June 30, 2008

I got ID'ed at the News Room, downtown Minneapolis, tonight.

Woo hoo!

The new special effect

"I'm going to be stuck going to see 'Mama Mia'" my friend and movie buff SeaBass admitted Friday at lunch. His wife is insisting; he got a pass on the "Sex and the City" movie, but on this one there was no chance of him getting out of it. "The one redeeming quality will be the female lead looks really good." It was at that moment I realized that SeaBass had fallen for the biggest trick movie producers play on men.

For years, movies have used special effects to bring in crowds. During the glory days of Sci-Fi movies (see: the good Star Wars, Star Trek, etc), special effects were used to enhance the experience. They made these movies epics, and they brought in a lot of male viewers.

But then something happened. Producers realized that good effects can be used to bring in a crowd, even if the movie isn't that good (see: Independence Day). With the use of CGI, it is easier to add in mind blowing effects, at a fraction of the cost. As a result, you get a lot of incredible effects with not much substance behind them. Special Effects do not a movie make, but they do bring in crowds.

This is exactly what is happening with "Mama Mia". You wouldn't expect Special Effects in a chix flick, but that is exactly what Amanda Seyfried is. The young female lead is designed to bring in a bunch of dum males into the theater and have them leaving happy. She may not be CGI, but she is another special effect.

From now on in my book, really attractive woman who can not act are special effects. They are designed to bring in guys, just like explosions, car chases, and spacecraft. The only difference is that the woman are not CGI.

Not yet, anyway.

"The Day Innocence Died"

The following story was on ESPN's web site, written by Michael Weinreb. It is about the life and death of Len Bias, and the aftermath of his passing.

The Day Innocence Died

Today, Len Bias has been dead longer than he had been alive. It is still hard to believe that he died and how he died, even though it happened over 20 years ago. For those of you who know the story, we have all heard the rumors - was this the first time he did drugs or not? Was he using crack? etc? What is most interesting about this story is the aftermath and how Len Bias' death effected society. It is a long story, and a tough one to get through if you followed college basketball, but it is worth reading.

nwa.com/sucks

Let me rant for a minute about how much I hate the nwa.com website.  I preface all my comments with this disclaimer - if you know exactly when and where you want to go, price is no option and you are ready to buy on the spot, then nwa.com is the best airline site I have visited.  If there is any possible variation in your travel plans which could be dependent on any of those items, however, it is the worst.

For instance, I was searching for a flight to Detroit.  After realizing I don't want to spent over $1000 for a ticket, I try frequent flyer options.  I thought I was being pretty direct in my request when I click on the "Award Flight" tab, but no.  I still get options for $1000+ for Detroit.  It would not give options for Award Travel, despite the fact I clicked on this tab.  And mind you, I was already logged in to the site, so it knew it was me and that I had miles available.  Frickin' moronic.

I had to search for some very specific time options; I am coordinating this trip to meet up with my Dad, and he already got his tickets.  So, I knew when I need to be there, yet, nwa.com insists on pushing options that are 10+ hours away from when I need to arrive.  They do this with other destinations all the time, especially Vegas.  For some reason, the frickin site interprets my request to depart Las Vegas in the "Afternoon" as the 1:15 AM redeye flight.  In whose fricken f-up world is 1:15AM the Afternoon?  F-ing morons!

Then, when I did get my flights with frequent flyer miles, I supposedly saved these flights in an itinerary.  I wanted to check with my Dad once more just to make sure he didn't give me the wrong times (this would not be the first time).  I got a "helpful" eMail that told me:

"This itinerary has been stored under Saved Itineraries in My Booking Info"

I defy anyone to find the "My Booking Info" section on the home page of nwa.com.  Let me save you the time and aggravation - it doesn't exist.  In fact, the word "My" appears four times, "Info" appears twice and "Booking" appears zero.  I used their site search to find "My Booking Info".  The top result for that search - the home page.  F-ing booger eating morons!!

I wouldn't have minded it not being on the front page had they provided a link in the eMail they sent me, but that apparently would have cost too much ink or something.  Another one of nwa's cost cutting moves or some brilliance like that, I guess.

