Undercover Boss no more!

OK, I have officially had enough.

In earlier blogs, I wrote about the television show Undercover Boss, which at the time was a novel idea of disguising the President or CEO of a company and placing them into the lowest ranks of the organization, to see if he/she could actually do the front-line tasks they were expecting the peons to excel at.

Sort of a take on Michael Moore's idea of trying to get the CEO of IBM to come out in front of the office and format a disk (for you young-ins a disk is a thing you put computer data on, like a DVD today). Of course, since many of the executives they showed were unable to do the tasks in a timely fashion, if at all, watch the hijinks ensue. Some of these tasks included cleaning toilets, moving pallets of inventory, greeting customers etc. Great television, right?

Well the formula of the show is now a broken record:
- Show CEO in home environment - see them as great family people whilst relaxing in a lavish multi-zillion dollar estate. Put wife in apron while working 3 inch stilettos and no concept of where oven is. Replace family dog with TV poodle.
- Put funny moustache or hat on CEO and send to seedy hotel in the sticks. Show Tiger Woods sneaking around in the background. Oops, did I write that.
- Show CEO being assigned to extremely keen and uber-positive trainer, then failing at the most mundane tasks. Show trainer waving finger in shame.
- Show CEO going on extended 3 hour coffee or lunch break where CEO becomes corporate psychologists and asks trainer personal questions about their life. Listen to sob story. Change channels for 10 minutes
- Repeat last 2 steps at least 3 times. Insert clip of CEO back at seedy motel washing face with grungy facecloth which would normally not be used to clean gum off shoe. Show CEO running off camera to makeup room.
- Show trainers back at head office with CEO, acting completely stunned as CEO unveils ruse and offers lavish gifts.
- Show corporate event where fake office staff laugh at the hijinks which ensued in the ruse on big screen.
- Show extreme affection between CEO and trainers. Ensure contracts are signed beforehand to limit unlawful touching of subordinates.
- Ignore fact that lying and tricking employees during this television ruse is a complete violation of corporate values, and under normal circumstances, would result in termination.
- Show updates on screen of happiness and bliss which followed. No mention of share price fluctuations.
- Throw up.

Now I liked this show in the beginning, and I know these hardship cases are likely valid. I'm all for supporting the hardworking little people out to support their families. But the show formula never changed except for one episode with Hooters, where some line manager was an absolute chauvinist, and another with a distribution company where a customer service rep was rude (she is clearly the only one in North America).

Otherwise, every company was the same. Lots of hardship case employees who work hard and hope for a better life, but rarely say anything bad about their employers. Put up your hand if you cannot find someone in your company who might have something less than positive to say about management. It is like an infomercial for the company, but without Tom Vu or Billy Blanks and a bevy of skanks in the background.

I know its Sunday television, and I know its supposed to be feel good, but do you really think every company is this way? Or that none of the employees ever watch this show on television and catch onto the ruse as its happening. I am almost motivated to support Hooters, since they at least had the stones to allow their company to be slightly embarrassed. Since I hate their food, probably not, but kudos to you Hooters, for at least being real. Well at least some things are real at Hooters.

This is what happens when my friends go watch tennis....

Knock and Beware

I work for a big company, and as such, because of job and stature, have been provided an office. I like to think my hard work and great contributions resulted in the office being provided, although chances are everyone above data-entry person gets one here since we have a big building. Regardless I am the Donald Trump of my area, or so I tell people.

Every once in a while, I need to close the door to my office. Whether its to eat lunch, work on confidential projects, talk to someone on the phone, whatever the case. Everyone has their reasons.

What is perplexing to me is how often someone actually comes and knocks on the door even if it is closed. So lets think about this for a second. Door is open, people can come in and I can go out. Since my door is more often open than closed, its should be obvious that when its closed, privacy is required. Door is closed means do not disturb. If I wanted to be disturbed, I would not close the door.

I know, petty blog, but it baffles me how often this happens. And every time someone knocks on the door (which is almost daily), the first comment out of their mouth is "Sorry to bother you". No you're not. if you were sorry, you would not have knocked. Was I away the day they taught people that respecting people's privacy means respecting when a door is closed? Now if the building was on fire, or someone was injured, sure, knock on the door. Today, it was "can I borrow your stapler?" I guess everyone with open office doors do not have functioning staplers.

I think its time to be quiet now.

"9 TIMES, BABY"

I know people. Rusty is a bad blogger. Sadly, I am not very consistent in my posts, but when I post, I like to put some time into it. We've all seen blogs where it looks forced. Not me baby! I slave over my blog like I'm baking a cake, icing it perfectly, popping in the candles. OK, bad example for a dude, but you know what I mean.

So I went to the drive-in for the first time in years. The last drive-in I went to magically burned down due to a gas explosion in the plant next door, and that was at least 10 or more years ago. I seem to recall watching something with Catherine Zeta-Jones (who my Dad continues to describe as phhhheeeeennnnnommminaaaal) and Sean Connery (is he still alive?). It was a while ago for sure.

Its always fun to check out the retro snack bar, sit out in the fresh air, crimp your neck at strange angles and watch a few flicks. It was a triple-feature night, so theoretically, I could have stayed there for a week watching movies and eating stale unbuttered popcorn. Driving into the lot, I was pleasantly surprised to see the ground was not gravel, but rather actual grass and some semi-paved lanes. It was a hot night and a weekend to boot, so I knew it would be busy. Best to get there a bit early and find a nice spot where nobody else was parked - since I'm quiet and all you know.

Unbeknownst to me, this drive-in has an area for cars, and a bigger area for trucks, vans, planes etc. Dummy me heads to the back (since I'm a back of the bus kind of guy), resulting in being in the Winnebago and Partridge Family bus circa-1976 zone. And you know some yahoo with a monster sized truck was going to park in front of me. By the time I realized my error, all the small vehicle spots were full, so we sucked it up and tried to watch between the monster trucks.

I decided to line-up for food in a line-up the size of an American Idol audition. It was moving quick, but I did not anticipate the intriguing banter of the people around us. There were 3 teen-aged ladies in front of us. I put them at maybe 17. Somehow, their skuzzy 17 year old boyfriends got them to stand in line while they stayed back in the van to do homework or pray or something. So the ladies are chatting about the fun they had the night before, and the topic of intimacy comes up. I am by no means one of those sickos who eavesdrops, but it was hard not to hear as the larger of the girls (see fuller-figured) is tutoring the smaller girls on techniques, while resting her arms on the little girls shoulders. No joke!

I'm really trying hard at this point to not pay any more attention. I'm watching the stray dog taking a leak by the garbage can, the older couple with funny binoculars, anything to not hear this conversation. Then the larger girl bursts out with "9 TIMES BABY!," and I'm pretty sure she is not talking about arithmetic. "YOU'LL GET THERE TOO ONE DAY GIRLS!" she tells the little ones, all motherly. The littlest one, who resembled Winnie Cooper from the Winder years (left), ran back to the van, saying something about needing more money. For all I know, she was trying to catch-up. Who knew.

Working my way back through the parking lot maze, and I thought about was how I was clearly too introverted as a teenager to come across girls like the ones in line. Even the second-hand pot smoke and annoying moths could not change my thought process. Both movies sucked, and I will likely not rush back to the drive-in, but at least now I know how much it has changed.

Unusual Neighbours Continued...

Most recently, since I've moved into my not so new townhouse, I've had a couple of neighbours on one side and the same neighbour on the other. The couple who have been here with us the whole time seem quite nice. They have barricaded their backyards with tall trees, shrubbery and lattice fencing to ensure nobody, us included, can see in. I find this perfectly normal. They have a cute little terrier dog, who actually only barks when she is outside, so its nice for the most part. Either that, or he has insulated his walls on the inside to mask "Sparkie's" barking. The dog wants to be a rooster, so we can always tell when its time to wake up too which is an added bonus. We hardly talk, so being the quiet guy that I am, works great for me.

On the other side to me was a friendly elderly couple. We share "doors", meaning they can see our back door and vice-versa. Any time I'd come home, the husband would be outside watering his lawn or flora which adorned his townhouse. He was religious about watering, minimum 4 to 5 times per day, for multiple hours at a time. He would personally see to it that every plant on his yard, and all 6 neighbours, had plenty of watering done. If there was a chain-smoking for waterers, this guy was the winner. He was a German fellow, and his English was not great, but we could always tell his intentions, as he walked around everywhere with his water jug looking to feed some plant. We would snarl at me any time we did NOT water our lawn at the same time as him. When we looked across the backyards of all the tenants, you could always tell which yard was his - his grass was green, plush, consistent. The rest looked like typical yards with patches of green and brown, odd shaped divots etc. I called him the "Water Nazi", in a polite way of course.

