Can I Return My Receipt?

I'm sorry, but I believe that a receipt should never be physically larger than the purchase it represents.

Explanation: I had my morning endodontist appointment and he believes that the issue is with a different tooth than the one I had the root canal in way back when. For the temperature "sensitivity" (which feels similar to the "sensitivity" one's skin feels against a chainsaw blade) he suggested I try Sensodyne toothpaste before pursuing any more radical treatment. This leads me to today's status message.

I stopped at Rite Aid on the way home and picked up a tube of Sensodyne. I paid for it and received a receipt which is almost twice the size of my tube of toothpaste:


Really? Is it truly that necessary to give me a receipt so large? It has my purchase information on it. It contains a bar code, which I'm sure makes returns easier. What more is necessary? The giant ad for their new online store? I think not. The huge plug for their Rx Savings Card? I don't think so. Their suggestion for internet refills? Nope. It strikes me as a little wasteful for companies to be giving out receipts that are so large.

Companies of the world, hear me now. If I buy a car from you, you can give me a receipt the size of an oriental rug. I won't even complain. Heck, you can give it to me in triplicate if you want to. Lord knows I got that much paperwork when I bought my house. But if I'm buying a package of Tic Tacs? I want a receipt smaller than that package... or no receipt at all. I don't care if I can't read it - they're Tic Tacs! There's no need to put your entire weekly circular on the receipt. I don't need to take any sort of survey on my Tic Tac purchasing experience. I don't care about your online prescription service. I just want Tic Tacs! Thank you.

Carol of the Idiot Clerk

Hark we're at Sears,
Christmas is near,
It's Monday night,
Clerk's not too bright.

We'd like to buy,
From your supply,
Chair's not displayed,
Can you please aid?

She goes online,
Boggles my mind,
We tried before,
But she ignores.

She has no clue,
What she should do?
I'm getting mean:
NOT A TOUCH SCREEN!

Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas.
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas.
Gift cards to spend,
Night never ends,
It just goes on, She's a moron.
MOR-ON. MOR-ON. MOR-ON.

Source: Carol of the Bells

Explanation: So, I've sat on this for a while, thinking I'd cool off a bit, and yet it still irks me. Here's the tale in it's entirety:

Sarah and I have a lot of money in gift cards for Sears. This came about because my credit card rewards program hsa slowly been reducing the number of retailers for which they offer the optimal points-to-card-value ratio. I thought it would be smart to accumulate a lot of points at Sears and then use it toward a new household appliance. So, I started accumulating.

Anyway, after a failed attempt at capitalizing on the Black Friday spectacular sales (which included, among other things, a computer issue resulting in an inability for Sears to accept gift cards), we decided to scrap the appliance idea and use the points for other things we need. Well, Sarah found a glider (rocking chair) for the baby's room that she really liked and it turned out Sears carried the same chair. In her quick survey of the web site, she did not see a way to pay with gift cards, however, so we decided it would be easiest to just go to the store. We were planning on picking it up there anyway, so the trip wasn't really anything extra. Plus, the sales associates should know the process better than us.

We went there on a Monday evening, right after the Thanksgiving weekend. The store was empty of customers, but full of customer service folks. We first asked a gentleman at the central customer service desk about buying the glider, but he told us to go upstairs to the department that was selling it. So up we went.

Upstairs, the nearest clerk was a young lady who was working at a Land's End counter next to the baby stuff. We explained that the glider was not on the showroom floor, but their web site indicated that they did have it in stock at the store. We also explained that we wanted to pay for the item with gift cards. She immediately took some initiative and hopped on the computer nearest her counter.

After about a minute and a half of confused web-browsing, she ascertained that she was on a Land's End computer and she needed to be on a Sears computer. While I clearly saw four tabs on the top of the web page, one for Land's End, and one for Sears, I figured she knew what she was talking about and followed her halfway across the store.

When we got to the next computer, it was a "Sears" computer... with the same four tabs across the top. I didn't have the heart to explain to her that both machines were looking at the same web site, but at this point, I lost all faith in her ability to help us. The next ten to four hundred minutes (it seemed like the latter) were spent watching her try to navigate the site. Now, while my wife didn't see how to pay with gift cards, both of us had verified that the item was listed as "in stock" at this store. So, we spent a long time watching this clerk, who was having difficulty with the brand new modern technology that they call the "mouse", try to walk through footsteps we had already taken. At one point, she decided to use the touch screen interface instead, and pushed a button on the screen. One problem - the computer was not a touch screen. As a professional computer scientist, this was perhaps the most excruciating experience of my life.

