Hey - Whot Happen?

I've been on a bit of a creative slump lately. Hence, the lack of posts. I hate writing something just for the sake of writing something. Um...kind of like I'm doing know I guess.

[Awkward pause]

So, life is good here in Memphis. Yep, I still live in Memphis and I still work for Ford. That's pretty good considering Ford just went through a pretty major restructuring. Technically, it was a 'right-sizing' -- not to be confused with a down-sizing.

Apparently, our company was wrong-sized to begin with. Needless to say, I still have a job and I made it through without being down-sized, right-sized, or even super-sized.

Well all creative powers have left me again. I better quit now before I do some real damage.

We're all gonna die!

In America, capitalism is king. What that really means is that commerce is generally driven by the law of supply and demand. Without getting technical, I'll just say that when supply is abundant or demand is low, price is usually low. When supply is tightened or demand is increased - well, sheer panic ensues.

People start filling up their cars seven times a day, so that when the world's supply of gas runs out at 5:00 p.m. they will have that much more gas and be able to drive for two more gallon's worth of miles before their automobile becomes obsolete, and they are forced to resort to travel by foot.

People start sending emails:
"Have you heard? Gas is running out."
"There is no more gas...ever."
"We'll have to use horse and buggy from now on."
"Fill up now, while you still can!"

Now what's really happening here is a public-generated shortage. There really is no shortage of gas. However, the nervous banter about gas around the water cooler forces everybody to fill up every chance they get. With everyone keeping a full tank of gas, rather than filling up only when they need it, an actual shortage of gas is generated.

It's a weird social phenomenon. But it's like trying to fall asleep. The more you think about falling asleep, the more wide awake you become. The more you talk about the gas shortage, the worse it gets.

The gas companies and pump stations LOVE this. Prices sky-rocket because gas is "scarce" - at least in the eyes of the public, and that is all it takes. Sometimes perception becomes reality.

National DO-NOT-BUY-GAS-DAY
Then I get an email forwarded to me. It's been forwarded by dozens of people before it makes it's way to me. Apparently, some genius somewhere at the university of something, determined that if everyone in America refuses to buy gas, on "Do-not-buy-gas Day" the gas companies and pump stations will FEAR the purchasing power of the public rather than take advantage of it. And suddenly...the world will be a perfect place.

I don't mean to be a pessimist, but well I'm a pessimist. I just isn't feasible. Let's see: we'd just have to stop all the farm equipment that produces the food we eat, and then stop all the trucks that deliver our groceries. Oh, and the airlines will of course get the day off. And...no Nascar this Sunday (Gasp!) Suddenly the world comes to a crashing halt that not even Gandhi, John Lennon, or Michael Jackson can stop.

Hey, and maybe if we get all the children in the world to clap their tiny hands together at the same time -- we can have world peace.

Elvis is still dead...

Hello there forgotten blog. I haven't been avoiding you. I've just been devoid of interesting thoughts over the last month.

Time really flies. Things are going pretty well here in Memphis. This just in...Elvis is still dead. It gets amazingly hot here. Actually, it's not the heat - it's the humidity that makes life outdoors miserable. People tell me it will start to get better in about a month. For the time being...well, it's a character builder - right Dad?

It's amazing how time passes. Suz and I just celebrated our two-year anniversary. We are marriage pros now. We still have not had our first fight. Although I have sidestepped a few with my sweet talkin'. Just kidding. Kind of.

Work continues to be challenging but fun. Sometimes more challenging and less fun, but that's what work is sometimes - work. The auto industry has been going through challenging times recently. It's quickly sinking in quicksand - no thanks to GM with their employee-pricing plague. It's a drug that has sucked in the Big Three, and none of us can get off it. That's right - if you own a product of General Motors, it's your fault . . . wait -- I own a product of General Motors. But the Lumina was a hand-me-down, so that was out of my control. But seriously, GM -- you opened a can of worms and I hope it swallows you without taking Ford and Chrysler with it. Actually, you can take Chrysler too. Enough of that.