The Water Nazi moved away (likely to some pasture somewhere which he could turn into Central Park), but his place was sold very quickly. I would learn that the new couple were also retirees, and the husband used to work for NATO. He would tell me crazy stories of espionage, hanging upside-down to retrieve prized gems, avoiding hidden laser beams....oh, that was Mission Impossible. Well that was what I was thinking, as he was telling he of his ventures to countries I've never heard of. But it was not his past career that makes him different. Nope, instead its that I think he's a peeping tom. He loves looking into our windows. Its kind of creepy. He's also one of those "always seems to be there" kind of people, meaning, the minute I go into the back yard, whammo, he comes out to chat. Now I can only talk for so long, especially if I'm BBQing or something, but he magically always pops up. I'd be driving into the garage, and there he is, waving. I go to pick up the newspaper, and he's there to hand it to me - ok not literally, but he's always out there. If I had higher fences, I would call him Wilson.

I have no idea why I get so many unique neighbours. Chances are as you are reading this, you might think that is perfectly normal. To me, living next to porn freaks, slutty sportscasters, wife beaters, water nazis, Fort Knox and Lookie-Lous is just another day too. I wonder what they all refer to me as?

Where are the Ropers when you need them?

I have an a great knack for neighbours. It goes back in time, but I swear if there was a prize for living next to unusual people, I would not only win, they would name the prize after me.

I used to live in an apartment on the basement floor. The day I checked the place out, nary a peep in the building, and the price was right. Of course, it was 10am, and most people were at work. Little did I realize both the walls and ceilings were paper thin, and you could hear everything.

Across the hall was another young guy, just like me at the time. Seemed to keep to himself - I always saw him coming back home on his bike with bags of groceries in hand. OK, so the guy liked to eat, worse things to have right? Well I guess my friend also fancied himself a ladies man, thinking he could bring the birds to the nest for a little alone time. Little did I know, alone time included watching adult movies every weekend - LOUD. Ever live beside someone who loved watching these flicks all night - changes you perception on quiet guys quite quickly. Thankfully, the landlord evicted little Larry Flynt, but the noises remain burned in my ear.

One floor up was one of the city's most famous female sportscasters. She of the pretty face, and great knowledge of all sports - she could talk the talk as well. I watched her on TV all the time, and thought she was a hottie. One day in the laundry room, someone had left their lady garments in the dryer. Normally, I would remove them and place them in the laundry basket on top, but these lady garments were truly the "undergarments" guys like me should not see (or I guess be privileged to see). Sure enough, not seconds after I shut the dryer door, along comes our sportscaster, top speed, to collect her stuff. We exchanged pleasantries, and I thought to myself, our hot sportscaster lives just upstairs and likes to wear frilly undergarments - score! I would watch the newscast with much greater attention over the next few weeks.

One night, I hear noises from outside my window. Its dark, but I can see its our sportscaster coming in the back entry after another late night. Now I can smell drunk better than most, and she was sauced. She was trying to climb over the 3 foot fence - normally a weak challenge for most - but she was stuck on the fence, hanging from her pants. Some football sized dude was trying to heave her over the fence, but she was caught. As her pants ripped, she fell head first on my side, laughing the whole time. Biff came over afterwards, even more trashed than her. They would scamper through the door and upstairs, where now I hear the frolic that was not the kind of sports you broadcast. So my dreamy sportscaster was Slutty Susan, bring home stray athletes to prepare for next days airing, or whatever they were doing.

She would move out eventually (must not have liked having to be hoisted over the fence so much), and was replaced by "Chester and Edna", the horny seniors. Lets just say their bed springs were likely as old as they were, but got good use nonetheless. Beside me was the landlady, who was more of a Harley-biker chick, who seemed to like finding the skuzziest guy out there to bring home. One night, I overheard a screaming match in the hallway. One of the sentences I overheard, which I am typing verbatim - "you can keep beating me up, but please don't f**king leave me." Ummm. OK. How do you deal with that?

To be continued....

I just want to dance...

<br/><a href="http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?mkt=en-CA&amp;vid=4651584c-add8-417d-a89c-d9a63ae25f4e" target="_new" title="Ridiculous Cheerleader Gives 110%">Video: Ridiculous Cheerleader Gives 110%</a>

Do I know you?

Everyone has seen someone and thought to themselves – I know that person. But where?

I’ve moved around a lot, and as such, I have that weird feeling all the time when I see someone who seems familiar. My Roladex of faces and names starts spinning. Usually, I identify them, but periodically, I go away scratching my head.

The other day, I saw a guy I remembered. Back as a teenager, I used to work at the amusement park. Everything you have heard about amusement parks is not true. We were normal kids with normal lives, not children of gypsies looking to cheat you out of your last buck so we could buy some dope. We’d buy dope and munchies too. Kidding. Still, to this day, I have crazy dreams, which somehow result in me popping up from a slumber screaming "Do you want to go faster?" No joke.

Working at an amusement park, you had a variety of characters. We had these maintenance guys, young guys who were responsible for fixing rides when they were broken. Now we are talking about the late 70's and early 80's when worker safety was not as prevalent. These dudes would swagger around the park in untied steel-toed boots and navy blue coveralls, climbing up and down various rides without any kind of safety gear or helmets. God forbid you mess up the killer mullet forcing the ladies to look elsewhere for the next Leif Garrett.

They would always be working with a cigarette hanging out of their mouth, or over their ear until they could put it in their mouth later (Ewww) and a backup pack rolled up their sleeve or in the breast pocket of their coveralls. They were always covered in grease and smelled like stale mini-donuts. Many of them spoke English poorly if at all, yet had names like Dave or Steve, which made no sense to me.

They were actually the nicest guys, but chances are, you would think the worst of them based on appearance alone. I’m pretty sure they ate other people’s leftovers in the park to minimize costs. Little kids thought they were park mascots.

So anyways, I’m near the park and I see the same maintenance guy I worked with some 30 years ago. He still had the mullet. He was still smoking. He still had that same cool-guy walkie-talkie dangling over his shoulder. Now after some cordial ice-breaker conversation, I simply ask him what he is up to these days.

Him: “Oh, I still work in the park – going on 34 years”
Me: “No way. You’ve got to be a Manager by now?”
Him: “Nope – still fixing rides. How about you?”
Me: “’I’m in Finance now.”
Him: “Cool – can you get me a job?”

He was not joking. Now you know why I moved around a lot.

NHL, Here I come?

Tomorrow is always a unique day for many in Canada. Its NHL Draft day. As in National Hockey League for you non-hockey types, which means all of you.

Like most boys growing up in Canada, we all wanted to play professional hockey. I was no different. My brother and I would practice in our basement, putting on old stinky equipment my Dad had lying around the basement, and shoot a million shots at each other like the pros. We both fancied ourselves as quite good street hockey players, able to fire the ball (in lieu of a puck which was way to hard to play with in the basement) all over the play, much to the chagrin of our parents who worried windows would be broken and walls dented. While the existence of a piano caused some logistical challenges, some of our best saves resulted in a few wall dents, but nothing the repositioning of the couch could not hide. Plus, our mock hockey fights were epic, though less so for my brother who never won.

I never played organized hockey as a kid growing up. Hard to believe, given the passion most Canadians have towards the game. We were too busy doing other Canadian stuff like pronouncing words funny (its r-oof, not r-uuuff), heating the igloo and frying our back bacon with maple syrup - very tasty on a cold night by the way. My Dad figured waking up at 4am to trudge our sorry butts to hockey practice and fork out $500 per kid was a bit too much. Instead we played soccer. Less likely to get injured playing soccer, unless you are my brother, who broke a collarbone, wrecked an ankle and other sorted issues. I apologized every time ;)

As an adult, I get the high cost of sports and the parental commitment, but as a kid, you kind of learn to adjust. I would tell my friends I was more focused on other sports or girls, which was a blatant lie, since I really wanted to skate and show my awesome hockey skills. The hockey culture is so strong that in elementary school, all kids were sent to skating lessons. Not sure if every school did this, but for us, it was like Christmas, since all the kids would practice flailing around and falling at top speed. Most snow attached to your body after you wipeout wins. Then get free hot chocolate at the end. Bonus! Somehow, my brother got a better grade than me. Something about him stopping without the use of body checking another kid. Now why would you want to do that?

So fast forward 30+ years, and while I've since played a wealth of recreational hockey (aka Beer League hockey), the chance to skate with the pros still eludes me. I watch the draft wondering what it would have been like to have heard my name called. With my luck, they would have mispronounced it, but hey, we're Canadian, everything sounds funny here.

I "might" have a Lower Body Injury

Well sadly, here we are one week after my big announcement, and I have done squat all regarding preparing for my big run. I know, big surprise, but I have a good excuse which does not involve candy, television or Ivanka's rack.

I hate doctors. Hate them with a passion. Not personally of course, but no way am I letting that person anywhere near my body, especially if they are waving a needle in my face. I realize thats highly unlikely to happen, but I am also afraid a big wind will come and blow me away one day, like on the Wizard of Oz. Can you tell I was tormented with fears as a kid? Must have been all those soccer balls I took to the head when I was younger. Now what was I talking about?