The frightening thing is, I think nwa and the nwa.com web site rank currently rank in the top for both airline service and web site design.  I had to fly a lot of other carriers this last month:  United, Delta and US Air, and sadly, NWA and nwa.com kicked the s#it out of all of them... and that is really sad.  

Someday, somehow, someone will do something to improve the situation.  Someone from outside the industry who has to search for tickets, fly and suffer like the rest of us - plus someone who has a lot of money and can use it to improve the sorry lot of airlines that we must patronage today.  

Sir Richard Branson, your table is ready.

What is in a name?

"We are leaning towards the name Judas" my good friend Jon said when I asked how his expecting wife (and the author of "Get Motivated with Maryann" blog) was doing. "Judas - we like the uniqueness of the name. There is not much of a chance that any other kid will be named that." I didn't take him seriously when he suggested this as a name for his child.  This was said for shock value and amusement.  Something people quickly learn about Jon when they meet him is that his primary emotional states are "sarcastic" and "extremely sarcastic", which is followed by "hungry" and "sleepy." Plus, even if he was serious, I knew his wife would never go along with it.

He was right about that point that it would be a unique name. I can't think of anyone outside of Judas Iscariot who had that name.  There are Judah's and Jude's, but no one I can think of named Judas.  It is off limits for Christians, and possibly for anyone of any other faith . I think it is one of those names which is so tainted that everyone considers it untouchable, like "Hitler", "Stalin" and "Urkel." I understand his point about uniqueness of a name, though, probably better than most people.

My parents were wonderful people, but when it came to names, they showed an incredible lack of creativity. I have been cursed with an incredibly common name. There is a reasons for it - family and tradition mainly. My ancestors (my homies) are Greeks and they recycle names. The tradition is for men's first name comes from their grandparents and your middle and last names come from your father. Once you get past two male kids, then you start using names from uncles and other close family members. As a result, there are a lot of repeats. The joke is that 75% of all Greeks men have one of the seven following names: George, John, Gus, Chris, Nick, Pete and Jim.  If you know any Greek men, you are probably laughing now. If you add in Dean, Evan, Edward and Angelo, you probably got 90% of the population right there. So, following tradition, I have a very common name. It is a good name - not a trendy one for which I am thankful.  Almost nobody misspells it, but it is a bit common. Just here at my employer, there are seven other people with the same name.

My last name is a different story.  It is also common, but how it got that way is a bit of a mystery.  My grandfather came through Ellis Island, and like a lot of immigrants, his name was changed.  It used to be Maroulis.  Somehow it became Miller.  Nobody is sure if it was his choice, or if it was the immigration officer.  There are a lot of theories in my family about the origin, which were never resolved when my grandfather was alive.  I think he changed it himself.  He had no illusions about returning to the Greece; he came to America to be an American, and he picked an American name.  Yanis Maroulis became John Miller.

I have often wondered how life might have been different for me had my name remained Maroulis.  I wonder if people would have treated me differently or thought of me differently. Would people have treated me differently if I was introduced as Jim Maroulis?  Or Demetrius Maroulis, the full Greek version of my name?  It certainly would have been more memorable of a name.  What would the perception of me have been with that name. The stereotype of Greeks is that we tend to be loud and a bit emotional (see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding".  You call it a comedy; we call it a documentary).  With a name like that would I have acted any differently, having a personality closer to the stereotype?  Or would I have had the same personality I have now, and I would have been the abnormally quiet Greek?  

Having a very common name brings other problems. We are impossible to find in the phone book.  No need to get an unlisted number; if you don't know it, you will never find it.  There are other problems, too.  Good e-mail addresses are hard to come by; it took me hours to find a decent one for gmail. The e-mail address I eventually settled on was a result of starting with "jmiller1" and I kept on going till I found one that wasn't taken (hence, jmiller13@gmail.com). All things considered, this is a relatively painless process.  If I can't find one I like, I can always go to another free eMail service.  The worst our websites where you have to create you own unique login.  It is a fricken nightmare.  Either give me an account number, or let me use my eMail. If I have to create my own login, "Jim Miller" or any close variation is already taken. Don't make me get creative and make me try figure out another clever way to change "Jim Miller" into an easy to remember account name that is usable only on your fricken website! I am convinced the person who came up with a system like this had a name like "Mortemer Dipthong" and has no trouble getting his first choice for account names.  It is things like this that have caused me to think about changing my name to something new.

