I tried to buy a BMW a bit ago.
I just picked a dealership at random and started walking around the lot until I found one I liked. It was a Series 3 Coup with silvery tint on the windows. It was a very nice car. A salesman approached me and we struck up a conversation. Eventually I told him I wanted to take a test drive and he said that'd be great. But he surprised me when he asked for my "BMW certification card". I told him I'd never heard of such a thing which prompted him to apologize profusely but he insisted I have a certification before I could drive the car. "It's no problem sir" he told me, I could take the test and get certified on-site. So he grabbed a clipboard and keys to the Series 3 and off we went. The drive was mostly uneventful. The car handled great, it really was a remarkable piece of machinery. But as we pulled back into the dealership lot I could tell something wasn't right. After I turned off the car the salesman looked me in the eye and said "I'm sorry sir, you failed the certification test and I can't sell you this car." I was stunned. What could I have possibly done wrong? "Well sir, I noticed that you have an iPhone and it rang several times during the drive but you didn't answer it once. This resulted in you having both hands on the wheel almost the entire drive. Then there was your focus, you really stayed between the lines the whole time, almost like your attention was really all about the drive. It was as if you acknowledged that there were other cars around you and drove amongst them with consideration for them. That was the other thing, you actually yielded to another vehicle, that totally blew me away. And at one point, on that narrow country lane, when you passed that bicyclist you moved over to the left. At first I thought you might not be paying attention so I started to add points but when I realized you did it intentionally to give him more room I had to subtract points. I also noticed a disturbing level of turn signal usage throughout the drive. I mean, you signaled for every single lane change and every single turn, I tried counting them but I really just lost track after a while. I don't want to make you feel bad but you did almost everything wrong on this test. Even when you pulled back into the parking lot you only took up one space and you parked nearly perfectly within the lines of the parking space. I'm sorry sir, but BMW has spent decades building a level of trust and expectation with our customers and the general public. We have an image to maintain and I hate to say it but you're just not enough of a douche to buy a BMW with tinted windows. I truly am sorry."
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Soccer is Too Pedestrian
Why hasn't soccer caught on in the US? Because it's boring. Wait, before you stab me in the face and scream "GOOOOOAAAALLLL" hear me out.
The problem with America and soccer starts with the size of the field. It's just too big. There's way too much mundane shit between initial ball possession and scoring. I mean, let's face it, the average distance a soccer player covers between kickoff and a goal is a lot farther than most Americans are willing to walk in a week. Hell, most people would collapse and starve if you told them you had to walk from goal to mid-field for their next cheeseburger. No, watching soccer is like watching anthological full contact karate. Instead of watching two well trained masters squaring off across a mat the contestants start out asleep in bed in their respective apartments. The action begins with them stretching, then yawning, then rubbing their eyes, and then...they get out of bed! There's some non-action as they brush their teeth, take a shower, dry off, and drink some coffee. But stuff picks up when they go looking for their car keys and catch "local on the eights" on the weather channel. Then they run a few errands on their way to the dojo, and right after they pick up their dry cleaning and grab a latte at Starbucks they realize they have a match in 20 minutes so things get pretty exciting. The pace picks up as they pull into the gym parking lot and and grab their bag out of the trunk. You're on the edge of your seat as they display their gym membership card and sprint into the locker room to change into their gi. EVERYONE is on their feet screaming as the contestants make their way to the mat and settle down into their stance, ready to pounce. They glare at each other, faces twitching in anticipation of the battle that awaits them. Carefully and deliberately they step towards each other. One draws back with clenched fist, the other recoils and prepares to block. Suddenly, limbs fly in all directions and in less than a second they make contact. Then the referee blows the whistle and both contestants go back to their dressing rooms. They take a shower and go home, ready to repeat the whole thing tomorrow.
There you go, for most Americans that's the equivalent of the first two hours of every soccer game.