Eventually, she ascertained that she wasn't going to be able to accomplish anything using the computer and decided to seek out additional help. She was holding the piece of paper on which we had written the item and model number and proclaimed that she was heading down to the merchandise pickup desk to see if they could help. She then went walking off (with our paper) to go downstairs to the desk. Meanwhile, my pregnant wife was in the restroom, so I was stuck waiting at the computer kiosk looking like I just got hit by a freight train of stupidity.

When Sarah returned, we went downstairs to find our helpless clerk with a gentleman from the merchandise pickup area. He was clearly not comfortable with the retail aspects of the operation, but to his credit he quickly determined that she was an idiot and volunteered to help us. He then confiscated the paper from her and took us back upstairs. She got the hint as we all ran away from her and went back to the Land's End desk.

After a few minutes with the merchandise pickup guy trying to use their computer system, he handed us off to an appliance salesperson who was competent and managed to perform the transaction for us. Gift cards taken, glider ready, we shopped for about ten more minutes and then headed back to merchandise pickup to get our glider.

So, after a 15 minute trip turned into an hour and a half, we watched a large man FINALLY wheel out our glider... and realized that it wouldn't fit in our car. He tried for a few minutes to squeeze it in at different angles, but to no avail. So, we used a lifeline, phoned a friend, and went to borrow his truck. As we pulled up to the friend's house, it started to rain. Sometimes it's nice when the weather matches your mood. Anyway, with the borrowed truck, the move was a cinch, and we were totally done with everything in about two and a half hours.

Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas. Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas. Gift cards to spend, night never ends, it just goes on, she's a moron. MOR-ON. MOR-ON. MOR-ON.

Comcast Rant

Is a flood-free yard worth 26 hours without Internet access?

Explanation: Over the past several weeks, I've noticed some serious water in my backyard. As we live in a neighborhood with a lot of water, including the woods behind my house, which I believe are classified as wetlands, I just assumed that I needed to adjust my lawn sprinkler settings. I slowly reduced the amout of watering I was doing in that area, but with no luck. Then I reduced the amount of watering in nearby areas, but again, the mud puddles remained. I can't even mow back there anymore, because it's just disgusting to take the mower through. It has frustrated me to no end and I was wondering how I got suckered into buying a house with a giant mud pit in the backyard.

Wednesday afternoon, Dan, our neighborhood landscaping guy came by my front door. We do not use Dan's lawnmowing services, but a bunch of my neighbors do, and the previous owners of my house did as well. Dan said that I really need to stop watering in the back corner of my yard, because it's just soaking wet back there. I told him I haven't watered there in a month at which point he suggested that I might have a bad sprinkler valve back there. Dan would know our sprinkler system - he installed it for the previous owners about 5 years ago.

So, Dan, his associate, and I went out into the backyard in search of the sprinkler valve. Sprinkler valves should be very easy to find - they have a circular plastic top about four inches in diameter and should be right on the surface of the ground. Over time, however, they have a knack for being overtaken by grass and dirt. After five years, only one of my 6 valves remains uncovered. So, the hunt began. The valves should be just below the surface, so a poke in the ground with a shovel would easily find them. We worked off a map I had of the early plans for the sprinkler system. Unfortunately, it didn't quite match what was actually in the ground.

The map indicated that there was a valve in the back corner, but after much prodding with the shovel, nothing turned up. So, they went deeper until they found the sprinkler main. Then, with numerous shovel pokes (easily cleaned up by a footprint or two) they traced the main toward the offending sprinkler heads. As he was very close to the largest puddle, Dan found a wire, which would indicate that the valve (which is electronic) was nearby. Sure enough, it was, and they were on their way.

At this point, I had been outside unexpectedly for about 45 minutes or so, so I ran back inside to make sure I hadn't missed anything, and to update my Sametime status so people knew I was playing in mud in my backyard. Unfortunately, my IBM network connection had reset. That was no big deal, so I just tried to reconnect. In the meantime, I went to load a web page on my home machine, but the page was hanging. Then my reconnect to the network failed. I tried to open another web page, but with no luck. I put two and two together and realized that my cable must be out. So, I checked my business phone (which is VOIP) and sure enough, there was no dial tone. Running downstairs, I flipped on the television to see that I still had channels, but they had lots of static. Something was wrong with my cable.

