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.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
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 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:
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.
"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
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
Thursday, June 09, 2005
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."
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."
Saturday, June 04, 2005
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.
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.
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