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captainsblogI try, you know. I help people, give to charities (got a text today that a hurricane flood donation we made to the Vermont Food Bank provided 60 meals) and dispense tons of free legal advice. I don't speed (enough to get caught), cut people off in traffic (hardly ever) or drive while intoxicated (typing, on the other hand, dPQPIQHDPWH-9;). The Commandments are safe with me; well, except for that rolling on fucking Shabbos one. (And the profanity one, obviously.) All in all, I can't complain.
Except when I do. Here goes with three stories from this week in which I tried to do the right thing and got a fistful of wrong for it. One was quickly and easily resolved; the others, well, are still pending. I'll cut all but the last one, which is probably the most radical, Dude.
Last year, I got onto the Donate Life blood donor list. It was the first time in 50 years I'd managed it. Chalk that up more to ennui than fear; I have no scary-needle issues, but the flood of paperwork, and the nervousness about being diagnosed in a school bus with some dread disease, kept me away. Finally, though, I took the plunge last year, cleared all the screens, got them to drain my crankcase a quart, and a few weeks later, scored the all-important Donor Card, which I thought would streamline the whole business in the future. And there was a conviently located blood drive earlier this week! Cool! Be a mensch, Ray!
Meshugenah is more like it. It didn't take place until late in the day, which meant going back to the vicinity of my office, and right after a late-afternoon appointment had tied me up, and a little down, right before their donor hours started. Turned out they could care less about my fancy-ass donor card; "Read and sign everything, as our procedures have changed." This isn't charity; it's voice mail.
Still, I plod through the 20 questions about my sexual, drug and European traveling habits, get my finger pricked for the anemia test,....and then get shown the door because my diastolic BP was five points too high. He made his list, and checked it twice, but did not switch arms, or give me a moment to chillax any, or TELL me that was the reason for the re-check in between those readings, until it was too late. I've never been diagnosed with hypertension, but as early as age 10 I've come up with high readings in particularly stressful situations, and this, apparently, was one of them.
Ironically, I still got coupon for a discounted pizza (same as last year- what IS it with blood drives and killer junk food?), and I could still win an autographed Sabres jersey. But if I won that and wore it, that would probably just get my head beaten in by an opposing player, and nobody on my team would come to my aid.
----
Earlier in the week, before Emily got home for the holiday break, I was in a store and saw the big displays for the just-released final Harry Potter movie on DVD. I knew Em would appreciate having it, and I also knew enough to be careful, since despite my prowess watching movies, I can massively screw up their purchases, especially of Big Popular Things in multiple formats and packagings. Movie aisles are becoming as foreign to me as buying emergency tampons for this kid, and I was so pleased with myself that I hadn't screwed up and gotten the Blu-Ray version like I did with the last Star Trek release.
Except guess what? I was SUPPOSED to get the Blu-Ray version. Or rather, the Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack, the only place you can get anything other than rudimentary special features on the DVD copy. (This is apparently the WB's way of encouraging you to buy a Blu-Ray player and restock your entire inventory of films for a THIRD time in 20 years.) I felt crappy and stupid that these choices were so obvious to a college sophomore but not to me, and because this was on the heels of my sphygmomanometric fail, she shot out to Wally World and spent the extra five bucks to fix my mistake.
Hey- at least I didn't get the Betamax. (Although one of her roommates has a rack of vinyl records, and for all I know they have one of those because it's so retro it's cool.)
----
And then there's Story the Third, from just the past day. I'll keep it short but uncut, because it does represent a fairly giant leap for me. The cut title, had there been one, would have been "The turkey is hitting the pavement like a sack of wet cement"- a homage to the annual Thanksgiving Youtube I post every November and always find hit by a takedown by some dumbass studio (probably because they want you to buy a Blu-Ray of it:P):
Last night, I had my first weight training class in almost two weeks. And all of the other peeps there were talking about their big activity for next week- the Turkey Trot. It's the oldest continually-run road race in the country, benefits the local YMCA, accommodates all levels of fitness from walk to Kenyan Competitive, and it's only five miles. Now that's close to five miles longer than I've run outdoors at any time in my adult life, but hellz, I do six miles on the elliptical almost every day at a fairly brisk pace. This could be the start of something! Fun! Out of my earphones-and-book-rack cardio shell! Let's do it!
I go online to check the fees and such- and they hit their registration limit that very day. No can do.
I messaged the other class members, and apparently you can just show up, and hang with the pack, but you can't take the shuttle with everyone else to the starting line, you can't get into the afterparty, and worst of all, you don't get the stinkin' t-shirt. If Ima gonna do this, dammit, I want to be supporting the actual charity, and I want one of those dumbass things with the 30 sponsors on the back to sweat on.
Wait- sponsors. I KNOW one of them. Local guy, met through a longago elementary school friend of mine I re-met on Facebook last year, and he just, today, asked me to Like his company, which is one of them. I contact him to see if he can cut a shameless back-room deal to get me in legally- and as of a few minutes ago, I got a definite maybe from him. One of his own employees also wants to do it at the last minute, so we'll hang together, one way or the other. If that doesn't work, I may just play the oops-you-musta-lost-my-registration card at the packet pickup and see if I can baffle them with my bullshit.
I now know exactly what this tendency is called, thanks to Book Number 48 of the year thatfirynze was good enough to send me: "Reactant Bias, the unreasonable desire to do what others forbid you from doing." I've had that neurosis for most of my life, and this time it's likely going to be manifesting itself in worn soles and shin splints, but hey. Eleanor's working on Thanksgiving and maybe, for a change, I'll do something right when trying to do the right thing.