Anyway, Suz and I are still enjoying our experiences here in the real world. Life could be better, but it could also be worse, and frankly - I'm just fine with what it is.

To whom it may concern...

After some investigation, I finally figured out what happened to my website. It seems as though a friend of mine was hosting it for free, and now he no longer has a server to host sites for free. In conclusion, my site still exists, but only on my computer - and in the minds and memories of the dozens of people that saw it.

Do not despair. I am currently looking for someone else to mooch free hosting off of.

Bathroom Humor

Someone once said that we should never let fear run our lives or it will – not be…a...good thing…something like that. I forget the exact words and who said them. Regardless, it's true.

With that in mind, go into the nearest 7-eleven and have a seat in the restroom. It will change your life. You'll never be afraid of a public bathroom again. Rather, you'll never be afraid of ANYTHING ever again.

There are some things about public bathrooms that I just don't get. For example, garbage cans that have the spring-loaded flap that you have to push open to put your trash in. This means that in order to throw something away, you have to manually push open that dirty flap that has touched every piece of garbage in the can. And it's also a little disconcerting to feel the blast of warm air come out when you open that flap. It doesn't make sense.

Or how about this: have you ever been in the bathroom and watched someone exit their stall, walk past the sink and directly out without even a thought of washing their hands. You look at that person with disgust and think: "What a slob. How can he/she stand to walk around with dirty hands like that."

Then you make your way to the door and realize that your only way out is by grasping the handle – the same one that the dirty handed slob just used. You're stuck. You turn around to grab a paper towel to put between your hand and the handle, but there are no paper towels. Instead there is an Alcatraz-style air blower that will supposedly blow your hands dry. This style of dryer was apparently deemed more hygienic than paper towels – but it won't help you get past that disease ridden doorknob.

And suddenly you're trapped…waiting for someone else to come in so that you can exit while the door is still open. In conclusion, life is hard and sometimes dirty.

The page cannot be displayed

DO NOT BE ALARMED!

I'm sure many of you have attempted to log onto your favorite Inter-web site recently (www.randblair.com), only to find a stark-white background with lots of confusing words and stuff.

I repeat (this time without the screaming upper-case): Do not be alarmed!

No, the Internet has not shut down.
No, this is not the apocolypse.
No, The Music has not died.
and No, Billy Jean is not my lover.

It appears as though my hosting service is experiencing some technical difficulties. I should also mention that they are hosting www.randblair.com for free so it really isn't my place to complain. The files are still out there somewhere, just not accessible to the general public.

The problem should be fixed in the days to come. Please remain calm, and try to carry on with business as normal.

Where's The Beef?

Life on the road means one thing: ...well wait - life on the road means a lot of things really, but if I were to chose one thing that life on the road means, and write a revolutionary article about how life on the road means that thing and include some witty remarks about the one thing and how life on the road means that thing --- oh, heck, now I'm all screwed up.

As a frequent traveler to our nation's highways and byways, I eat a lot of meals at fast-food restaurants. If I was 10 years old, this would be great - but I'm not. I am much older and possess much more wisdom of that of a 10 year-old boy. As such, I understand that fast food is not all it's cracked up to be.

I. Dairy Queen

I begin by relating an experience I had this very week with Dairy Queen. Apparently, Dairy Queen is the self-appointed Queen of dairy. Now if you are going to designate yourself as royalty in a certain area of commerce, you had better back it up before you ascend to the throne. Maybe the folks at Dairy Queen Inc. up in Minneapolis realized they were slipping and decided to go by "DQ" in hopes that consumers will forget that Dairy Queen was one day royalty. On with the story:

June 8th, 2005 - Meridian, Mississippi:

I've had a long day and have driven several hundred miles and met with three dealerships in two different cities. I roll into Meridian late in the evening and need to find dinner. After several arduous attempts to get the Dairy Queen drive-through clerk's attention, I ask for an Oreo Blizzard.