So it took every ounce of courage I had to go see the doctor regarding my faulty ankle. I hate the place, I hate how it smells, I hate the people you find there, I hate the crappy magazines that are a minimum 2 years old they leave for you to read. By the way, are any of you like me and sit in the waiting room, wondering what problems everyone else around you might have. There are the obvious ones, where blood is gushing, or people are holding their body parts in unusual angles. But then there are those tougher people, who might be sick or have more difficult issues to diagnose. Then you start to think, I'm more in need of medical attention than that guy. Look, they clearly have no pain threshold, like me, who can eat glass, sleep on nails, watch Millionaire Matchmaker. I call it the waiting room Olympics, who will win the contest for worst one off. I'd just be happy to medal.

Now I was not expecting amputation or anything, but that queasy feeling as the doc was groping my ankle in a variety of ways certainly rose. The old "does this hurt?" question 10 times, as he poked away at my leg. I always wonder what might happen if I accidently boot the guy right in the jewels, seeing as my foot was facing his groin area and he's testing my pain threshold. Now I'm not that cruel, but at the same time, I trust he's not wearing a cup, and if I did have the twitch action, I cannot be held accountable for the thrust my foot might take.

So the prognosis - I might have a fractured ankle. Might? When I hear that word in a sentence, I automatically think back to those Publishers Clearing House envelopes addressed to Master Rusty or "To Whom it May Concern," telling me I might have already won! We all know how those contests turn out. So for the last 5 weeks, as I've been hobbling around like a man twice my age, I "might" be walking on a fractured ankle. I'll need X-rays to confirm.

Using a sports vernacular, I have a lower body injury and the use of duct tape will not fix it. Nor will Windex, as some people seem to think is the magical cure for everything. Speaking of which, we used Windex to clean up a horrible colour stain on a countertop. It worked like magic, even though the stuff is blue, and does not leave a blue stain. I've started spraying Windex on my head in hopes my receding hairline will grow. I'll let you know the results, but I'm optimistic.

I had great intentions of pushing my running limit this week. Too bad my ankle is bad. I guess I'll have to watch some TV instead and I "might" eat some candy.

Baby you were "Bored to Run"

You know when your really bored? I mean really really bored. So bored, Jersey Shore seems like a good show to watch. So bored you decide to clean your toilet. So bored you're willing to figure out how many words you can make using the 5 letters in the word bored (I got 28). So bored, you will read this blog.... you get the gist.

When I get bored, I tend to gravitate to a couple of things - surfing the net and doing puzzles. Web browsing is always easy, but it comes with a price. Somehow, I wind up getting tons of spam every day. You can tolerate getting only so many spam emails about "special" vitamins, sex websites, over-the counter drugs, or growing your penis by 3 inches before that gets stale. Besides, in my case, I would have 10 inches total, so why bother? Speaking of bored, people who measure their junk - now there is constructive use of their time.

I also love all kinds of puzzles - jigsaw, sudoku, kenken, crosswords. You name it, if I can solve it using a pencil and a shriveled up eraser, I'm usually in. I have even progressing to taking on the monster New York Times puzzles, which tend to use words I have never even heard of, let alone could fill into the grid. What is a 14 letter word for "Didactic book". What the heck does didactic mean? Sounds like something you might catch. Needless to say, I can only do so many puzzles.

So I need a new challenge. Something I know is outside my comfort zone. I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out what that should be. I'm pretty sure I have landed on a couple of ideas.

For starters, I hate running. With a passion! But for the past couple of years, I've been trying to run varying distances, only to run out of good weather, or to get tired, go home, eat a pile of candy and kill any momentum I have gained. I have a logbook which I have been updating telling me how often I ran and my distances and times, but the last month is sadly quite empty. I blame it on the fact I had to jump into a burning building to save multiple families and pets from sure disaster, fireman carrying each out of the flaming window to safety, severely injuring my ankles as I tripped through burning floorboards. OK, I actually got kicked playing soccer, but the burning house stuff sounds way better. Regardless, my ankle is starting to heal, so I will be back out there running very soon.

My ultimate goal is to run a marathon. I watched the Hawaii triathlon on TV as a kid, as these people ran through desert-like temperatures, and people were crossing the finish line sometimes entire days after the event had started. That will be me one day. But for progression, perhaps I will tackle a 5K run first. I know I can do it. I need my asthma puffer, my oxygen tank, my personal trainer with the handy Gatorade water bottle filling my dry palate, and my cool running shoes with the speedy stripe on the side. I'm there!

I'll save my other boredom challenge for later. In the meantime, I'll see you out there running. I'll be the one you pass. If you're a hot chick, I promise not to look at your butt.

By the way, a 14-letter word for didactic book is ecclesiasticus. I knew you knew that one.

Maybe Trump should hire the Smoke Monster to help him fire people!

Its been 3 full days since the finale of Lost was shown. It has also been 3 full days since the finale of Celebrity Apprentice 2. I watched both, and while I would love to have those 7 and a half hours of my life back, I can conclude some observations from the comfort of my cozy couch.

For starters, Lost was a complex story of love, life, interaction, spirit, adventure....ahh who am I kidding, I have no idea what that show was about. I thought Lost was about a bunch of people stranded on a desert island. How they made 6 seasons out of that premise is beyond me, since it mirrored a little show I watched growing up called Gilligan's Island. Now on that show, the Professor could only make so many things with coconuts before you knew the show had “Jumped the Shark.” But I digress.

Speaking for the regular guy, of which I include myself in that category (despite 2 advanced degrees, a National Publication and well over 100 friends on Facebook), I would say the exact same thing after each show - What the f**k?!?!?! I had no clue what I was watching. I would even surf the net to see what others interpreted from each episode, only to realize I was better off researching how come that show Community is still on television, since neither made sense. People had crazy allegories of religion and scripture whereas I saw a fat guy on a desert island never losing weight and lots of people who probably reeked like ass from not having soap. It was a hopeless cause, but for some reason I kept watching.

Now Celebrity Apprentice on the other hand, I got that premise. I understood how that show worked, and the key takeaway messages the viewer should have gotten - Trump is God, and fake boobies imply respect.

Episode after episode, the players would go through crazy challenges with business implications. In real business, you fire those people who are both expendable and the cause of failures. In Trump's world, you fire whomever you gosh darn feel like, since its your show and you run it how you please. Who cares if you are a micromanager or a poor communicator - you're hot and you can score lots of dough for charity, so we shall keep you.

So on Sunday you had the end of what will likely be one of the more baffling shows ever made at the same time as the end of the show with some of the most baffling decisions ever made. I still don't understand what Lost was trying to tell, me, but if you mixed the two shows together, watching the fired employees get nabbed by the smoke monster - now that’s good television. Or how about sending Don Jr. to the Island to sneak up on the castaways, observe and provide valuable feedback like "Looks like they may be on the track." Hand me the Emmy now.

By the way, anyone else think you could have saved the 2 hours from the Grey's Anatomy finale if you had proper security to ensure people could not randomly walk around a hospital of their own free will like every other hospital in the world (you know those lovely sliding doors you cannot pass through)? Me too.

The doctors had Shepherd on the operating table, wearing their bacteria free masks and gloves, only to have crazy gun guy come strolling into the operating room, waving his gun and shooting another guy. According to CSI, the DNA will be flying all over the place, and would clearly jeopardize the cleanliness of the facility. But that’s OK, we can still fix Derek and sew him up. He'll be fine. By the way, the next time I see a guy pointing a gun at another guy, I'll be sure to run at the guy having the gun pointed at him to see how that works out for me.

I gotta quit watching so much TV.

Bucket List Revealed

I, like many people, have a number of items on my bucket list. While I guarantee it may take some time, I have full confidence I will cross all these items off my list at some point in time:

- Jam with my all-time favourite band Loverboy in a fan frenzied stadium filled concert. I can be the next Mike Reno, right down to the tight red leather outfits and sweatbands, hopping around like someone just lit my pubic hair on fire.

- Get drafted into the NHL. Despite being overlooked the past 25 years, and not being on skates in 3 years, I trust there is a scout out there who will recognize my Gretzky-like stickhandling talent and invite me to their team. And when they do, I will score a goal then ride my stick down the ice like Tiger Williams.

- Touch a fake boob. Ivanka, call me!

- Visit Switzerland, climb the Alps and sing "The Hills are Alive" while dancing in my lederhosen. Bonus points if I can ski down afterwards, like James Bond, with crazed spies chasing me while firing rifles, poison laced arrows and other cool spy stuff

- Develop the first vehicle that can fly, so I can easily avoid all those idiot drivers who get in accidents in the worst possible places. Hey, if it works for the Jetsons….

- Write a sitcom or drama a la Chuck Lorre, which I can sell to a major network, thereby allowing me to write my blog at the end of each show and get paid for it. I'm convinced the musical/police crime drama will work, or maybe a talking alien sitcom. So long as I can cast Ted McGinley or Jim J Bullock, it will be a hit.

