I didn't get a lot of feedback about whether or not to join the Twitter, and what feedback I did get was pretty evenly split, so I had to make the decision on my own. It was tough. I really wrestled with it. It was like I was Jacob and Twitter was the angel, and in the end, Twitter dislocated my hip or something.
Anyway, my point is, I did join Twitter, and I would be honored if you follow me on it. (There is a convenient new gadget on the right of your screen where you can click.) My Twitter name is kwigglytuff. Because my nickname is kwiggly (or quigley) and I may or may not still play Pokémon as an adult. It was gonna be kwigglypuff, but that was taken. So I had to adapt. And evolve.
If you Follow me, I pledge to do my best to post only things you might actually want to read. I will try to keep my posts about what I'm having for lunch and where I am at any given moment to a minimum. No more than ten times a day. I promise!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
A Reader Survey
Should I be on the Twitter?
For the past couple of years, I have been pretty vehemently opposed to the Twitter. Lately, however, I wonder if I am missing out by not being on it. What do you think, gentle readers? Should I tweet?
For the past couple of years, I have been pretty vehemently opposed to the Twitter. Lately, however, I wonder if I am missing out by not being on it. What do you think, gentle readers? Should I tweet?
Thursday, May 5, 2011
IKEA, Bringer of Madness
A while back, an IKEA store opened less than an hour from my home in Central Florida. The arrival of the store seemed a harbinger for great things to come. The dawn of the age of Swedish-made, do-it-yourself furniture was upon us, and I, for one, was excited. Since that day, I had dreamed of visiting this Mecca of organizational tools, but I had not had the opportunity. Until a few months ago...
One morning, quite unexpectedly, my mother announced a trip to IKEA and asked if I would like to join her on this sojourn. My friend Joe had a pretty nice IKEA couch, so my parents and I set out most optimistically, looking forward to the wonders promised by this new retail center.
Upon our arrival, however, I knew something was wrong. Any store that requires a map to navigate is questionable, but a store that only has one path you can follow and still provides the map, is downright suspicious. It's as if they're maliciously taunting you with your lack of options. They're saying, "Here is the way you will travel through our store." On the other hand, maybe they're trying to offer hope in the form of the map. If you can see where you are in the scheme of things, you know that it will end at some point. I don't know, but it worried me.
Now, I don't know about other IKEA stores, but the way this one is set up, you have to ride the escalator up to the second floor first, then you work your way through that floor, and then you come back down to the first floor and the check-out. There isn't even a way to get to the first floor merchandise from the store entrance without a copy of the Marauder's Map to show you the secret passageways.
With no other options before us, we ascended to the second floor and got our first look at the IKEA merchandise. To say I was overwhelmed would be like saying Hitler was kind of a jerk or Mount Everest is big. The thing about IKEA is that everything is for sale. Everything. The whole second floor is set up as a series of model rooms: bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, offices. And every part of every room is purchasable. Not only the furniture and the lamps but the stuff in the drawers and on the shelves. And the drawers and the shelves.
But you don't just grab stuff and carry it with you. Each item is marked with a tag that identifies the item by number and, for some reason, a Swedish proper name, as if all this merchandise is sentient and demands to be called by its given name.
The fake rooms seemed to continue indefinitely, and there were scores of people milling about in them. I suddenly began to feel overly warm. Everywhere I looked was a different dining room set or stack of storage containers. It was all slightly different and yet overwhelmingly the same. How could one ever choose when confronted with fifty-three different end tables that all look vaguely like this:
You can't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You think you're a reasonable, decisive human being, an individual capable of choosing your own destiny. And then suddenly you look at yourself in a Swedish mirror, and the you you knew is gone, and all you see a mindless drone, shuffling like a zombie through a world of fake homes. Your eyes, once bright and full of hope, have taken on a hunted look, and you wonder if you will ever escape and if anything will ever seem real again.
Such was the horror I felt that day as the mindless hoard, choosing to be static in the thoroughfare, blocked every path and the fake walls began closing in.
Also, I may have started hyperventilating.