If I was to change my name, I would probably keep the first name, but change the last. "Freakonomics" had a section on first names, their trends, reasons for popularity, and their impact on how children are perceived. It was quite interesting, and the first name can have an impact on someones life. I am not ready for that type of change at this point in my life; I just want something more unique. So this means changing the last name. This would be an insult to my family, but, considering the name Miller is still a relatively new one for us, would it be that big of a tragedy?

There used to be an IT guy here at work who supported our area. He was a Native American, kind of quiet, but he did a good job. His name was Norm Crazythunder.  I always liked that name.

Jim Crazythunder ... it has a nice ring to it.  It would be unique, easy to spell, memorable, and best of all, it was available in gmail.

Cheers,

Jim

jim.crazythunder@gmail.com

Safenow.org

This was sent to me by a coworker. In the post 9-11 world, we see safety signs and warnings everywhere. Some of these are rather vague. I work in the safety business, and have seen a lot of signs like this, so I found this endlessly amusing. Hope you enjoy!

http://www.safenow.org/

March 20, 2008

"You really still get IDed?" was the question asked of me. It was on March 20, 2008. We had just finished our final soccer game of the winter season (the one I didn't get injured playing) and we went out for a beer at the Kit Kat Klub. It was a school night, and my grey hair was visible, and yes I still got IDed. I remembered the date. I actually keep track of the last time I get IDed for a very simple reason:

I know the day is coming when I will never get IDed again.

At first, getting IDed was a proud occasion. I no longer had to use a fake one and pretend to be someone else. I don't think I could make it as a secret agent; there was entirely too much pressure on keeping track of a second identity. But once you turn 21, it is a sign of pride that you can proudly claim your identity and the drinking rights now bestowed upon you.

Then getting IDed became a bit of a hassle. Everywhere you went, you had to show your card. My word as a gentleman was not good enough. My fate was in the hands of a small rectangular piece of plastic issued by a state government.

Then it became annoying. I was trying to be a grown up and have some professional credibility in the world. Getting IDed was a slap in the face to my credentials. I was not exuding an aura of professionalism that the waiter or barkeep immediately recognized. To them, I was some junior level wanna be who had not achieved any level of success. Success did not permeate from my entire being. To them, I was some pimply faced punk trying to bluff my way into adulthood.

Then it stopped happening…and I didn't really notice. At least for a while I didn't notice. When I realized that it was not happening, it was a bit of a relief. One less thing to deal with, so to speak. Then not getting IDed stopped become the exception; it became the norm. Large periods of time when go by when the ID would remain safely tucked away. When it was asked for, it was at a bar where they IDed everyone. It was not because I looked young; everyone got nabbed, so it really didn't count (it is kinda like landing in airport in a state you have never been to, but then checking that state off your list because technically you have been there).

That is why March 20, 2008 was a big day. They were not IDing everyone. It was selective. My friend who questioned me getting IDed asked him, how old did you think I was. He said 25. He honestly thought I might have been close to 21. My friend thinks it must have been the full moon, or the fact I was in soccer duds. Whatever. It still goes down as a good day in my book.

Since then it has been a bit of a drought. I have been living in the glory of the March day for almost three months. Some of the bars I have been going to have a lot of younger patrons. I figured these would almost be gimmies for getting IDed, but no. Last week I went to Sweeneys after Grand Old Days. The doorman checked the three people in front of me for ID. When I reached for mine, he just waved me in. I thought this might be the end or the road. The day had come and I was just realizing it now.

As I write this today, I am in the Indianapolis airport heading home. Bad weather in Chicago has caused my return trip from Charlotte to Minneapolis to take the circuitous route through Detroit, Indianapolis, Memphis before heading home (don't ask how or why). I am reminded by advice given to me several years ago about air travel: Nothing good can come from flying through Chicago.

To kill time between flights, I find a bar and get some food. I order nachos and a beer (not in that order). The waitress asked to see my ID.

June 8, 2008. The streak continues for another day!

Taking a stand on bare feet

Since when did it become socially acceptable to expose your bare smelly feet in airports?