"I'm sorry - sir, ice cream machine's broken. We don't have any ice cream tonight."

I am a rational person. Machines break down. They possess many small, intricate parts. However, if you're not serving ice cream tonight you had better take down the sign. Tonight and for the time being, you are Dairy Knight or Dairy Prince or perhaps even the Duke of Dairy. A true queen of dairy, however, would never run out of ice cream.

I responded: "Okay...I'll go somewhere else."

And I did. No one goes to Dairy Queen for the food, it's all about the ice cream - and if they don't have it - done, gone, on to the next one.

II. Mac Donald's -- as it's called in the south

June 2005: Jackson, Mississippi:
When Ray Croc set out and created McDonald's his dream was one of defined processes that resulted in uniformity and quality. Yadda, yadda, yadda - that all went to pot. Now McDonald's is nothing more than a shell of what it once was. McDonald's only stays in business for three reasons:

1 - The Big Mac
2 - McGriddles
3 - Thousands and thousands of locations worldwide that collectively make billions of dollars (for whatever that's worth)

Undoubtedly, I take my business to McDonald's for one reason only: Reason #2. Those little McGriddles are addicting. The way they infuse the syrup directly into the pancake-like buns is amazing. So when it's breakfast time and I'm on the road, I'm going to McDonald's to get me some of those McGriddles.

I walked into McDonald's in downtown Jackson, Mississippi on a sticky Friday morning with one thing on my mind: McGriddles. As I walked in, however, I noted the absence of the friendly Visa/Mastercard emblem on the glass door.

"Do you accept Credit Cards?"
"No sir."
"What? You're kidding me. "
"No sir."
"But it's 2005."

How did the wave of technology miss McDonald's in Jackson, Mississippi.

"Sorry, we're getting a credit card machine next week."
"I'll go some where else for now."

So I hopped in the car and drove to a different McDonald's on my way to my first appointment for the day. To my good fortune, technology had already graced McDonald's of Canton, Mississippi with a credit card machine

Cell Phone Replacement Program

After weeks of proving myself worthy, it finally came time for Ford Motor Company to issue me a cell phone. Up until this point I had been borrowing one from another division inside the company.

My new and shiny cell phone was supposed to come from another co-worker who had been using it previously. Knowing nothing but her name, there was nothing for me to do but wait until she saw it prudent to introduce herself to me and pass the phone on.

I remember going over some reports at a table in the middle of the office and glancing over and seeing what looked like a block of wood. It was not a block of wood - it was a block of cellular phone. This phone/block of wood was old school all the way. It had a big long antenna and looked like one of those phones a soldier would use on the battlefield that is wired up to a transmitter the soldier carries on his back.

This phone was so big and bulky, I wondered how it could ever be powered by a single battery. I wouldn't have been surprised if it ran on gas and had a pull start. That was how archaic this thing was.

"Whose phone is that" I thought. "That is one piece of crap phone. Glad it's not mine."

Dangerous thoughts.

Somewhere near the end of the day, I finally found out who this co-worker was that was supposed to be giving me my shiny new phone. When I asked her for the phone she said:

"I already gave it to you."
"What? I don't have it. When did you give it to me?"
"I sat it down on the table next to you."

Instantly my mind flashed back to that walkie-talkie/block of wood sitting on the desk in the other room.

"Oh no. Surely not that old cell phone/block of wood."
"Yeah. And you'll need to go buy a charger for it because the battery is dead."
"Wonderful!"

I have a 1995 Nokia 2 with: no wall charger, no car charger, and a dead battery for the hat trick.

I found the phone, and sure enough the battery was dead. I asked the office secretary if it would be possible to get another phone.

"Only when that one stops working."
"Hmmm...."

Surely I couldn't intentionally break this old phone/block of wood. Could I? No....I shouldn't, I can't -- I won't.

After nonchalantly throwing out some passively sarcastic statements about my cool new phone/block of wood, I got my boss and his boss interested in my plight.