When we finally descended to second circle of Hell-- I'm sorry, I meant the ground floor of the store. I get them confused. When we finally descended to the ground floor of the store, the sheer volume of products became completely overwhelming. Gone were the carefully set-up rooms, gone was the semblance of order and comfort, and in their place, bins. Bins upon bins upon bins of things. Anything and everything you could imagine or would rather not. As overwhelmed as I felt, I might have ventured into this pit of stuff were it not for this sign:
I'm fairly certain IKEA was threatening me, and at that point, an acute fear for my life overcame any lingering desire I might have had to complete my circuit of the store.
I wanted out, but IKEA is not keen on letting you leave without seeing everything they have to sell you. Luckily, my ever-resourceful mother found an "emergency exit" and an employee who was willing to open it for us. I tell you that she had to open it for us, not because it might have set off a fire alarm but because the door was LOCKED, making it unusable in the event of an actual emergency.
This door led back to the main lobby, and at last, we were free to go.
On the way out I grabbed an IKEA catalog. Because really, in the end, who can resist the allure of inexpensive, do-it-yourself furniture? And if I ever decide to go back there, you can bet your life I'm going prepared.
One morning, quite unexpectedly, my mother announced a trip to IKEA and asked if I would like to join her on this sojourn. My friend Joe had a pretty nice IKEA couch, so my parents and I set out most optimistically, looking forward to the wonders promised by this new retail center.
Upon our arrival, however, I knew something was wrong. Any store that requires a map to navigate is questionable, but a store that only has one path you can follow and still provides the map, is downright suspicious. It's as if they're maliciously taunting you with your lack of options. They're saying, "Here is the way you will travel through our store." On the other hand, maybe they're trying to offer hope in the form of the map. If you can see where you are in the scheme of things, you know that it will end at some point. I don't know, but it worried me.
Now, I don't know about other IKEA stores, but the way this one is set up, you have to ride the escalator up to the second floor first, then you work your way through that floor, and then you come back down to the first floor and the check-out. There isn't even a way to get to the first floor merchandise from the store entrance without a copy of the Marauder's Map to show you the secret passageways.
With no other options before us, we ascended to the second floor and got our first look at the IKEA merchandise. To say I was overwhelmed would be like saying Hitler was kind of a jerk or Mount Everest is big. The thing about IKEA is that everything is for sale. Everything. The whole second floor is set up as a series of model rooms: bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, offices. And every part of every room is purchasable. Not only the furniture and the lamps but the stuff in the drawers and on the shelves. And the drawers and the shelves.
But you don't just grab stuff and carry it with you. Each item is marked with a tag that identifies the item by number and, for some reason, a Swedish proper name, as if all this merchandise is sentient and demands to be called by its given name.
The fake rooms seemed to continue indefinitely, and there were scores of people milling about in them. I suddenly began to feel overly warm. Everywhere I looked was a different dining room set or stack of storage containers. It was all slightly different and yet overwhelmingly the same. How could one ever choose when confronted with fifty-three different end tables that all look vaguely like this:
You can't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You think you're a reasonable, decisive human being, an individual capable of choosing your own destiny. And then suddenly you look at yourself in a Swedish mirror, and the you you knew is gone, and all you see a mindless drone, shuffling like a zombie through a world of fake homes. Your eyes, once bright and full of hope, have taken on a hunted look, and you wonder if you will ever escape and if anything will ever seem real again.
Such was the horror I felt that day as the mindless hoard, choosing to be static in the thoroughfare, blocked every path and the fake walls began closing in.
Also, I may have started hyperventilating.
When we finally descended to second circle of Hell-- I'm sorry, I meant the ground floor of the store. I get them confused. When we finally descended to the ground floor of the store, the sheer volume of products became completely overwhelming. Gone were the carefully set-up rooms, gone was the semblance of order and comfort, and in their place, bins. Bins upon bins upon bins of things. Anything and everything you could imagine or would rather not. As overwhelmed as I felt, I might have ventured into this pit of stuff were it not for this sign:
I'm fairly certain IKEA was threatening me, and at that point, an acute fear for my life overcame any lingering desire I might have had to complete my circuit of the store.
I wanted out, but IKEA is not keen on letting you leave without seeing everything they have to sell you. Luckily, my ever-resourceful mother found an "emergency exit" and an employee who was willing to open it for us. I tell you that she had to open it for us, not because it might have set off a fire alarm but because the door was LOCKED, making it unusable in the event of an actual emergency.