- Drive a cab - honestly! I can smell bad and drive erratically like the best of them

I’ve been working on these for quite some time. If anyone out there can help me out, I’m open ears.

Sideline Therapy

Its been a wacky week, as I am sure many of you have had at one time or another. Sadly, blogging took a back seat, but I am back, refreshed, ready to type for my avid reader(s). You can't stop me now!

I last blogged about soccer, specifically women's soccer. Yes, I know what you are thinking. You dawg Rusty! Coaching women's soccer! I'm sure you have ulterior motives for that choice, right? Well no, actually in my 17 years of coaching, I have never dated a player. Have I coached some attractive women? You betcha! I've coached women who have been models, fitness trainers, gymnasts, figure skaters, hot nannies (think Elin Woods), playboy playmates, porn stars and Ivanka Trump. OK, I lied about those last 3, but it could happen.

I've also coached cross-dressers, women who look like men, and even women who ultimately became men. Its not about how they look, as I view them all more like little sisters....little sisters who like to kick balls and wear sports bras - not that I've been noticing of course.

So we had a game this week. I'm on the sidelines doing my coach thing, you know, looking all cool and important and making notes about stuff so I don't forget. The game is a bit dull, so my mind wanders to other topics... man, does my ankle hurt. I wonder why it is still hurting? I think I need to stop at the drug store on the way home. Wow, look at that cool boat on the water - I wish I had a camera. That is one ugly dog. I wish I was not allergic to dogs. I want to throw a Frisbee into the ocean and see if my dog would jump in and chase it. I bet that ugly one would. How long would it take me to swim under that bridge and back? I bet I could do it if I had flippers on my hands. I need something to eat. I'm thinking Chinese food. Yeah, fried rice would be nice right now. I hope I have some cash in my car. I know I have a lot of coins. I need to wash my car. Then WHAM! We scored!

Clearly, I'm in pretend mode now. After finding out who scored, I decide this would be a great moment to scream out to everyone:

“That’s how we do it ladies!"
"Well done, just like in practice!"
"Keep up the pressure team!”

I felt like one of those morons at golf tournaments who would scream out “You da man” every time Tiger Woods would drop a putt. If there’s was a list of random things to scream at soccer games I’m sure I screamed out some of the top lines. And without cue cards too! I read that professional athletes often never see who scored for their team, as they are too busy drinking Gatorade or being obstructed by the cameramen, refs and coaches blocking their view. I figure most of them are actually eyeballing the stands for skanks, but thats purely a guess.

Feeling so much better about what I shouted, I decide this would be a great time to identify to my substitutes on the sideline how important it is to be in the right positions and to persist through adversity...yadda yadda yadda. Was it applicable advice? Of course. Was it based on what I saw - heck no! Could the players tell I did not notice what had just happened? Well I, like most men, naively think women don't notice stuff like that, so the answer was most likely yes they noticed.

We would go on to score 2 more, and lead 3-0 at half time. Then the other team quit. Yup, I said quit. They decided that since 5 of them were injured and should not have played, one thinks she's pregnant, one is real tired from a long day, and one is angry at another one, they would not be able to hold it together for the second half, and would rather leave. If you think this is odd, its actually not the first time this has happened to me. But you certainly don't expect it. We decided to play with ourselves, errr play an inter-squad game to fill the time.

As I was driving home, proud of the fact we won another one, I started to ask myself, why do I enjoy coaching women? Is it because they are better listeners than men from a coaches perspective? Perhaps. Maybe its because they are easy to be around, easy to talk to, easy to teach, they always listen to my crap? Speaking of crap, darn, I forgot to buy that Chinese food.

I’m Rusty and I like broccoli!

Hi, I’m Rusty and I like meat

I'm always intrigued at how some people introduce themselves, including the small talk initiated when first meeting someone. Last night, at my soccer game, I asked all the players to introduce themselves and tell everyone what position they play on the team, given we have a number of new people who don't know everyone.

The first person to speak, a player I have coached for at least 6 years, immediately spouts out " Hi, I'm Millie, I play goalie and forward, and I like meat." This is a G-rated blog, so we'll all assume she was referring to food. Of course, what ensued for the next 14 people was a quick hello, and their status on meat consumption. Hilarious, a great ice-breaker, but at the same time, very unusual.

For perspective, recognize this is the same player who once showed up to a game wearing a bright tangerine orange hoodie with the name "Kristin" emblazoned on the back. When I asked her why she was wearing it, she said why not, since it only cost $2 at some thrift store.

Watching the Celebrity Apprentice this past weekend, "The Don" decided to introduce another sibling into the show mix. Apparently, there are more of them. Who knew? The newest Trump to grace this show was Eric, the third child he had with Ivana. He also has the same unique comb over hair, and bears a striking resemblance to Donald, more so than other older 2 kids. I had to Google him to find out he is an Executive VP in the Trump empire (gotta love that nepotism), 3 years young than Ivanka, but at least 25 years older than her boobs.

When Don introduced Eric, he said something to the effect of "This is Eric, my other son. He is a Georgetown graduate." Well good on you Eric. My opinion of you has already been altered. Not.

As a side note, both Ivanka and Donald Jr. were Wharton Business School graduates, which Don Sr. ranted and raved about way back when since he of course is an alum of there too, and clearly, that school is "the BEST". So I guess either Eric is the black sheep of the house, or perhaps spent more time avoiding the legacy of the other family members. Not that Georgetown is a bad school. But its not Wharton, which Don seems to believe creates business gods. As an aside, I went to the same school as Alex Trebek. What is "Bazinga!"

So why is it important to share school affiliation with an introduction? Do people from Harvard tell everyone they went there? Perhaps, but in the first sentence out of their mouth? Maybe by sharing that, you are attempting to justify the credibility of your child, as if to think the son of Trump is nothing more than a disciple the great one, and would be lucky to be working at Mcds if not for the Trump name. Donald is a wee bit of a braggart, so I expect nothing less, but at the same time, who are you really trying to impress. Now if Donald had said something to the effect of "This is Eric. I've ignored him on this show for 8 seasons, but we've run out of people who still like me", that might have caught my attention. Not as much as Ivanka's fake rack (can you tell I am still obsessed by that).

When I meet people for the first time, I usually say something to the effect of "Hi, I'm Rusty. Pleased to meet you" looking them straight in the eyes boxer style, while trying to give the grip of death to their hand as a reminder that they met me. Better to be gripper than the grippee I say. If someone tried to shake my hand back just as hard, I refuse to let go until they do. We could stand there for days, but I rely upon my higher pain threshold to win that one every time.

I guess I’ll have to change my intro. “Hi, I’m Rusty and I like meat.”

The Eagle has Landed

I know I was in the middle of my LA trip update, but I must take a detour to talk about something different.

Yesterday, while at soccer, I saw and heard the most horrifying thing. At the field, there is an eagles nest. Its fairly obvious, and periodically, you see the eagle sitting there checking out our lovely ladies teams kicking the ball around. He’s a pretty good fan, making little noise and while flying around every once in a while, never flying anywhere near us.

On the other side of the street is a food wholesaler, produce and dry goods mostly. As such, there are a large number of seagulls which hover around the food place. I'm sure they see us over at the field, but thankfully, they have avoiding visiting our area to drop a dump on us or whatever it is seagulls do when they are flying around.

So yesterday, we hear a huge screaming from some seagulls. When we look up, we see the eagle, flying back to its nest, gripping a captured seagull in its talons. Other seagulls are screaming their heads off and somewhat chasing the eagle, but clearly being scared, fly off in the other direction for fear of being the next meal victim.

So for the next 30 minutes, we hear the captured seagull screaming for its life as the eagle has its way. Needless to say, they were not playing cards. Probably the most mortifying thing I've heard in a while. I half debated throwing a rock or something, but realizing that the same eagle could chase us, or worse, I would miss wildly and peg off some kid on the teeter-totter, I thought better.

What a way to go though. Flying around, minding your business, looking for yummy lettuce and tossed out fruit, only to be captured mid-air by some other meaner bird, who takes you home for dinner. Chasing salad to being the salad.

At the same time, most people have difficulty swatting flies. Can you imaging trying to catch another bird in mid air, especially given how well birds turn and change directions. I’d be that eagle flying around chasing only to hit a tree by accident or better yet, flying into an electrical wire and zapping myself.

I’m off KFC for a while I think. Nah, I’ll still eat it.

I met a guy who was an extra on Ghost Whisperer!

Well I took my therapy on the road this past week, visiting beautiful Los Angeles California. My brother had suggested a quick trip to LA to catch some hockey and enjoy the better weather. I jumped faster than David Lee Roth (see original Van Halen for you youngins) and I was California bound.

Now this trip was not my first visit to LA, nor will it be my last. At the same time, its always interesting to see in person the city you tended to watch so much of from TV, Movies etc. Before we even got off the plane at LAX, it was hard not to eavesdrop on the types of conversations I would be experiencing in La-la Land. In one word - fake - like the many sets of boobs I saw. Talk about listening to a whole lot of "well you've gotta go to this place, it is to die for. So divine. I'm real good friends with this guys dog's groomers drivers pizza delivery guy. He can get us a deal!" Ugh. Maybe I could go without listening to people on this trip. Oh the foreshadowing of things to come.