"Wow, that is one old phone/block of wood."
"I know. I don't even have a charger for it."
"You should have them order a new phone."
"I can't - well, at least not until this thing breaks."

The room draws silent - the door closes - and the plot thickens.

"I think we need to arrange a breakage plan."
"Well...I don't know...I mean...You're the boss."

(Or technically, the boss's boss.)

Nothing was done at the time, but I saw light at the end of the cell phone/block of wood tunnel.

The next day an unnamed member of management paid a visit to my spacious cubicle and asked to 'borrow' my cell phone.

"Why of course. But under one condition -- do not break it, for I am very attached to this handy little phone/block of wood."

I went back to work. As I worked I could hear muffled sounds coming from the office down the hall. It sounded as though someone were throwing a block of wood against the floor repeatedly. Naturally, I thought nothing of it at the time.

A short time later, an unnamed member of management returned with my phone/block of wood.

"Rand, I have some bad news. I'm afraid I may have broken your phone."
"No, it cannot be!" I muffled as I looked at my little phone/block of wood with it's horribly shattered LCD display.
"Sorry. I guess you will have to order a new phone."

What Not to Wear

The Council of Constantinople (381 A.D.)
The Second Continental Congress (1774.)
The Constitutional Convention (1787.)

What's the point? The very rules that govern our society and sometimes our thinking, are the results of historical gatherings where monumental decisions were made.

That leaves me with one question: Where and when was the meeting that determined what color of shoes go with khaki pants?

Who created all these rules of 'what goes with what?' It sounds dumb, but there are very definite rules, and somebody had to have made them.

While I was never anywhere close to being an expert on men's fashion, I thought I had a small grasp on these rules as they pertain to pants and shoes. Brown shoes with khaki's and green's. Black shoes with dark pants. That was all I ever needed to know. Until Saturday...

You throw a sport coat in the mix, and everything changes. Suddenly black shoes are good to go with khaki's provided you're wearing a black sport coat and a black belt. But, should you take off the black sport coat due to Mississippi's sweltering heat, suddenly you're stranded with black shoes and kacki's and nothing to tie the two together.

And just when I thought I had this all figured out, you add in the fourth dimension of shirt color. Suddenly, nothing is as it seems and my head hurts. Fortunately, my sweet wife who will stop at nothing to appease me - especially if she can poke fun in the process - helped me create a chart of socially acceptable color combinations. I laughed at the idea and acted as though I didn't need a silly list to get dressed in the morning.

I actually carried the list with me all week and consulted it regularly.

Idol Conspiracy Theory

America has spoken and yes - we have a new American Idol. Last night America (i.e. the producers of Idol) crowned Carrie Something-or-other America's next Idol.

In the end my theory of the white-male supremacy ultimately fell apart, and Suzanne, with her uncanny ability of picking Idols and other false Gods, was right all along. My theory was based on the racial makeup of Idols of the past. In the past three seasons, America has managed to pass the Idol crown in the most diverse manner conceivable. How does America manage to pick such a socially diverse group of Idols you ask? My theory suggests that producers at Fox have more to do with this than actual Americans. Take a look at the progression:

Season I: White Female
Season II: Minority Male
Season II: Minority Female/Mother

According to my theory, this progression strongly suggests that this season's Idol be a White Male - who has probably fathered many children, which points to heart-throb rocker Bo Bice.
In the end, my theory was thrown out and Carrie, the southern bell from Oklahoma was crowned as this season's American Idol. Shortly after the results were announced, a bucket of pig blood and guts was dumped on her from above...oh, wait that was a different Carrie. That would have been pretty cool though.

Ryan Seacrest managed to take away yet two more hours of my life to convey this decision that ultimately took all of 13 seconds to deliver. How did Fox manage to fill the time you ask? The answer is simple: washed up musicians and shameless advertising and product promotion from a major car manufacturer that will remain unnamed . . . because they pay my salary.