I'm not talking about ladies taking off their heels, or gentleman removing their incredibly stylish, but not broken in dress shoes, once passengers have boarded a plane for takeoff (I don't like this and I am not comfortable with it personally, but I have made peace with those who choose to practice this behavior.)

No, I am talking about people who take off their shoes and socks while inside the airport. This is not kids or teenagers, but grown men in their 50's or older. This past week, in Chicago, Indianapolis and Charlotte I have seen the same scene repeatedly. Grown adults, waiting to board planes, socks and shoes on the ground in front of them.

What in the good earth would make otherwise reasonably looking adults think that the world would be a better place because of their foot odor? Baffling. Slipping off flip flops I could see, but removing shoes and socks in a public place… it is either presumptuous, offensive, or naïve. Or a combo of all of the above. Call me a germ-a-phobe, but do you have any idea what has been on the floors (and what has been tracked across them by rolling bags, wheelchairs and motorized assistance carts). But even worse, what does this say about the society we live in when people are unwilling to spare others from the offensive odors emanating from their feet.

I admit I am repressed on some matters. I still have difficulty flying while wearing short pants. This is my opinion, but I think the practice of shorts and flying do not mix, unless you are a kid. But shoes? I can't imagine my father every putting on a pair of shorts, going to the airport, but before getting on the plane saying, "hey wait, I gotta take off my shoes and spread some odors!"

It is time to take a stand. I think the next time I see an otherwise reasonable looking adult, sans shoes, I think I will sniff the air in front of them and say "Mmmm….roses!"

Even if the message doesn't get across, at least I can clear the air of my feelings on the matter.

Nothing like a hail storm to ruin a good beer fest

Last Saturday we made the trek to the City Pages "Beer Fest" in Uptown Minneapolis. This is normally one of the best events in the summer. It combines sunshine, cheese curds, and beer. This year we had one more attribute to add to the list: hail storm.

I won't go into the excruciating details of the evening, but lets just say outdoor beer fests and hail storms do not mix.

It started harmlessly enough. We had a long line to get through, but this being a beer fest, the line is populated by beer drinkers, overall a jovial talkative group. After about 20-25 minutes of waiting we were about to get inside, when we got the warning about thunderstorms approaching Hennepin County. It is an outdoor festival with no real room for cover, but we decided to go in. I think the famous last words were "Hennepin County is a big county."

Turns out we didn't make it inside before the rain began. And it came down. Lots in big painful drops. The first one that hit me felt like a small bird had run into my head. We had some cover under the tent, which was good for the upper body, but a small flash flood developed, and our feet were caught in a 3" deep river of water. Then came the hail.

Or rather the first hail storm. We rode this out under the tent. It was fairly small hail - pea sized - but it still hurt when a stray one hit. Eventually this passed, the rain stopped and the drinking could commence.

This lasted for about five minutes. The the rain came again. And then the hail. This time it was personal.

The hail started small again and it was mostly an annoyance (hail does not improve the taste of beer). Then the big hail started falling. Big @ss hail. Hail that felt like rocks. It went from funny, to comical, to painful, to downright scary in about 11 seconds. And there was no cover to be found.

Almost none.

There is a code among guys you are supposed to follow. To quote Maverick, "never leave your wingman." I hope in the Book of Men there is an exception made for hail storms, because this is exactly what I did. There was a small bar table with two people crammed under it. There was room for one more head, which is exactly where I put my size 7 5/8" noggin. We rode out the storm while Mr. Gassman toughed it out, without any beer.

The rain and hail stopped, but it would return several times. The most disturbing part was when the sun came out, but then the hail returned. How can it be fricking hailing and sunshining at the same time?

We had a good break in the rain for a few hours, where we could focus on the beer. We were soaking wet, but since we were guys, we didn't want to leave the beer. So faced with such a quandary, how are you supposed to get warm? Simple - we smoked cigars. Not only did we get warm, but the smell helped thin out the crowds in front of us when we went back for more beer.

We got some good drinking in, we finished the cigars, and we were about to get some food. Then the rain returned. At this point, the beer fest would be closing in less than an hour. We looked at the sky, we looked at our soaking wet selves and almost simultaneously said "f-this! lets get the f-out of here!"

When I woke up Sunday morning, my head was hurting. I am fairly certain it had more to do with the hail than the beer.

Ahhh, but what memories!