The other part about landing in LA is immediately seeing paparazzi hanging around waiting for important people to come by. Clearly, none were on our flight since these same photogs decided they would rather change film and drink coffee than come to our gate. A while later, we saw them move to a different gate, cameras ready. But for the life of me, I could not tell who they were trying to photograph. Put sunglasses and a toque on and everyone looked mysterious to me now. I told a whole bunch of tourists it was Brad Pitt and Angelina, so they took off, allowing me quicker access to the bag dispenser. We would see paparazzi at many other locations on our trip, but try as I might, they never looked my way. I guess I need to work on my celebrity, or get on a reality show or have a sex tape or something.

We did a lot of things in 3 days, more than I can fill in one blog, but one of the highlights for me was taking the ever popular Warner Brothers Studio tour in Burbank. For those not in the know, Warner Brothers (WB), they of the Looney Tunes and Bugs Bunny fame, run one of the most historical and successful production studios in LA - home to many shows and movies too numerous to mention here. If you watched it on TV and liked it, it was likely made at the Warner Brothers lot. Unlike TV studios like CBS or NBC, WB offers studio space to anyone regardless of affiliation, and hence attracts all sorts of productions which for whatever reason are not made at the actual TV station site. For example, Friends, which was a huge NBC success, was filmed at WB Studios, not NBC Studios as you might think. Something about Jay Leno's ego or something. I dunno.

So the tour involves a guided tour of the lot. They put you into these little trolley carts of 13 people max. One person gets the honour of sitting beside the tour guide, while the remaining 12 people sit in one of the four 3-seat benches in the back of the trolley. For the life of me, I could not figure out why they made benches 3 abreast instead of an even number. I guess they assume everyone travels in 3s, or perhaps they were hoping for group interaction. Its the LA way I guess. We had the luxury of sitting behind these two gay Turkish dudes, who dressed identically (crew cut, denim pants and jackets, white T-shirts, black boots and tinted sunglasses). Think gay Scarface. By the way, I keep stressing the gay part because I've never seen 2 men so gropey. Get a room fellas! I'm almost positive these 2 guys were trying to find a secluded place on the lot to engage in some frivolity. Our tour guide was regularly looking for them, since they always seemed to wander off and never wanted to look at what we were all looking at. Besides, who would not want to have some secret nooky on the set of Two and a Half Men, right?

The worst part of our Turkish friends was their English was not great. As such, they felt it necessary to ignore the entire spiel from our tour guide, constantly talking and annoying everyone else who was trying to listen. But worse was the fact tour guide guy did nothing, even though he knew people were yammering and talking pictures while he was pretending to sound like he did not memorize his "script" which was obvious to me that he had (since he spoke of things we had already passed a number of times as things we were about to see).

I suspect a lot of these tour guides are wannabe actors themselves, and probably more focused on the paycheck than the experience for us. Our guy was definitely an actor - master thespian - star of community stage and student cinema. He probably told us at least 8 times during his spiel that he was an extra in Ghost Whisperer, with Jennifer Love Hewitt. It took every ounce of energy for me to not get his autograph, but I prevailed. He also talked of many of the productions "WE" made at this lot, not him of course, but the WB family. I appreciated the family sentiment, but I trust he was still driving his trolley that day due to a bad audition. I even tried to have a "normal" conversation with him while we were waiting for others to return from a Harry Potter museum. Out of nowhere, he pointed to the water tower on the lot and said "Look, I see the Animaniacs up there, don't you?" Thanks for sharing that one guy.

There is so much more to say about the trip, but I'll leave a Hollywood cliff-hanger for you all until next time.

Time to be quiet now.

Dear Diary for April 16, 2010

Dear Diary,

Today was a very interesting day for me. It started with me sleeping in, resulting in lightening speed showering and shaving to make up time. Thank God the crinkled clothes look and "Gel-met" are back in, or at least I hope they are.

I saw at least 5 people driving with cell phones attached to their ears, one person of which was swerving into my lane. As you know Diary, there is a ban on cell phone use while driving, yet no police were anywhere in sight to capture these rascals. Those same cops must have been setting up shop in the speed trap I will see them in later today when I am pulled over. I always like to look at these people as I drive past them, but unfortunately, I could not see some of their faces as some people were adjusting their radios and looking into their purses at the same time. Too bad really, as nothing gets me going in the morning better than a death glare at a passing driver.

On my way back to the office from lunch, I saw some naked boobies as a young lass was for whatever reason sitting on the seatback of the bus bench, with her feet where you might normally sit. She was leaning forward, perhaps in an attempt to prove to all who chose to look that she had somehow forgotten to wear a bra. I of course, frown on such behaviour, and was more interested in the advertising on the bus bench. Shame on her nonetheless. Clearly her mother would be disappointed.

I tried to send an email to a person today, copying the email address off their business card they provided me. But it turned out the email address on the business card was wrong. This begs the question, who would actually use business cards where parts of the information are incorrect? Maybe there is some logic to this concept, in that perhaps the person does not want emails, or perhaps it was foreshadowing of the demise of that person from the company. I prefer to view it as a shrewd way to determine how well the reader can apply some guesswork to solve puzzles, and how only those people who can decipher the puzzle are worthy of having their emails read. Hopefully, I get a prize.

Finally, one of my co-workers decided to tell me about a work incident. I decided to respond at every opportunity with "I see...", even touching the clef of my chin and nodding at times to make it seem like I was in deep thought. This statement, "I see..." which is fact in my case, was repeated 8 times in a row, and I trust the person I was speaking with did not realize it. I will try for double digits next time. I'm sure there is a prize for that too.

Have a good night Diary.

Candy Shlopping Day Returns

Many people have a candy sweet tooth, and I am no different. If I happen to be at the store, and hit the candy aisle, my candygasm meter kicks in - I gotta have some. Yes, its bad for me, and yes, I will have to run extra far tomorrow to burn it off, but somehow, the only thought in my mind at that very moment is exactly which of those lovely candies will I be enjoying that night. I know - I am simply writing what happens to many people, but hey, this blog is about getting stuff out there, so blame me for saying what most of you do as well. Don't deny it.

So today, I hit Wal-mart. Of course, I still wish they married Wal-mart and Denny's (see my earlier blog on that one), but I will get over that one. So I am there to buy a gift for my sister, when I see to the right of the front door, just as you walk in, a spectacle to behold. That's right - candy! Not just any candy mind you, but Easter candy, as in the same Easter candy you could have bought last week so the kiddies could hunt for, but now today, is available for the low low price of 50% off. Candygasm meter overload people.

At this point, its important to clarify something. The candy purchase guilt meter does usually have a ceiling. Although its truly relative, there comes a point in time when the price of some candy gets too high for me to want to buy. In economics, you call that your marginal propensity to candy consume. Candy is not always cheap, so a few small packs of candy, usually chocolate or licorice, should suffice for my budget. Could I always buy more, of course! But that handy guilt meter holds me back.

Yet not today. At half price, I'm going all in. And of course, I was not the only one. There were people calling clerks over to verify the candy was indeed priced properly. I saw people run off to those remote price scanners just to verify the prices were what they were. They even had a clerk assigned to the area to keep order among us candy crazed consumers. You hear people mumbling stuff about how they are buying it for the office (yeah, right, like I've ever seen Easter Candy sitting on someone's desk at work), or how Junior got a broken chocolate bunny on Sunday, so this would be a great replacement. Whatever words coming out of their mouths were truly the excuses they were giving to the rest of the people around the area since we all knew Junior moved out 10 years ago, and this candy was going into grandma's belly. There is no charade for me, and I am not too proud to fill my basket with as much as I could get (which I'd be willing to eat of course - some of that crap is truly crap whatever the price).

By the time I had checked the shelves, a hurricane had hit the store. Candy was everywhere, mixed in every way, nothing ever matching the signage. It looked like the cabbage patch craze all over again - people waiting for other people to put candy down, so they could snatch it up. Who cared if the candy was good - it was 50% off, what more did you need to know.

The same experience occurs the day after Halloween, Christmas and Valentines Day. I'd like to propose a new word to best define this process. I will call it candy shlopping = the art of buying seasonal candy on the days after the specific holiday, at which point the candy was significantly discounted to clear off the shelves. Lots of people candy shlop, and if any of you have seen the lack of Halloween candy just days after Halloween, you'll know its become a tradition in and of itself.

Time to be quiet now. Besides, I have lots of chocolate to eat now.

How to make new friends on the bus

I had to take the bus the other day. This is not my normal mode of transportation, but every once in a while, you have no choice. When I was a kid, I took the bus often, and tended to gravitate towards the same part of the bus every time - the back - since that’s where the cool kids sat. Over time, I would work my way back to near the front of the bus though being the considerate guy that I am, always avoided those handicap seats in the event someone more worthy should take them.