The highlight of the evening came in the form of a surprise visit from America's favorite lifeguard, Mr. David Hasselhoff. As Hasselhoff came prancing down the aisle to meet his adoring fan (singular) it was obvious what he was thinking: "Sweet - I'm on TV again and Germans love me!"

Although the dissolution of my Idol theory does nothing to prove my long-standing theory, it also does nothing to disprove my theory that Germans love David Hasselhoff.

Seacrest -- Out.

On The Soap Box

So over the last several months between graduating and starting with Ford last month, I've had a lot of spare time on my hands. For the most part I have used that time doing productive things such as, looking for a job, doing the laundry, and writing my first book.

Occasionally, however, sometimes my time is diverted to less productive things. You know things like napping, daydreaming, and reading. As of late, Suzanne has helped me to see the value behind soap operas.

These brilliantly written story lines are not only incredibly fast paced, but they are also realistic, yet unpredictable. Due to the complex nature of soap opera plots, creating a successful soap presents quite a challenge. Many soaps start strong and quickly fade into the background.

After carefully reviewing several soap operas I have comprised a list of attributes that are sure to result in a bang-up soap opera.

1. All in the family - Everybody is somehow related to everybody else.
2. Inter-family hookups - Even though everybody is somehow related to everybody else, people are still hooking up - and that's ok for some reason.
3. Small quaint town - Everything transpires inside of a small, isolated town, usually on the outskirts of Metropolis or some similarly named urban city.
3. The villain - There's always a villain, and he or she somehow always controls everything in the town.
4. No one ever dies - People may appear to die, but they don't actually die, everyone else just thinks they are dead. This facilitates comebacks and unpredictable plot twists.
5. No ugly people - Even the characters that are supposed to be ugly are actually beautiful people with slight disfigurements.
6. Paternity tests do not exist - This breeds an air of uncertainty as to who the true father is.

If you combine each of these elements into a ridiculously slow-moving story line, you're guaranteed to produce a series of action-packed episodes - like sand through the hourglass.

Life as a Pack Rat

After 22 consecutive days of sleeping in a hotel bed, last night I was finally able to sleep in my own bed. Living in a hotel takes a lot out of you. When you check into a hotel there is always that little amount of excitement to get to your room and see what it's like. That excitement wears off after two or three weeks. Not having to make your own bed comes with a price.

When you stay in a hotel for an extended period of time, your whole perception of what is normal changes. After three weeks in a hotel, paying $12.99 for a meal seems normal. Eating every night in the hotel restaurant isn't always a riot either: "Table for one." At one point your realize you've had almost everything on the room service menu. Suddenly I found myself irritated when I come back to my room at noon and there are now fresh towels and the bed has not been made.

I even memorized all the channels on Marriott's cable television network.

Long story short: It's good to be home. And it's good to be back with my suga' mamma. Unfortunately I will be heading out Sunday for two more weeks in a hotel. More complaining coming your way...

Welcome to the world's most important Blog!

What is up RandBlair.com fans? (Both of you.) So I thought I'd take a crack at starting a blog. For those of you unfamiliar to the wonderful world wide web of blogs, blog stand for . . . well, I don't exactly know. But the whole gist of a blog is that I (and whoever else I allow - for example, my hot wife) can write witty and insightful comments and post them here. Then you, the viewing audience can respond. Then people can respond to your comments and then arguments ensue and things really start to get fun.

In review: This blog thing is similar to the running news section on my homepage except it will allow you to give me feedback.

So I'm sure you're all as excited as I am about this and would like to respond now, but you don't know how. I'm going to give you a step by step instruction of how (dumbed down to mom and dad's level of computer education.)

Step 1: Read the latest post
Step 2: Have a good laugh and think to yourself (Rand's such a witty guy!)
Step 3: Did you do step 2? If not - DO IT!
Step 4: Click on the 'comment' link at the bottom of the post.
Step 5: Type your comment in the right-hand box on the screen that pops up. Under 'Choose an identity, choose 'Other' and provide your name.
Step 6: Click 'Publish your comment' and you're done.