Except when I do. Here goes with three stories from this week in which I tried to do the right thing and got a fistful of wrong for it. One was quickly and easily resolved; the others, well, are still pending. I'll cut all but the last one, which is probably the most radical, Dude.
Last year, I got onto the Donate Life blood donor list. It was the first time in 50 years I'd managed it. Chalk that up more to ennui than fear; I have no scary-needle issues, but the flood of paperwork, and the nervousness about being diagnosed in a school bus with some dread disease, kept me away. Finally, though, I took the plunge last year, cleared all the screens, got them to drain my crankcase a quart, and a few weeks later, scored the all-important Donor Card, which I thought would streamline the whole business in the future. And there was a conviently located blood drive earlier this week! Cool! Be a mensch, Ray!
Meshugenah is more like it. It didn't take place until late in the day, which meant going back to the vicinity of my office, and right after a late-afternoon appointment had tied me up, and a little down, right before their donor hours started. Turned out they could care less about my fancy-ass donor card; "Read and sign everything, as our procedures have changed." This isn't charity; it's voice mail.
Still, I plod through the 20 questions about my sexual, drug and European traveling habits, get my finger pricked for the anemia test,....and then get shown the door because my diastolic BP was five points too high. He made his list, and checked it twice, but did not switch arms, or give me a moment to chillax any, or TELL me that was the reason for the re-check in between those readings, until it was too late. I've never been diagnosed with hypertension, but as early as age 10 I've come up with high readings in particularly stressful situations, and this, apparently, was one of them.
Ironically, I still got coupon for a discounted pizza (same as last year- what IS it with blood drives and killer junk food?), and I could still win an autographed Sabres jersey. But if I won that and wore it, that would probably just get my head beaten in by an opposing player, and nobody on my team would come to my aid.
----
Earlier in the week, before Emily got home for the holiday break, I was in a store and saw the big displays for the just-released final Harry Potter movie on DVD. I knew Em would appreciate having it, and I also knew enough to be careful, since despite my prowess watching movies, I can massively screw up their purchases, especially of Big Popular Things in multiple formats and packagings. Movie aisles are becoming as foreign to me as buying emergency tampons for this kid, and I was so pleased with myself that I hadn't screwed up and gotten the Blu-Ray version like I did with the last Star Trek release.
Except guess what? I was SUPPOSED to get the Blu-Ray version. Or rather, the Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack, the only place you can get anything other than rudimentary special features on the DVD copy. (This is apparently the WB's way of encouraging you to buy a Blu-Ray player and restock your entire inventory of films for a THIRD time in 20 years.) I felt crappy and stupid that these choices were so obvious to a college sophomore but not to me, and because this was on the heels of my sphygmomanometric fail, she shot out to Wally World and spent the extra five bucks to fix my mistake.
Hey- at least I didn't get the Betamax. (Although one of her roommates has a rack of vinyl records, and for all I know they have one of those because it's so retro it's cool.)
----
And then there's Story the Third, from just the past day. I'll keep it short but uncut, because it does represent a fairly giant leap for me. The cut title, had there been one, would have been "The turkey is hitting the pavement like a sack of wet cement"- a homage to the annual Thanksgiving Youtube I post every November and always find hit by a takedown by some dumbass studio (probably because they want you to buy a Blu-Ray of it:P):
Last night, I had my first weight training class in almost two weeks. And all of the other peeps there were talking about their big activity for next week- the Turkey Trot. It's the oldest continually-run road race in the country, benefits the local YMCA, accommodates all levels of fitness from walk to Kenyan Competitive, and it's only five miles. Now that's close to five miles longer than I've run outdoors at any time in my adult life, but hellz, I do six miles on the elliptical almost every day at a fairly brisk pace. This could be the start of something! Fun! Out of my earphones-and-book-rack cardio shell! Let's do it!
I go online to check the fees and such- and they hit their registration limit that very day. No can do.
I messaged the other class members, and apparently you can just show up, and hang with the pack, but you can't take the shuttle with everyone else to the starting line, you can't get into the afterparty, and worst of all, you don't get the stinkin' t-shirt. If Ima gonna do this, dammit, I want to be supporting the actual charity, and I want one of those dumbass things with the 30 sponsors on the back to sweat on.
Wait- sponsors. I KNOW one of them. Local guy, met through a longago elementary school friend of mine I re-met on Facebook last year, and he just, today, asked me to Like his company, which is one of them. I contact him to see if he can cut a shameless back-room deal to get me in legally- and as of a few minutes ago, I got a definite maybe from him. One of his own employees also wants to do it at the last minute, so we'll hang together, one way or the other. If that doesn't work, I may just play the oops-you-musta-lost-my-registration card at the packet pickup and see if I can baffle them with my bullshit.
I now know exactly what this tendency is called, thanks to Book Number 48 of the year that
firynze was good enough to send me: "Reactant Bias, the unreasonable desire to do what others forbid you from doing." I've had that neurosis for most of my life, and this time it's likely going to be manifesting itself in worn soles and shin splints, but hey. Eleanor's working on Thanksgiving and maybe, for a change, I'll do something right when trying to do the right thing.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-19 06:01 pm (UTC)My Life as an Experiment (http://www.amazon.com/My-Life-Experiment-Becoming-Washington/dp/B004KAB4GA/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_2)
no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 09:45 pm (UTC)There. I said it.
Hope you had a great Pre-Thanksgiving!