So anyways, there I was sitting in my cozy spot on the bus, once again at the back - Oh yeah you cool kids, I'm taking your spot. Try to stop me!

I like to watch the unique behaviour of my fellow riders. As people get on and the bus begins to fill, you start to see people protect their space, as if they own that portion of the bus. By that I mean, I see people move to sit on the aisle side of the seat, or even in the middle, as if god forbid, some crazy were to come sit beside them. Others sprawl their bags all across the bench, as if the bag paid a fare. Anything to ensure nobody else sits beside them. As such, those new riders, many of whom apparently went to the polite school of ridership, tend not to barge into those open seats. Apparently, interaction on the bus is taboo that way. I saw some crazy death glares when people even tried to touch the buzzer anywhere near where the other person sat. The only thing missing is the cool Westside Story music.

So as I am on the back bench acting all cool like Fonzie (for you youngin's, that’s the cool guy of the crowd), I see a crazed woman eyeballing the space right beside me, despite her being at least 30 yards away at the front. At that point, there are NO other seats to her, just the one beside me. There were still tons of open seats at the time, yet she gets this bug-eyed look on her face, goes steaming down the aisle, bumping at least 8 people along the way with her bags, and whammo, plunks herself down right beside me and another person, thereby cramping our space now.

So it made me wonder. Why did she sit here? What did she avoid every other open seat to come sit beside me? Was this an experiment, or was I on Candid Camera? Did she want to sit with the cool kids too? Oh so many thoughts, but so few answers. I could be naive and assume she totally thought I was the cats meow and she must sit beside me to feed off my Tom Cruise vibe, but even I am not that dumb. The fact that she smelled like garlic and cigarette butts did not help matters, though that can be a total turn on for me ;)

So the long trip continued, and she eventually got off the bus. No words were spoken. No eye contact. Nada. Thanks for coming.

Now I am a common sense guy. I tend to respect other peoples space, and spread out at every opportunity. Same thing with parking lots. If I can park a few spaces away from another car, thereby ensuring easy access without banging into the car beside me, I'll do it every time. Yet other people don't think that way.

I encourage my reader(s) to try an experiment next time they are on the bus. Especially if the bus is near empty. Make sure you sit BESIDE someone else, even if you are the only 2 people on the bus. I trust you will garner strange looks from your new neighbour, but you'll have to overlook that. Say nothing. Don't look at the other person. If you can make yourself stinky by avoiding deodorant or eating a Ceaser salad ahead of time, even better. Just see what happens and let me know. I am curious.

Time to mix things up on American Idol

I don't normally blog about American Idol, but after watching last nights episode, a series of thoughts crossed through my mind.

- For starters, what is the deal with Simon and that Kara. Enough it enough. These two should get a room or something, since they are all but pawing each other throughout the show. Simon has his arm on her chair the entire show, they touch shoulders, she lays her head into his chest etc. Playful TV crush? Perhaps. Me thinks more Jesse James/Tiger Woods action (and yes, I did start that sentence with the word Me).

- While I have never liked the judging, it was refreshing in the past to have a different judge start their commentary each time, so the order is always different. Currently its robotic, and always starts with Randy. Randy throws a few "Dude, Dawg, Dude, Pitchy, Dawg" comments, then Ellen and Kara follow suit, rarely differing their opinion from what Randy said, minus the Ebonics. Then of course the T-Shirt chimes in with his own spin. Had the Dawg not started, how might the commentary have differed? At the same time, if they start with Kara, they would likely have to extend the show longer while we wait for her to finish talking while fawning for the camera.

- What would happen to the voting if instead of voting for the person you like, you vote for the person you do NOT like. I trust the end results would potentially be the same, but some people who went far (see Adam Lambert or Sanjaya) would likely get the boot much sooner. Those hometown people, trying to protect their own shrill tone-deaf kid would now have to spread their voting over the remaining contestants. More revenue for the telephone companies, and a more realistic end result to each episode - where good singers don't drop for unknown reasons.

- Similarly, what would happen if they did not have the judges for an episode, or perhaps the judges provided their feedback off camera to see if the audience and viewing public can agree. My guess is it would not be even close. Some of those losers who the judges like would plummet, but the ones who sound good to you and me would likely stay. If FOX wanted to mix it up, it would be an interesting experiment. No doubt in my mind the judging influences how the audience votes, and that is really wrong, "if I'm really being honest with you of course".

- I recall a few seasons back, David Archuleta crashed and burned singing some song, then actually cried into the camera that it was not his song choice, but ultimately, a song chosen by the producers. Of course, the whole episode was quickly smoothed over, and the audience was left to believe the kid was complaining out of frustration. Yet I believe this to be true. Do you really think these kids want to sing some of the songs they sing? I don't. At the same time, I don't want to hear every kid sing Miley Cyrus or Black Eyed Peas which is all they know. If the production staff are helping these kids pick, can't they do better than Shaka Khan or Huey Lewis. At least let them pick songs that were truly good when sung by the original artist. What’s next, Right Said Fred or Milli Vanilli?

- Lots of criticism about the calibre of the guest mentors this season. What do Miley Cyrus and Usher really know about helping the Idol kids? While I don't disagree, is it any worse than some of the mentors from past seasons, like Barry Manilow? While Barry had a great career, he is not even remotely current, and its hard to imagine a kid appreciating his style today. I would love to see them be mentored by some of the best vocal coaches in the world, who can help them with their pitchy issues and work on their upper register (or whatever other weird Paula-isms they always seem to be told they fail in). At the current pace, I fully expect Justin Beiber to be a guest mentor in one of these episodes. He is a star after all, and Justin needs more reasons to wear his "Free Scooter" t-shirts.

- While I get that this show is all about advertising and revenue generation for FOX, there has to be some kind of cost-benefit analysis done on the show length. At a stout 2 hours, how many people actually watch each and every second of the 2 hour show, including commercials? Raise your hand, guy in Wisconsin, you're the only one. The rest of us fast forward 90% of the show, or if watching live, take those 20 minute intervals between singers to do practical things like file taxes, get root canals etc. So Mr Advertiser, and you know who you are, you are paying for America to fast forward or ignore your spot. Can you name an advertiser on last nights show besides Coke and the car company (is it Ford?) who they do those wacky commercials for? Me either.

Time to be quiet now.

No Cheese Please!

So I went to my favourite Wendy's last night and decided to use the Drive-thru. As an aside, do you ever notice when you use the Drive-thru, you may be the only one in line, yet by the time you get to the cashier, there are 5 or 6 cars behind you. Makes me feel like the Pied Piper sometimes, leading the people to the restaurant for a square burger and a Frosty. I should get a commission or something.

Also, given they have not used Wendy's on the TV Show Undercover Boss yet, I have not been grossed out watching how the burgers are made, so its still a safe place to me. I trust my reader(s) who may have worked at Wendy's in the past may disagree but whatever, I'm down with Wendy's for now.

So I'm in the Drive-thru buying my Baconator combo (heck, if you're going to kill your arteries, might as well enjoy it, right?). Anyone who has ever dined with me knows there are a few things I tend not to like on my food. One of the biggest is cheese. While I love cheese on some things like pizza, French Onion soup, or even nachos, cheese is not my thing for most foods. Maybe I was traumatized as a kid being chased by the Cheeseburglar at the McDonalds Playpen or ate too much Cheez-Wiz on my celery sticks or something (OK, yes, I am showing my age). I dunno. I just don't like it, especially on my burgers.

Now let me preface my cheese issue with the simple fact I know we're not talking about Harvard Graduates working in fast food, and it tends to happen at most every fast food place I go to. This time, I actually watched the "Chef" making my burger grab not one, but two slices of cheese (since I was clearly a special customer, worthy of double the cheese slice pleasure) to put on my burger. So here I am screaming through the Drive-thru window at some lady with a headset and a hairnet "No Cheese, No Cheese". Too late. Cheese on meat, meat on bun, bun in foil, foil in bag.

So I politely tell the order taker person, the same order taker person I told the first time, that I think they just put cheese on my burger, and I asked for no cheese. Now at this point, that same little thought went through my mind as yours, anytime you need to send food back. Some vengeful clerk having a meltdown in the back, chanting "I'll show you no cheese, beeeyaattcch", and perhaps adding a few 'special' ingredients to offset the lack of cheese. Not for a second am I suggesting Wendy's is like that, but as mentioned above, we're not talking about NASA employees here. So the order taker in her snarky voice to the Burger Chef says "No cheese", as if it was the chef's fault she could not take an order properly.

Sadly, this happens more often than not. Now I am not a rude person, and having worked in restaurants before, I know how difficult some customers can be. I don't want to be that guy speaking into the Drive-thru speaker like the person on the other end is deaf and has some kind of mental challenge, saying "Nooooooooooo Chhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzeeee ppppppuuuuuullllllleeeeeeeeeeezzzzzz" I'm just not that guy. But at the same time, I don't want to continuously suffer with eating a burger I no longer like. Forget fixing Health Care reform. Can someone focus on figuring out how to better educate fast food people on listening to what the person is ordering? Starving children in Africa would love that slice of cheese I just rejected you know. Or at least thats what my mother would say to me.