I went back outside, where Dan was elbow deep in a mud puddle and politely asked if he had been poking around in the front yard with a shovel, because my cable was out. He said, no, he hadn't. The cable from the street attaches to the front right side of my house and we were on the back right corner, so it didn't make much sense that there'd be any cable in the back. Dan was concerned, though, and looked again at the wire he found about 20 minutes earlier. "You know, I don't think that's a sprinkler wire" he said. This didn't do good things for my blood pressure. Sure enough, the wire had a little shovel damage to it. Time to call Comcast.

Just for the record, if there's one company in the entire world who I am afraid to call for service, it's the cable company. They are almost legendary for being pains in the butt when it comes to service. Just for the record.

So, I sprinted inside, looked up the Comcast number in the yellow pages (eeeeew) and called them up. The automated system thanked me for calling and asked me to input my ten-digit telephone number. So, I did. I worked my way through outage menus until I eventually found something that seemed like it would put me through to an operator. I finally got to talk to a human. "Can you please give me your ten-digit phone number?" This is one of my biggest pet peeves. If the stupid automated system is going to ask me for my number, I would hope that number could be magically transferred to the person who answers the phone. Oh well. I gave her my number, confirmed my name and address, and explained my problem. She was a very nice lady, but said she would have to transfer me to another department, and they would be able to help. The next woman picked up the phone and immediately asked, "Can I have your ten-digit telephone number?" At this point, without any other issues, I was thinking Comcast customer service was as bad as I imagined it. I gathered my composure, confirmed my name and address (again) and explained my problem. She was very polite and friendly and told me that they could have a technician at my house that (Wednesday) afternoon! I couldn't believe my good fortune! She went on to explain that I didn't need to be there because it was an outside issue, but I said I wanted to be around to show the technician the damaged cable and to warn him or her about the mud pit. I asked when they'd be coming and she had to put me on hold for about five minutes while she checked. Mind you, it was about 1:00 at this point. She came back on the line and said someone would be at my house between 1:00 and 5:00. That window didn't help much more than telling me that someone would be at my house "during the afternoon," but I thanked her and continued to marvel at my good fortune.

At about 5:45, with no sign of any technician, I stopped marveling and called Comcast again. In an effort to avoid the three people asking for my ten-digit phone number, I dialed the service number off of my cable bill instead of the 1-800 number. After entering my ten-digit phone number, I chose the "To confirm an appointment" menu, which happily explained to me that I had an appointment on Monday, September 8th. This was quite a shock, as I had just spent the last five hours offline, waiting for a technician to arrive. I worked my way back through the menus and after several minutes I managed to find one that would transfer me to a human... only it hung up on me.

I called the local number again, this time going directly for the same service menu I had used with the 1-800 number. Instead of transferring me to a human, it somehow connected me to the automated billing service, which told me that my recurring credit card billing was still working fabulously. I worked backward through the menus and tried again, only to find out AGAIN that my credit card billing was working. So, I hung up.

At this point I stopped and wrote down everything I could about what had happened up to this point. I was going to send a nasty letter to Comcast, but decided they wouldn't care and that it would be more productive to just post all of this on the internet. So here it is.

Let's recap: My yard is flooded, my sprinkler is broken, my Internet is down, my cable wire is cut, five hours of my life were wasted, Comcast gave me an appointment that never existed, I'm homicidal, but my credit card billing is just dandy. Good for me. Moving right along...

I went back to the 1-800 number, input my ten-digit phone number, and worked my way to a human. I gave her my ten-digit phone number, confirmed my name and address, and explained to her that I had been lied to, I had just wasted five hours of my day, I needed internet to work, and that I was about to summon up a posse to go hunt her down. She apologized profusely for the misunderstanding and told me that the first available appointment time for service was on Tuesday, September 9th. I explained again, more clearly, that the appointment I already had and DIDN'T WANT was for September 8th. September 9th, being AFTER September 8th, would not make me any happier. In my second explanation, I also may have included fun words and phrases like "livid," "seething," "incompetent," and "lying scumbag." After eventually getting my point across that I was willing to come to their office and do unholy things to them with their own office supplies, she eventually talked to her manager and managed to get me an appointment for Thursday afternoon, also between 1:00 and 5:00, where I would get a temporary fix. Then on my next appointment, which may or may not be on September 8th, they will give me a more permanent fix.

Yesterday the nice man showed up and performed the "temporary repair" which amounts to (this is amusing) running a really long cable from the street hook-up on the front left side of my house along the ground to the house hook-up on the front right side of my house. That's right - it's just laying on my front lawn, runs across my driveway, and runs along the mulch on the side of my driveway. It's not pretty, but it works.