This door led back to the main lobby, and at last, we were free to go.
On the way out I grabbed an IKEA catalog. Because really, in the end, who can resist the allure of inexpensive, do-it-yourself furniture? And if I ever decide to go back there, you can bet your life I'm going prepared.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Don't supersize me, bro! Or, Why is my Icee so big?
So you guys remember the McDonald's Supersize? If you grew up in the 90s, I'm sure you do, and you may even have been under the impression that it had been around forever. Actually, it was first introduced in 1993 as part of a Jurassic Park promotion. It was called "Dino-size." After the promotion ended, they decided to keep it around, thus beginning a decade of outrageous overeating.
You also may recall a 2004 film called Supersize Me. This film created a storm of public awareness about fast-food that, many believe, led to McDonald's phasing out their 42-ounce sodas and 7-ounce bags of French fries.
I bring all this up because recently I ordered an Icee at a movie theater concession stand. They gave me the option of "small" or "large." I decided to get the large so I could share. It was rather big. To say the least.
This is no trick photography, dear readers. That Icee is indeed larger than my head. So I can't help but wonder, in an age where fast-food restaurants are trying to offer "healthier" options and Subway is the fastest growing fast-food chain, where Jamie Oliver is a food revolutionary and McDonald's was essentially shamed into removing the Supersize from their menu, how are movie theaters still selling gigantic sodas and bags of popcorn? And why, oh God why, are we willing to pay so damn much for them?
That "large" Icee and a "small" popcorn cost me $12.75. I may be dating myself, but I remember a time when two people could get drinks, popcorn, and movie tickets for less than that. Also, you could get candy, an ice cream sundae, and a foot massage for an upcharge of just $1.23. I may be misremembering this a tad, but you catch my drift. Maybe in the age of Netflix Instant and them fancy DVR machines actually going to the movie theater has become more of an event, making moviegoers willing to pay more as part of the experience. Or maybe, more likely, they know we are all addicted to buttery popped corn and frozen Coca-Cola and giant screens and they are going to make us pay both arms and our left legs for the privilege of having those things. I would be angry and rail against the capitalist machine, but it's stimulating the economy, right?
So my boyfriend and I paid a total of $32.25 to see Hanna. Wait, did I type that right? Oh jeez. I really wish I hadn't done the math on that. Screw the economy. I should've waited for it to be available on Netflix Instant.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
"Have we considered the possibility that doctors don't know how to use umbrellas?"
DISCLAIMER: I have nothing against doctors. I appreciate what they do and am sure that most of them can use umbrellas without incident.
I have a couple of work anecdotes from yesterday.
The first involves the extremely tedious and time-consuming task I did for most of the morning. For those of you just joining us, I work for a promotional products company. We sell hats, cups, pens, shirts, etc. Pretty much anything our customers want their logo on, we can get it for them.
Well, we recently sold a bunch of umbrellas to some doctors. Some fancy gift or other. They were nice big umbrellas with a button that opens and closes them, but we had some complaints that the open/close buttons did not work. So, because we have good customer service, my boss took the umbrellas back to have someone (i.e. me) test them.
This was not a difficult task by any means, but after opening each umbrella, I had to repackage it in not one but two protective sleeves. I did about fifty umbrellas and it took me nearly three hours. And get this. They. All. Worked. We had two that were defective. Possibly the very two that caused the complaint in the first place. I have to hope that they tried more than two before claiming they were broken.
So I can't help but think, maybe they were doing it wrong? I don't know. Doesn't seem possible, but there's that old truth that sometimes the smartest people lack basic common sense. Or the ability to open and close an umbrella. With a button.
A functional umbrella
Two protective sleeves
My other work anecdote for the day is about another sweet junk email one of my co-workers received. This one is not poetic by any means. It is a straight-up scam, but I love the way it was executed. Read for yourself:
So if you or anyone you know lost some money in the Nigerian prince scam, you can contact mariotorres@interclan.net (<-- the address from which this email was sent). I'm sure he'll help you with that.
On an unrelated note, I really like this Adele CD. And I try not to hold it against her that she is only two months older than I and already has two Grammys.
I have a couple of work anecdotes from yesterday.