The problem with America and soccer starts with the size of the field. It's just too big. There's way too much mundane shit between initial ball possession and scoring. I mean, let's face it, the average distance a soccer player covers between kickoff and a goal is a lot farther than most Americans are willing to walk in a week. Hell, most people would collapse and starve if you told them you had to walk from goal to mid-field for their next cheeseburger. No, watching soccer is like watching anthological full contact karate. Instead of watching two well trained masters squaring off across a mat the contestants start out asleep in bed in their respective apartments. The action begins with them stretching, then yawning, then rubbing their eyes, and then...they get out of bed! There's some non-action as they brush their teeth, take a shower, dry off, and drink some coffee. But stuff picks up when they go looking for their car keys and catch "local on the eights" on the weather channel. Then they run a few errands on their way to the dojo, and right after they pick up their dry cleaning and grab a latte at Starbucks they realize they have a match in 20 minutes so things get pretty exciting. The pace picks up as they pull into the gym parking lot and and grab their bag out of the trunk. You're on the edge of your seat as they display their gym membership card and sprint into the locker room to change into their gi. EVERYONE is on their feet screaming as the contestants make their way to the mat and settle down into their stance, ready to pounce. They glare at each other, faces twitching in anticipation of the battle that awaits them. Carefully and deliberately they step towards each other. One draws back with clenched fist, the other recoils and prepares to block. Suddenly, limbs fly in all directions and in less than a second they make contact. Then the referee blows the whistle and both contestants go back to their dressing rooms. They take a shower and go home, ready to repeat the whole thing tomorrow.
There you go, for most Americans that's the equivalent of the first two hours of every soccer game.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I only vaguely remember writing this...
I was pretty lit...
Dwarves live in my freezer. Not normal dwarves though, these are cryo-dwarves. Every day they trek up north into the mountains and seek out a river of ice, a glacier. Wearing mammoth skin gloves and clutching tiny steel hammers they descend on the glacier seeking only the clearest of the ice which lives deep in the heart of the swift moving center of the river. Humming nearly subsonic, epic poems of their ancestors they laboriously chip away at the opaque, concrete like ice. They breathe in tandem, exhaling together in one great cloud of steam coalesces and freezes on the walls of the trench slowly rising around them. The first band of marbled blue-white ice uncovered beneath them signals the midday break. They rest their weary muscles and comb the ice from their beards while the greener of the group prepares lunch. They feast on succulent pearl onions grown in the salty soil of the subterranean and eat slices of cheese made from leopards milk. They talk about the condition of the ice today and the need for new hammers. The end of lunch comes too soon, signaled when the eldest among them rises and makes his way toward the trench. They fall back into their rhythm of digging and soon the blue-white bands of ice give way to the crystal clear treasure beneath. A mammoth draped with saddlebags lumbers to the side of the trench. The dwarves each load up with as much ice as they can carry and make their way out of the pit. They move south, as swiftly as an ice laden mammoth can move back toward my freezer. Once secured in my freezer they set upon each piece of ice with a precision caliper and carve perfectly uniform crescents that are stacked and secured with great care.
I approach the freezer, empty glass in hand. I humbly press the container against the ice lever, a deep rumbling comes from deep within the freezer. I wait patiently as the rumbling continues. A few shards bounce and klink their way to the bottom of my glass. The rumbling continues.
Dwarves live in my freezer. Not normal dwarves though, these are cryo-dwarves. Every day they trek up north into the mountains and seek out a river of ice, a glacier. Wearing mammoth skin gloves and clutching tiny steel hammers they descend on the glacier seeking only the clearest of the ice which lives deep in the heart of the swift moving center of the river. Humming nearly subsonic, epic poems of their ancestors they laboriously chip away at the opaque, concrete like ice. They breathe in tandem, exhaling together in one great cloud of steam coalesces and freezes on the walls of the trench slowly rising around them. The first band of marbled blue-white ice uncovered beneath them signals the midday break. They rest their weary muscles and comb the ice from their beards while the greener of the group prepares lunch. They feast on succulent pearl onions grown in the salty soil of the subterranean and eat slices of cheese made from leopards milk. They talk about the condition of the ice today and the need for new hammers. The end of lunch comes too soon, signaled when the eldest among them rises and makes his way toward the trench. They fall back into their rhythm of digging and soon the blue-white bands of ice give way to the crystal clear treasure beneath. A mammoth draped with saddlebags lumbers to the side of the trench. The dwarves each load up with as much ice as they can carry and make their way out of the pit. They move south, as swiftly as an ice laden mammoth can move back toward my freezer. Once secured in my freezer they set upon each piece of ice with a precision caliper and carve perfectly uniform crescents that are stacked and secured with great care.
I approach the freezer, empty glass in hand. I humbly press the container against the ice lever, a deep rumbling comes from deep within the freezer. I wait patiently as the rumbling continues. A few shards bounce and klink their way to the bottom of my glass. The rumbling continues.
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