So, I have internet, I hate Comcast, and my yard is now flood-free. Why the cable runs behind my house is still a mystery, which I will take up with Comcast if and when they try to bill me for this fiasco. Is a flood-free yard worth 26 hours without Internet access? It probably is, but you probably shouldn't ask me about it for a few more weeks.

My 2004 Olympic Programming Rant

From the archives:

NBC: The official channel of Olympic gymnastics. Is it just me, or does it seem strange that after an entire day of Olympic competition, NBC decides to fill a quarter of their tape-delayed prime-time slot with exhibition gymnastics. Haven't we just watched gymnastics for like a week straight? Haven't all of the gymnastics medals been given out already? Aren't most of us sick of trying to figure out what the judges are looking at? In an entire Olympic games, you're telling me that the best Day 11 had to offer was a freakin' exhibition? COME ON!!! And don't give me this "female viewers are only interested in gymnastics and diving" crap. Half of the athletes our country sent are women. You think they all hurry through their (apparently uninteresting) events so they can get home and watch tape-delayed NBC footage of exhibition gymnastics? Somebody, stop this madness! I don't want Paul Hamm and Svetlana Khorkina in my living room anymore. Jeez...

Explanation: I just wanted to prove that my quadrennial Olympic television rant really is a quadrennial rant. This is my post from 2004. I'm still bitter.

Special Blog Bonus: Regardless of how bitter I am, it's always cool to see LEGO Olympic creations. Here's a Stormtrooper doing the clean and jerk:


You can tell it's the clean and jerk because of his hand position. Of course, LEGO figures can really have only one hand position, so they're pretty much incapable of doing the snatch. Then again, they're also made out of plastic, so maybe I should turn down my reality-meter a little bit. Here are more Stormtroopers competing in other events.

Back With Full Chewing Action!

I CAN CHEW ON MY RIGHT AGAIN!

Short, Happy Explanation: I finally got a permanent filling this morning and now that the temporary filling is gone, I can chew on my right side again. This ends over a month of only being able to chew on my left.

Long, Pissed Off Explanation: Over a month ago, a chewing discomfort turned into a chewing pain, and since it was joined by a sudden sensitivity to temperature, I decided it was time to make a dentist appointment. I covered this first stage of my saga in this post. The only good news I got during that appointment was that there was still a lot of "useful tooth" left and he could use a permanent filling after my root canal instead of a cap.

Fast forward to this morning (yes, I'm conveniently skipping over my root canal). I sit down in the chair to get my filling and the hygienist and I had the following conversation:


Hygienist: [Looks at my file] So, you're here for a crown?

Jeremy: No, he said he was just going to fill it.

Hygienist: It says here that you're getting a crown. Did you get a root canal?

Jeremy: Yes.

Hygienist: Then you're getting a crown. We'll file the tooth down and take the measurements today, put a temporary on it and then you'll come back in two weeks and have the crown bonded on. Don't worry, we can match the color.

(At this point, I should mention how ludicrous matching the color is, considering it's tooth #2. The tooth is a molar so far back in the top of my mouth, I can barely see it when opening wide in a mirror. The freakin' thing could be purple for all I care.)

Jeremy: I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO CHEW ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY MOUTH FOR OVER A MONTH. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE??? He said last time that he'd fill it because there was still enough "useful tooth" there.

Hygienist: No, once you get the root canal, the tooth is dead and you can't fill it because it's delicate and you might crack it. I've seen cases where the tooth had to be extracted because it cracked, and there's nothing you can do about it. You have to get a crown.

Jeremy: I AM SICK OF ONLY CHEWING ON MY LEFT. HE SAID HE'D FILL IT LAST TIME.


At this point, apparently the homicidal thoughts I was having were visible on my face and in the smoke coming out of my ears. She wandered out of the room and came back with the doctor, clearly having explained my hostility. The doctor explained (before looking) that he could either crown it or fill it, and gave the reasons for both. Really, the big threat when filling it is that the tooth, now dead from the root canal, could crack so badly as to require extraction. Given the health of my teeth, though, this doesn't seem like a terrible threat. Sooner or later it will chip and I'll need a cap, but it could be years before that happens. After looking at it, he said, "If you were my brother, I'd recommend you just get the filling."

If I were his brother, I'd recommend he fire that hygienist.

Diving anyone?