Did I mention, the concession stand guy at the arena always overfills my pop, and I wind up carrying a sticky cup of soda to my seat every time? I'll save that vent for a different time.

By the way, the Frosty was great!

I need to be quiet now.

"You're a wee bit pitchy Dawg!"

I'm going through a bit of Olympics withdrawal around here. While the events were great fun, I find myself surfing television looking for something to cheer for - anything. Go Slap Chop Guy, sell those crappy cutting machines. Go quirky "pitchy" kid on American Idol (I don't even need to say which one, since most fall into this category), please butcher songs I used to like. You get the gist. Sadly, not a great selection. I am cheering for Goldberg in the Apprentice though. Can you imagine a 300 pound wrestler/bodybuilder sized Harley Dude telling you what to do? I thought not.

By the way, can anyone tell me what the deal is with Ivanka? At times, she says some fairly intelligent stuff, but at times, she states the obvious. But most importantly, what is the deal with her boobs? Did she get augmentation? Nothing says respect me and listen to my great words of wisdom than a purchased pair of funbags. I'm trying to be sensitive here, but at the same time, really?!?!? I'd be mesmerized staring at those things in any meeting I might have with her. They just seem much bigger than I recall. I could be wrong, and Ivanka, call me if you want to set the record straight. I'll be here all week.

BEFORE AFTER

Speaking of which, I am a bit delayed in sharing my learnings from this past weeks episode of Undercover Boss. Of course, it follows the same stale formula as every other episode:

- CEO has opening and closing "bored" meeting with Management Team - Check!
- Employees never know what the President/CEO looks like - Check!
- CEO stays in seedy motels accessible to 5 states - Check!
- CEO incapable of performing elementary tasks like packing and stacking boxes - Check!
- Facial hair and a hat, and voila - CEO is in cognito - Check!
- CEO realizes elementary tasks in his business are actually quite hard - Check!
- Tug at Heartstrings storylines - Check!
- Big atrium follow-up presentation to staff who just want a reason to take a break and maybe get some free grub - Check!

But, I did learn a few new things. For starters, who knew Macaulay Culkin grew up to work for GSI Commerce in Customer Service. And who knew he could be so darn polite:

Customer: Your service is absolute crap and you are an idiot
Macaulay: I'm sorry about that. Can I send you some free packing tape?

That guy, whether its Macaulay or not, will likely be trying to sell me something door-to-door soon. I can feel it happening.

My biggest learning of this past episode was that the kind of customer service I am used to (rude, no care for the consumer, condescending etc etc) not only happens in many places, but is actually viewed as not good at GSI Commerce. Who knew? I could swear there is some kind of Bad Customer Service Training 101 courses out there that many companies send their people to. Or at least the cost benefit analyses of bad customer service to future customer retention is inversely proportional and mutually exclusive. Oh man! Did I just type that? I really gotta get out more.

Ivanka, call me! We can talk SWOT Analyses or Corporate Re-Engineering in the Property Management Sector. And I won't stare at your boobs either - OK, I would.

I need to be quiet now.

"It makes me wet"

Just to prove to you that I don't spend all my time watching television, this past weekend, I frequented the Emerald City Comicon in Seattle WA. Before you immediately assume I am a major geek (which I am not) and love to talk Trekkie or something (I've never even watched the show), rest assured, I am a very normal person who happens to like comics - as many of the people at the convention were as well. Some with funny costumes and big boobs mind you, but that’s for another blog. Besides, comics were a great read after years of studying business process management, quantum theory and algorithms, For those who have no idea what I just said, call it school 'stuff'.

Walking the floor of the cramped Seattle Convention Center is the equivalent to a human game of Frogger. People are moving a thousand miles an hour, in every direction, and you just want to move to the booth across the way without hitting an Ewok, Batman, or that Green thing with the cape. People stop on a dime and clog the aisles to take a picture of someone dressed up as a character from a movie or some super-hero. Reminds me of my favourite TV character, Johnny Drama from Entourage, who played the main Viking in some television show called Viking Quest, and wound up attending comics shows like the one I went to. Just normal guys trying to make a buck or grab some attention. "Victory!!!"

Commonplace at this show is the scent of BO, a few farts, extremely hyper sugared-up kids and a wide variety of butt cracks - not that I was looking for the latter, but its hard to miss Plumber Pete bending over to fish out his favourite Archie comic from a box on the ground. So needless to say, I tend to proceed with caution for both body damage and visual damage.

My highlight is visiting the tables where people are selling their comics. You've got the store-owned booths, who have chosen to bring a selection of their inventory from the store to the show. Everything is well organized and priced as a store might price, and the booth clerks are knowledgeable and helpful. Its a reflection of their store, so they tend to put up a good display. Some even take credit cards and offer money-back guarantees should the books be damaged. Pretty much a clean operation.

Then there are those other vendors - call them the flea market vendors. Stuff is everywhere, nothing is sorted, prices are listed for some stuff and not others, overall, kind of chaotic. Not only are they non-professional vendors, but they struggle with the volume of people who are perusing their stuff. Not all of the flea market vendors are like this, but many are and I love these guys. Why you say? Because this is the reality of comic buying for me. People who have accumulated a lot of stuff over time, hoping to unload it to other people still accumulating, all in a frantic forum. This kind of absolute chaos works for me. You could go to the same booth 30 minutes apart, and have the prices completely changed for unknown reasons, whereas the booth owners look more disheveled by the minute.

At one table, a father had clearly brought in his cherished collection of comics he had collected as a boy. He had brought his loving wife and son to help him in his booth. Now I happened to be nearby and heard the following conversation:

Dad: Honey, I'm going over there to check out that booth (walks away)
Customer to Wife: How much does this book cost?
Wife: I don't know.
Son: I think my Dad said that one was $10
Customer: Seems kind of high
Wife: I'll sell it to you for $2
Customer: Done
Wife to Son: I don't care what your father says, we have got to get rid of this crap now so I can have my basement back! If you tell you're father, no cell phone for you!

A different time, I heard one seller tell his partner "It makes me wet". Now I have no idea what they were talking about, and maybe best I never know. Needless to say, that guy is passionate about his comics as many of the people at these shows are. You hear a lot of interesting stuff and see a lot of interesting behaviour.

Bottom line is if you're looking for something completely different, I recommend you attend one of these shows. Maybe you'll see me walking around, or at least my butt crack.

When I grow up, I want to be a Val-ette

Sorry for the delay in posting. I trust my avid reader(s) have missed my deep words of wisdom as much as I have, but sadly, I got a bit busy saving the whales and climbing Everest. You know, important stuff.

My favourite guilty pleasure Undercover Boss aired again this past Sunday. Lets recap what we know so far, based on this past experience with Churchill Downs:

- Employees never know what the President/CEO looks like - Check!
- CEO likes to stay in seedy motels accessible to 5 states - Check!
- CEO incapable of performing elementary tasks like feeding oats to a horse and washing it - Check!
- Facial hair and a hat, and voila - CEO is in cognito - Check!

Now I really do like this show, and the moral of the series is we need to pay closer attention to the little guy who does all the work. Unfortunately, the show has gotten exceptionally predictable and formulaic. Here in a nutshell is every episode:

- Introduce CEO in his family environment at his/her (I will assume his going forward, since every episode thus far has been a man) multi-million dollar home. Make sure all family members pretend to be happy. Show arbitrary family sport such as shooting hoops or playing cards with family. Make Dad look good and make sure maid takes the day off.
- Show CEO entering boardroom and introducing the concept. Zoom in on shock of Senior Management Team. Do not show Senior Management making cell phone calls to their teams advising to baton down the hatches and watch out for big boss.
- Show CEO shaving/growing facial hair and putting on bad fitting jeans, then checking into arbitrary seedy hotel. Ensure Executive Assistants remain off screen in room next door with CEO’s Blackberry.
- Find 3-4 elementary tasks CEO cannot perform. Ensure you show him fumbling through. Zoom in on facial expression of line manager, pretending not to know who he is and rolling their eyes.
- Ensure at least 2 of the tasks include either underpaid or overworked employees which gut-wrenching life stories to tug at the heart of the audience. Visible minorities, females and seniors work best. Show tears whenever possible.
- Show CEO looking real tired after a hard days work. Zoom in on sweaty face while eating micro waved food (since clearly people in seedy hotels don't eat out).
- Minimize showing insubordinate or underperforming employees. Never show employees wondering why CEO is asking so many questions.
- Show CEO back in boardroom telling Management Team that they have worked amongst the little people. Ensure one employee asks blatantly pre-planned question to make it seem like boardroom audience cares.
- Roll all the people who interacted with the "Undercover Boss" in limos to head office, since that’s how all Head Office people get to work.
- Show re-introduction meeting with people. Ensure CEO offers something like new job or better work environment to show good faith. Make sure CEO starts every conversation with “Remember Me?”
- Show CEO holding town hall meeting with employees he has never me before. Show CEO hugging the little people.
- Show happy ending updates of how everyone is now a better person. Even Jimbo, the chauvinist Hooters Manager.
- Watch ratings soar.