The first involves the extremely tedious and time-consuming task I did for most of the morning. For those of you just joining us, I work for a promotional products company. We sell hats, cups, pens, shirts, etc. Pretty much anything our customers want their logo on, we can get it for them.
Well, we recently sold a bunch of umbrellas to some doctors. Some fancy gift or other. They were nice big umbrellas with a button that opens and closes them, but we had some complaints that the open/close buttons did not work. So, because we have good customer service, my boss took the umbrellas back to have someone (i.e. me) test them.
This was not a difficult task by any means, but after opening each umbrella, I had to repackage it in not one but two protective sleeves. I did about fifty umbrellas and it took me nearly three hours. And get this. They. All. Worked. We had two that were defective. Possibly the very two that caused the complaint in the first place. I have to hope that they tried more than two before claiming they were broken.
So I can't help but think, maybe they were doing it wrong? I don't know. Doesn't seem possible, but there's that old truth that sometimes the smartest people lack basic common sense. Or the ability to open and close an umbrella. With a button.
My other work anecdote for the day is about another sweet junk email one of my co-workers received. This one is not poetic by any means. It is a straight-up scam, but I love the way it was executed. Read for yourself:
ATTENTION: MADAMThat was sent by the Secretary to the Government, so you know it's legit. I love that they think that by piggy-backing off the old Nigerian prince scam, they can trick people into being scammed in exactly the same way. The brilliance of it is that it only targets people who fell for the original scam and are, thus, exponentially more likely to fall for this one than someone who doesn't make a habit of sending all their financial information to strangers over the internet. Most people will see through it immediately, but you're always going to have people that go, "Yeah, I want my money back. President Goodluck is such a nice guy for doing that for me."
Our Ref: 423/909 Date: 4th April 2011
RECONCILIATION / REMITTANCE COMMITTEE
I am assigned by the President, Federal republic of Nigeria , Dr. Goodluck Jonathan to look into the plight of foreigners who were dupe in the cause of retrieving their money from Nigeria . This action taking by His Excellency is born out of enormous complain from foreigner complaining that they were dupe out of their hard earn money by some unscrupulous Nigeria in pretends of helping them.
His Excellency decided to take action on the issue because of the embarrassing status that that has cost this country internationally.
It was on that note that I was drafting in to look into the issue and subsequent recommend further actions to the federal government, however, according to his Excellency, those who genuinely carry out authentic contracts in this country without being paid will be paid immediately. Those that their money was not release from the commercial Banks for one reason or another will also be release. Furthermore, I want to advice that, you get all the necessary documents ready as we will ask of it before any action could be taken.
Do sent your reply to me immediately for further action
Yours truly,
Mahmud Yayale Ahmed
Secretary to the Government
Federal Republic of Nigeria .
So if you or anyone you know lost some money in the Nigerian prince scam, you can contact mariotorres@interclan.net (<-- the address from which this email was sent). I'm sure he'll help you with that.
On an unrelated note, I really like this Adele CD. And I try not to hold it against her that she is only two months older than I and already has two Grammys.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Apocalypse is coming
If you live in Central Florida you have probably spent much of yesterday talking about the weather. Apparently, it's big news even outside the area because I've had friends and family from out-of-state call to make sure we're ok. For the record, I'm fine, but I'm forced to compose this on my phone by candlelight because our electricity has been out since noon yesterday. There's no telling when it may be back. At least it afforded me the opportunity to take this pretty picture:
Photography aside, though, it was a pretty scary day for weather. Having lived here my whole life, I've seen my share of stomrs, mostly in the form of hurricanes. My junior year of high school we lost about a month of class when three hurricanes in a row pelted the area. But despite the destruction and loss of electricity that came with those incidents, yesterday's storm seemed worse, perhaps because of how sudden and violent it was.
The morning was pretty bleak, and it was obvious rain was coming (we've had thunderstorms all week), but it was no worse than I had seen in the past couple days. Around 11:30 or noon, though, everything changed.