I... We'll be back with this status message, but first let's go out to the diving pool... am... More of this status message to come, but let's see what's going on at the diving pool... sick... stay right here and we'll be back with more status message after the gymnastics gala... of... we'll take you back to the conclusion of today's status message in just a moment, but first the heartwarming story of a person with a disability who isn't an Olympian, but is nonetheless special.. NBC.

Explanation: It's time for my quadrennial rant about Olympic television programming! My daily schedule allows me only a few opportunities to watch the Olympics: in the morning while I eat my breakfast, at lunchtime for 5 minutes as I catch my breath from lifting, and in the evening after work. My favorite time to watch would be between 6:00 and 7:00, when we can eat dinner in front of the television. What is on between 6:00 and 7:00? Olympic boxing. That's it. Boxing. I hate boxing, why would I watch Olympic boxing? I can't stand it. The hour I'm most likely to watch the damn Olympics and all I get is boxing. I guess I should just be happy that it isn't Olympic baseball or softball instead.

Meanwhile, NBC holds the exciting events (like the big ticket track and field stuff) on tape for their prime time coverage. So, I'm stuck watching the eight to midnight slot... except I go to bed at 10:30. No problem. I can just watch from eight to 10:30, and then TiVo the last hour and a half for viewing in the morning. I tried that the first night. I plopped myself down in front of the television at eight o'clock, and by nine-thirty, I had seen ten dives, thirty minutes of commercials, and a half dozen human interest stories. So now I have a new strategy. I start recording with the TiVo at eight. I start watching at nine-thirty, which allows me to fast-forward through all of the crap (diving, gymnastics gala, human interest stories, commercials, and everything involving Bob Costas in the studio). I go to bed at ten-thirty, and I catch up with the rest in the morning. It isn't perfect, but it keeps me from sending death threats to Bob Costas, so that's something.

Special Blog Bonus: Here's video of Usain Bolt winning the 200 meter sprint:

The Official Post of NASCAR

Remember kids, Ritz is the official cracker of NASCAR.

Explanation: Sharing a house with somebody who listens to country music from time to time, I hear things on the radio I would not otherwise be exposed to. This past weekend, I learned that Ritz crackers are the offical crackers of NASCAR. It's important to know this distinction, because you wouldn't want to be seen eating an unofficial NASCAR cracker, or even worse, (gasp) a cracker that has nothing whatsoever to do with NASCAR. Oh the horror!

To make your life easier, we at Jeremy's Status Message have done a little research and suggest you stick to the following routine in order to fully support NASCAR and its sponsors:

When you wake up an hour late for work because that skank at the bar last night took the fancy Tissot (Official Watch) you stole from the dead guy and you forgot to replace the Duracells (Official Alkaline Battery) in your alarm clock, you don't have time for Kellogg's (Official Breakfast Food) or Minute Maid (Official Juice). Just slather on some Old Spice (Official Antiperspirant and Deodorant) and for heaven's sake, please get that Budweiser (Official Beer) off your breath with your toothbrush from Oral B (Official Oral Care Product). Don't worry about using Gilette (Official Shaving Product) because your court hearing isn't for another week. Just hop up into your Ford (Official Truck) and get down to the warehouse. Don't drive too wrecklessly because you're no longer covered by Allstate (Official Insurance) and you don't want to wreck the pretty Dupont Performance Coating (Official Finish) on your truck by mowing down any Chevrolets (Official Passenger Car). Plus, back when you hit that UPS (Official Delivery Service) truck, those jerks at Enterprise (Official Rent-A-Car Company) stuck you with a Toyota (Offical Manufacturer). How un-American!

Anyway, on your way to work, stop by APlus, (Official Convenience Store) grab a cup o' joe and throw back a few Tylenol (Official Pain Reliever) in hopes that you no longer feel like you've been hit by a Mack truck (Official Semi-Tractor Distributor). When you come waltzing into the Office Depot (Official Office Supply Products Partner) warehouse an hour and a half late and your boss fires you, we suggest that you hit him over the head with a Craftsman (Official Tools) wrench, take his Visa card, (Official Card) and run like hell.

Once you have that card, the sky is the limit. Before utilizing its full spending power, you should probably hit the Sunoco (Official Fuel) station and fill up. While you're there, grab some M&M's (Official Chocolate) and Combos (Official Cheese-Filled Snack) so you have something to munch on. Grab some Dasani (Official Water) too - it's on the big boss man!

