, as they put it, 'the water damage in our units is nothing compared to the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina' . . . . wtf?!!!! . . . obviously whoever wrote the letter barely graduated highschool and has no grasp of what a proper perspective might be).

• Today - the head man responsible for repairing our unit is shocked by the extent of the damage.

I can't remember exactly which incredibly stupid statement came out of his mouth, but it was similar to one of the following. "We had no idea the damage was this extensive." "We have no idea how to communicate effectively with you or amongst ourselves." "We collect a paycheck for wiping our asses with your emails." "We like sex with women." "Doh." Or maybe there were no words, just an empty expression accompanied by some slobbering.

I can't hang drywall. I'm sure I could learn how, and I'm sure it would be a great work out, and I could probably cancel my gym membership and have that hot blue-collar vibe working well for me at the club. But at this moment, I cannot hang drywall to save my life. Hang my drywall wrong and I will have no clue. Something at which I am very capable is organizing and managing people and information. Seeing these idiot white collar boobs fuck with my life due to their incompetence doing a job at which they are supposed to excel makes me so furious. Keeping track of which units are damaged is not hard boys . . . just make a fucking list and fucking check it twice.

I encourage anyone in customer service from the midwest to move to the east coast and take over the world. I just want 10%, as a finder's fee, for telling you about this goldmine of a cesspool of inept boobery.

wayeyeseeit

Just some observations:

Being a good person makes you are a shitty driver.

Some evangelical christian will find a way to blame the Jews for ruining Mel Gibson's "gospel" of a career.

Hurricane Chris is coming! Oh wait, it weakened again. So is that predicted killer hurricane season going to happen, or is it just a convenient lie to suit Al Gore's political agenda?

I bet Anderson Cooper's boyfriend has a really big life insurance policy on Anderson's head. Everyday he's reporting from a warzone, from inside a hurricane, from up his own ass . . . perilous . . . and stale.

Hint to next season's contestants: hit the Jenny Craig. Heavy girls are 0 for 2 in the last two Project Runway episodes.

Power is knowing that turning on your dishwasher in the middle of the day could cause a blackout.

Causing a blackout by turning on your dishwasher in the middle of the day is as close to third world country status as I want to get. Build some fucking powerplants already!

Bloodsicles: what some poor intern had to whip up for the lions at a zoo, to help them cope with the heat. Do lions not drink water?

Staying hydrated has become a religion to some people. They practice it, they preach it, they berate you if they think you aren't downing glass after glass of the stuff. And it must be pure water, not tainted by caffeine or artificial sweeteners, because beverages containing 99% water just don't count. It's amazing our ancestors survived by having a drink of dirty water when they were thirsty.