I was chatting with my aunt, who had stopped by to say hello, and as I glanced over her shoulder, I saw that outside, which ten minutes before had been overcast and rainy but not inordinately so, was now pitch black. The streetlights were all on, and I swear it was as if night had fallen in the space of five minutes. I'm sorry to say I didn't get a picture of that, but another five minutes later I wouldn't have been able to anyway because sideways rain began hitting our windows, obscuring everything outside. Said windows began to rattle, our lights began to flicker, and then we heard the unmistakable sound of hail. It was around that time that I decided to text several of my friends that the apocalypse had come, and my friend Joe confirmed in his response that he had seen three of the four horsemen. One of my co-workers felt compelled to leave her desk during this period, as she sits in front of a large bank of windows. I didn't blame her. And then, after another ten minutes, it was basically over, where we were anyway.
The rain, thunder, and lightning continued all night and there were reports of tornados all over the county. Driving home after work, I saw limbs down and debris everywhere. To make matters worse, this week is the annual Sun n' Fun Fly-In, an airshow and exhibition that brings plane enthusiastists from all over to the area. As you can imagine, winds powerful enough to create tornados and bring down oak trees did not bode well for a bunch of planes sitting out on the tarmac of the Lakeland Airport. Here's one of many pictures of the destruction:
Yes, that plane is upside-down. The worst report I heard was that a hanger at the Fly-In had collapsed, trapping 70 people. Luckily, that turned out to be inaccurate. It's amazing how rumors can be augmented. It was actually a tent that collapsed, injuring 7. Still not good, but less disastrous than what the initial news reports told us. Silly news reports.
Anyway, from what I hear, 2,000 people were/are without electricity. The storm really wreaked havoc on power lines. Yet, for some reason, my friend Jonny didn't lose power. That wouldn't be weird except that he lives on the other side of my neighborhood. What the hey, Lakeland Electric? I hope it comes back on today. Reading by candlelight is not as romantic as it sounds when you start getting headaches from eye strain.
Oh, and no, this is not my idea of an elaborate April Fool's prank. Hehe, wouldn't that be great, though? How did I convince someone to flip a plane upside-down just for that picture? Oh, Kimber, you're such a scamp.
The morning was pretty bleak, and it was obvious rain was coming (we've had thunderstorms all week), but it was no worse than I had seen in the past couple days. Around 11:30 or noon, though, everything changed.
I was chatting with my aunt, who had stopped by to say hello, and as I glanced over her shoulder, I saw that outside, which ten minutes before had been overcast and rainy but not inordinately so, was now pitch black. The streetlights were all on, and I swear it was as if night had fallen in the space of five minutes. I'm sorry to say I didn't get a picture of that, but another five minutes later I wouldn't have been able to anyway because sideways rain began hitting our windows, obscuring everything outside. Said windows began to rattle, our lights began to flicker, and then we heard the unmistakable sound of hail. It was around that time that I decided to text several of my friends that the apocalypse had come, and my friend Joe confirmed in his response that he had seen three of the four horsemen. One of my co-workers felt compelled to leave her desk during this period, as she sits in front of a large bank of windows. I didn't blame her. And then, after another ten minutes, it was basically over, where we were anyway.
The rain, thunder, and lightning continued all night and there were reports of tornados all over the county. Driving home after work, I saw limbs down and debris everywhere. To make matters worse, this week is the annual Sun n' Fun Fly-In, an airshow and exhibition that brings plane enthusiastists from all over to the area. As you can imagine, winds powerful enough to create tornados and bring down oak trees did not bode well for a bunch of planes sitting out on the tarmac of the Lakeland Airport. Here's one of many pictures of the destruction:
Yes, that plane is upside-down. The worst report I heard was that a hanger at the Fly-In had collapsed, trapping 70 people. Luckily, that turned out to be inaccurate. It's amazing how rumors can be augmented. It was actually a tent that collapsed, injuring 7. Still not good, but less disastrous than what the initial news reports told us. Silly news reports.
Anyway, from what I hear, 2,000 people were/are without electricity. The storm really wreaked havoc on power lines. Yet, for some reason, my friend Jonny didn't lose power. That wouldn't be weird except that he lives on the other side of my neighborhood. What the hey, Lakeland Electric? I hope it comes back on today. Reading by candlelight is not as romantic as it sounds when you start getting headaches from eye strain.
Oh, and no, this is not my idea of an elaborate April Fool's prank. Hehe, wouldn't that be great, though? How did I convince someone to flip a plane upside-down just for that picture? Oh, Kimber, you're such a scamp.
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