Now it's time to spend big! Get yourself a new computer. One of those AMD (Official Semiconductor Technology) dealies with the American Online (Official Internet Service Provider). Pimp your truck's stereo with something by Sony (Official Consumer Electronics) and that Sirius (Official Satellite Radio Partner) doohickie. Act like your snooty manager - get some new Top-Flite clubs (Official Golf Club) and Calloway balls (Official Golf Ball). Toast your new fortune with a fine glass of bubbling Diageo (Official Wine).

After a busy afternoon of shopping, you probably want to ditch the card and grab a wholesome lunch at Rally's (Offical Burger). Make sure you wash it down with a Coca-Cola (Official Soft Drink). After that, you might want to hide out for the night at the Best Western (Official Hotel). Just order in some Domino's (Official Pizza Company) and get some rest. You have to find a new job in the morning. Oh - we suggest you try the Home Depot Warehouse (Official Home Improvement Warehouse).

A Brief Rant: Seriously? Duracell is the official alkaline battery of NASCAR? What, the company wouldn't shell out enough to be the official battery? Is there a chance of an official Nickel Cadmium battery? Lithium Ion? Do NASCAR fans even know the difference?

Another Brief Rant: If you were to say Calloway and Top-Flite, I would immediately think clubs and balls, not the other way around. It's like if you shell out enough cash, NASCAR will give you your own category. "McDonald's, The Official French Fry Supplier of NASCAR," "Burger King, The Official Onion Ring Supplier of NASCAR," and "Wendy's, The Official Frostee Supplier of NASCAR." What? You want in Hardees? Just make that check payable to "NASCAR" and we'll figure out your category later.

One More Really Brief Rant: Official Cheese-Filled Snack? Are you freakin' kidding me?

SALAD!!!

All I wanted was a freakin' salad. Is that too much to ask?

Explanation: Last night I wanted a salad for dinner. Not just any salad, mind you. I wanted to get one of those good salads with the bacon bits and ham cubes and cheese goodness that you can only build perfectly at a salad bar. At about 7:15 my wife and I set out to a grocery store that we haven't been to since new ownership took over. It turns out that they close up their salad bar pretty early. It also turns out that, after about a half hour there, neither my wife nor I will ever set foot in that store again, but that's a story for another day. A little after 8:00, we went to Wegman's, who always seems to do everything right. We had visited their salad bar recently and I was quite satisfied with the result. As we walked in, we saw the salad bar being disassembled for the night. OK, I could understand that. I decided to settle with a salad from Panera, which is in the same shopping center. You can always count on Panera. Good old trusty Panera. Hey, what does that sign say on the door? "WE ARE CLOSING AT 8:00 TONIGHT TO TRAIN EMPLOYEES ON A NEW MENU. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE." And what time is it? 8:11 PM.

It was about this point in the evening when my wife began to question whether I was being effected negatively by my poison ivy medication. Perhaps it was the litany of four-letter words that came out of my mouth. Maybe it had something to do with the curses I put upon several aggressive drivers on the way home (and their mothers). It might have had something to do with the whining she had to endure as I ate my nachos for dinner, which, if you were wondering, are not even remotely close to salad.

Regardless, I have now learned a valuable lesson. First, you can't count on getting a good salad when you want one in this town. Second, this whole ordeal was much more dramatic last night than it appears in this post. Luckily for you, I have a good video clip for you...

Special Blog Bonus: Here's Eddie Izzard's "Death By Tray" bit in LEGO:

The Twelve Days of Christmas: Day 4

Jeremy's Status Message Proudly Presents The Twelve Days of Christmas:

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, ten birds. TEN FREAKIN' BIRDS. Are you kidding me? Do you know what I bought her? A piano. $700 worth of finely tuned musical instrument, and all I get are 10 birds. Four of them won't get off the damn phone, three of them just keep surrendering to everyone they come in contact with, two are the slowest damn things I've ever seen, and the last one won't get out of that tree, which incidentally keeps dropping pears all over the yard. Not that you'd be able to find them under the thick layer of bird crap. Seriously? Birds? Come on! If you're gonna go the bird route, at least get me something I can eat. I could totally go for some chicken right about now - even one of those Frankenchickens that McDonald's uses to make the McNuggets! A turkey would be wonderful. Even a duck would be pretty cool. I couldn't eat a hawk or an eagle, but at least I could show it off to my friends. But noooo. I get the calling birds, the French hens, the turtle doves and the partridge in that stinkin' tree. You don't even want to know what they've done in our Christmas tree. What a crock... EEEW! The hens just open-beak kissed me!!! I'd better get some bling soon, or that piano is going back.

Explanation: I did get my wife a piano for Christmas. She did not actually get me any birds. I'm OK with that.