Have you ever been in a situation where you’ve been so frustrated that you just throw your hands up and want to walk away from it?

That’s what we’re dealing with now. Without getting into too much detail, it involves all of us and an organization to which Anthony belongs but not for much longer.


We’ve voiced our concerns about the way things were handled via email and Twitter, the latter of which garnered an email from the organization’s president. Humorously, they seemed concerned that my tweet might give a bad impression to all 35 of their followers, a Twitter account that contains tweets unrelated to this organization as well as the last tweet – 1 of 90 total – dated sometime in July.

It was telling me, the guy with over 7,200 tweets since 2007 and a few celebrity followers, how Twitter works. I’m pretty sure I know how.

But back to the point. As I continue to weave my way down the path of enlightenment and deal with situations the best possible way I can, there are sometimes certain dynamics involved that will put your patience to the test and we’ve encountered them here. I admit to being reasonably hot-headed when I read the email from the president which implied that, being neophytes to the organization, our ignorance was the source of the problem.

I agreed to disagree and did not reply. Instead, I sent an email to another person involved in the organization whom I spoke with yesterday, indicating that what we discussed was somehow accepted and justified in the president’s email.

Action speaks louder than words, so action will it will be. It was apparent to me that nothing would be taken care of and that nepotism is still alive and well. Dealing with this organization is no longer worth the effort for any of us, so Anthony has agreed to part ways and continue doing what he loves with the organizations he’s dealt with in the past, all of which have been excellent.

As for this one, well, all I can wish them is good luck because if our experience was any indication of how things are run, they will need it.

Won’t Somebody Please Think of the Smokers?!

(Note: It should be stated loud and clear that my bike does not have a name. But in order to personify it in this post, I will refer to it as Bikey.)

As some of you may know, my new job now affords me the privilege of riding my bike to work. And as you can probably imagine, now that I’m no longer the gastropod I once was, I take full advantage of the opportunity even if it means carrying a (heavy) backpack full of clothes and my lunch.

Curiously, there are no bike racks at the office so since starting that job I chain Bikey to the outer perimeter of our patio–it doubles as a hangout for the office’s smokers–in plain view so that I can keep an eye on it throughout the day. After all, this is not exactly some cheap Huffy or Murray bike here. But upon glancing out the window today I noticed that there was a note affixed to Bikey.

“Maybe someone hit it,” a co-worker joked.

I went downstairs to fetch the note and opened it up. It was from somebody in the office with a request to call them at their extension, so I did.

Within a few minutes I was met by the note-leaver, a fellow with a feminine name who very much resembled Barney Rubble in terms of girth and hair style. He went on to tell me that my bike is an eyesore being parked where it is, and that the smokers of the office shouldn’t have to look at it whilst they puff themselves into oblivion.

Barney also went on to tell me that they used to have a bike rack outside the office but once people stopped riding to work, it was removed and he sees no sense in installing a new one for one person (me). Evidently, in exchange for riding their bikes to work, these people all took up smoking and engorging themselves at the local Chinese buffet. All things considered, he requested that I begin parking it in the mailroom so as not to disturb those outside getting their nic-fix.

While I’m cool with keeping Bikey inside, I’m not entirely happy with the way things were presented to me.

My bike. An eyesore. Huh. Let’s examine the evidence.

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Big City Slider Station, Part Trois

In Episode One, I praised the Big City Slider Station for doing everything it promised, a rarity when it comes to merchandise seen on infomercials.

In Episode Two, I lambasted the very same item for its performance, aka leaving what appeared to be silver spray paint on the burgerlets.

In this, the third and final installment of the series, I find resolution.

Shortly after Billy Mays’ cooking device left the aforementioned silver lining on our burgers, I e-mailed the company to find out about getting a refund. I mentioned that there was no possible way that this could be healthy, that I posted an image of the tainted burger on my blog (and included the link), and that others have also experienced the same thing.

I had figured that since Ann bought the thing at one of those As Seen On TV stores and not by calling the 800-number, we were pretty much sunk. We didn’t have the box or receipt, either.

But we were mistaken.

Within a few business days I received an apology from a company representative who also stated that they would issue a refund for the trouble. All they needed to know was where we purchased the item, what it cost me, and my street address. I sent them the information and, no further questions asked, got my check for $25 in the mail within a week.

While I am appreciative for the effort put into getting my refund out to me, as one commentator pointed out in Episode Two, it really makes you wonder why they are doing so.

Is it because they are afraid of a class action lawsuit against them from people that have experienced the same thing? Hush money? They are loaded and just want to give money to anybody?

Whatever the case may be it’s a lesson learned about buying infomercial products—as if we needed one—and we got our $25 back. But no matter what ShamWow’s Vince tells me, I’ll never love his nuts.

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Big City Slider Station, Part Deux

Earlier this month, I mentioned that Ann picked up one of those Big City Slider Stations and other than wanting to repeatedly kick Billy Mays in the electrons because of his loud mouth, we’ve been pleased with it.

Then this happened the other day:


While cooking some slabs of ground beef, Ann noticed that after removing the press, each slab of meat was covered in what I can only describe as something resembling silver spray paint. I mean what you see above is nothing. The whole top of the burger looked like it was painted with Rustoleum. We ended up throwing that batch away since, well, we weren’t about to eat that crap.

The picture you see above was the second batch we made. Not as bad but they still had some of that strange residue on top. We cooked them as directed; washed the stupid thing as the intstructions read.

Why in the Hell did my burgers have that silver crap on them? Is anybody else stupid enough to listen to that jerk Billy Mays having the same problem?

I’m glad we didn’t throw out the ol’ George Foreman grill just yet because, if this is any indication of the product’s performance, it won’t be getting much more use and is headed to the trash can very soon.

Get bent, Billy Mays.

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