CBS, call me up. I can produce this show for you no problem.

Rusty is NOT making pancakes

I got an email from someone via Facebook (FB), which forced me to go to FB to retrieve it. Being as I am at work, my company server has banned access to FB, forcing me and others to find other means of accessing the site. Rest assured, I finally retrieved the email, which was a grovel from my cousin about how he needed to fundraise for some long bike ride he was taking. Glad to see I used my amazing computer programming bypass skills to retrieve this one. Thanks Mel.

Now I do not profess to being a big fan of FB. Ultimately, I use it to reach out (or be reached out) to the ladies on the soccer team I coach (yes, I said ladies. I'll save this one for another day). Every once in a while, its fun to listen to one of my players claim she is grossly sick and unable to make training. Then I go to FB, and see that "Candace is partying HARD 2-nite" as her FB update. Nice try Candace. You'll be riding the PINE 2-morrow as your reward. Like most people, every once in a while I get the odd email from someone in my distant past who is stoked to have reconnected with me through FB. But ultimately, FB to me is just another website I go to after researching colonoscopies and penis shortening medicines - you know, what I usually surf for.

So Mel sends me his "Tour de France" fundraiser, and I am obliged to hit the FB circuit. When I go to the Newsfeed of my FB, I am amazed at what I find. Now maybe I am in the minority, but do people really care about some of the excitement they find people telling each other as updates? Of course this is coming from the same person who is blogging as a therapeutic solution to pent up thoughts, but I suspect...or at least hope... my insights are more interesting than reading that "Jim is making pancakes" or "Kelly wants to take a walk" among other less than stimulating information. I'm sure Twitter is the same way. Our society has moved to this culture where somehow you need to tell everyone what you are doing - reverse Big Brother if you like - since they would not normally watch. Odd but I suspect true.

At what point did the memo come out saying trivial and mundane activities are to be posted on FB. I clearly missed it. I also missed the memo about people "pimping" out their families every 5 minutes, as if they are using FB like the camera of their life. "Today, me and Kid A threw the ball around, while Kid B played in the sandbox and Wife did some gardening. It was a special moment for me, as I really felt we bonded as a family. Here are the pictures." Then 5 minutes later, the same person posted an update to the update, saying, "Wow, Kid B has decided to play catch too, while Kid A is now chasing a butterfly. Wife is loving the fresh air. Check out this picture of a slug I took" Ugh. Then 5 of this person's friends comment that they like it, with the thumbs up icon to boot. Double Ugh.

Now I am not trying to sound insensitive. I trust those were some of the best pancakes around, I'm sure the walk was nice and the slug was ugly. But lets get real here people!!! Do we really need to know this stuff. At what point, does someone (maybe even me depending on how violent I get thinking about FB) post "Rusty just went pee" or something similar. Common sense people, lets draw the line here, OK?

Now I must get back to those pancakes I just made...

I miss my cookie

Many moons ago, I used to work for a major unnamed Financial company, who is extremely well respected and well known to many. It was always fun working there, since the majority of my peers were around my age, everyone worked hard, but at the same time, everyone appreciated the fun side of working together as a team. Perhaps the fun was offsetting the fact they paid in bottle caps, and our work stations were the size of milk crates, but you tended to overlook that stuff over time. Besides, I got cool mechanical pencils and an endless supply of multi-coloured sticky notepads. I felt empowered beyond belief.

Today being Friday, I had a positive flashback to my time at that company for one major reason - my free cookie. Friday was forever known as "Cookie Day". Every Friday, our Cookie Sergeant would identify the Cookie Mules for the day. The role of Cookie Mule was simple - find the highest ranking person you could find on the floor (usually a partner, it was a contest to find the richest person) and milk that person for hard cash or credit cards. The unwritten code of conduct was if you were flagged by the Cookie Mules, you were forking out the cash or credit card, whether you liked it or not. The more difficult you made the "capture", the more cookies would be spent using the victims funds. If a victim made a huge fuss, they would be targeted for multiple weeks on pure principle, even if they paid the week before. Don't even try asking for change back. Pretty simple gang mentality, but it worked for us.

We felt like bank robbers, looking for the next victim. Partners, when they found out the Mules were on the loose, vanished like ghosts. Magically, Partners had meetings, bathroom breaks, ran for coffee, morning trysts, I dunno where they went, but they were gone, warm coffee still at their desks. Regardless, every week, someone was caught and forked out the dough. One week, a shady Partner who thought he was staying ahead of the curve and knew he was a target decided to bring in his own supply of cookies. Chips Ahoys!!!! You've gotta be kidding me. Don't bring that weak stuff into our office (relative to what we were used to of course. If any Chips Ahoy employees are reading this, they are by far the best packaged cookie ever of course). We decided to milk him for coffee instead. He never tried that stunt again - rookie.

The second, and most important aspect of the Mule task, was hitting the shopping mall to find cookies. Not packaged or grocery cookies. Ohhhh Nooooo. We're talking about those kick-ass Starbucks/Costco sized jobs - think large Mrs. Fields cookies times 5. The more expensive the better. The fresher and biggest, the best. Chocolate Chip, Peanut Butter, whatever, nobody cared as long as they were free. The mules would come prancing back into the building with huge grins, knowing they had outdone the previous weeks Mules in quality and quantity.

Yet given this was a professional environment, and clients were abound, discretion was paramount to the cookie distribution success. The Cookie Sergeant would send a common discrete phone message using our voicemail system. She was always cryptic, saying something like "the eagles have landed", or simply "here". Nothing else, no directions, no location, just the code. As I grew to learn, that meant get your ass over to her office, and claim your cookie.

One each (we were not vultures) of your choice, no double dipping, no presampling. If you touched one, it was yours - period. The best Mules, of which I included myself, would ensure everyone’s favourites were acquired, hence even the last person would still get a good cookie. The rookie Mules would get those odd, Martha Stewartish cookies like Cranberry and Flax with Coconut and Paprika, or some other crazy concoction. No thanks - I'd rather eat dirt. The bad selection Mules would get the extra assignment stapling, photocopying, sorting thumb-tacks, whatever nobody else wanted to do.

So of course, by noon, you had an entire office full of happy, sugared up employees and one disgruntled partner wishing he had gone to the washroom sooner. I would leave that firm, and not surprisingly, franchises like Cookies By George and Mrs Fields are now out of business or less common. Coincidence? But on days like today, I sure miss that cookie. Or perhaps I miss the process of getting the cookie....

Undercover Boss Lessons for All of Us

My favourite guilty pleasure on television these days is the Undercover Boss. This is a show about how Presidents and CEOs of major corporations go undercover James Bond style in their own organization in hopes of seeing and learning things about the organization from the lowest wrung of the ladder. Ignore the blatant integrity violation the show concept delivers, and its quite entertaining, though not always for the most obvious reasons.

For those who have not caught this show, or missed an episode, allow me to enlighten you on my Top 12 learnings you may have missed

1 - At Waste Management, drivers were not given breaks to pee. Assuming Waste Management does not control the market on drivers with the biggest bladders, those fluids come out somewhere. Some female drivers build their own pee cans, though that is considered taboo to company protocol. Next time you think your flowers have been watered by the garbage man, think twice.

2 - Also at Waste Management, for every awful port-o-potty you have had the misfortune of visiting, there is someone out there who can cleaned that germ metropolis in record speed to the point where they were time measured and evaluated. And without safety gear to boot!

3 – At Hooters, forcing an employee to eat baked beans off a plate without utensils or the use of your hands is not grounds for dismissal. Also, employees would opt to eat baked beans without utensils or the use of hands rather than stay on shift.

4 - Hooters actually think people go to their establishments for the wings.

5 - Only the 7-11s in my neighborhood have the loitering kids and pan-handlers. Nowhere else.

6 - When you cannot find a 7-11 clerk to buy your Slurpee, chances are he/she is in the back eating lunch with their parents

7 - Never watch White Castle make a burger if you want to eat it. Same for the frozen burgers.

8 - One of the best ways to make President or CEO of an organization is to be born into the business. Family lineage is key.

9 - Being CEO does not mean you know how to make a hamburger, pick garbage, fry chicken wings or make coffee. That’s not in the job description.

10 - Many employees have no idea who the President of the Company is, let alone what he/she looks like.

11 – If the boss calls you to Head Office without warning or reason, chances are you were the last contestant on Undercover Boss.

12 – CEOs move at supersonic speed. They can shuttle from the same seedy highway motel to multiple locations in multiple states in no time. Also, most male CEOs must have facial hair to be successful.

Feel free to share any learning you may have had from watching this show.