Procrastination is a virus. Once it starts, it continues to grow and spread infecting every portion of your daily life. Breaking down your regularly scheduled life and replacing it will a tattered, torn shell of what you once had. No longer are you satisfied by the productivity of the day, but replaced are the sleepless nights, tossing and turning as the turmoil of the next day's impending load.
So far, I have been awake, showered, and ready for the day for going on four hours. My accomplishments to this point are: Two cups of coffee, one bowl of cereal, two DVRed shows watched, one phone call, one fax, and two hours (at least) of mindless surfing the net. Is this because of a lack of items on my To-Do list? Of course not, I have just caught the procrastination bug.
Now, first off, as far as work stuff goes, I am on top of all my responsibilities save one. I will not and do not let my affinity for procrastination affect my work...never. But, when it comes to other portions of my life, I find it better to wait until I have to cram it all together in fail swoop of productivity.
My list includes: washing clothes, cleaning the kitchen, doing house work, packing for the weekend, going to the bank, planning dinners, and other menial tasks.
As I stare a rather empty day in the eyes, I find myself shying away from getting involved in lieu of distractions. The top two, TV and Internet. I even stopped in the middle of this post to watch TV, I procrastinated my rant on procrastination...how bad is that. But, I wonder if I am using the correct terminology.
Take for example what I call the TV spin. This "spin" is why some people watch Fox News and other watch CNN. "Spin" is what keeps MTV competing with VH1 and Google.com competing with Ask.com. All these examples share the same information, daunt on the same topics, but the subtleties are what make them different. They call themselves Partisanly Biased or Freshest in Music, or Best Search Engine. But, the difference is minimal. It is all in the interpretation. This is where my biasness of procrastination comes in.
You must take in consideration this definition does not work for everyone. But, I don't look at my afore-mentioned actions as procrastination as much as view it as efficiency. Instead of a gradual process of doing one of the task and then resting, I choose to exert all energies at once, thus expending the least amount of energy for the day. Besides, I feel I am much better at working when the pressure is on. I thrive on it. I have heard it said, "Don't work harder...work smarter." I believe that by surfing the web, watching the tube, and then efficiently knocking out all of the To-Dos at once, I am the example of working smarter. Harnessing energy so as to expend it all at once...that makes me a super hero. Unleashing my energy ray all at once to conquer the antagonist that is dirt, grime, and chores. I think I will call myself DE (Dave Efficiency). Able to do the meaningless task in a single bound, hands of fury slicing and dicing dinner, mindnumbing powers of control to keep the distractions out. Of course there is also my alter ego...Dave the Distracted. Every day people see merely Dave the Distracted, but if you are lucky, if the moon shines bright enough, if you hide in the closet till the room gets too dirty, you might be able to catch a glimse of DE..possible as it is, but difficult as he moves at the speed of washing machine's spin cycle. Now, I just have to think of a costume design. I am thinking something with yellow rubber gloves, and maybe a cape you wear on the front...one that wraps around your neck and waist and will keep the stuff of your clothes (I forget the exact name of it). And I need a mask.
Wow, you would think after a rant like that I would have motivated myself to get some work done, but unfortunately Dave the Distracted is still about and I have made some more coffee in anticipation of the Cosby Show which comes on in a minute. Now, aren't you glad I have wasted your time as well? You have given way to procrastination, as I am sure you have something else you need to get done. Shame on you...but I guess this is just you own special way of becoming a more efficient human being. Good Luck with that.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
Freeze Sucka
Boredom got the best of me this past Friday. I worked for a couple of hours, then switched between reading and the television as the internal struggle of mindless enjoyment fought with imagination like two kids fighting over the swing set on a school playground. I resigned myself to getting out for a while and driving around. This lasted all of about three miles as I pulled in to an empty spot at the local mall. I had no agenda, no plan of action save for the wondering around and killing time. This is where my powers of perception hit.
Have you ever notice the swagger that accompanies all law enforcement personal? You find it in every echelon of power, from the "high and mighty" federal agents, to the lowly mall security guards. It appears to be a combination of a model's booty shaking with an Olympic speed walkers form. Arms swing from side to side, increasing speed as the footsteps build. Hips swishing as they perfect the intimidation stare on passing store front windows. How do you not laugh at this?
I wonder the origins of the candid cop walk, as I have so deemed it. I believe it is a required course in police training. They fit it in somewhere between Miranda and marksmanship. I can imagine two days dedicated to Talking the Talk and Walking the Walk. You learn witty retorts to crack heads' answers and hooker come ones in the off chance you are "lucky" enough to be on an episode of Cops. The next day the captain, his wife, and some detective come in to critic and judge your walking abilities. Six hours, four bottles of water, and two sweat towels later you have your paper certificate stating you have graduated from your day course Walking the Cop Walk 101. Well, all of you except Steve who could never reach his center and would either fall over or slap himself in the face with the confusion of left leg, right arm. Poor Steve. Now that you have the basics you can continue on to the important things, like how to be a dick 24/7.
And like in Middle School gym class they separate the girl cops trainees from the boys. Girls in one room and boys in the other. Boys learn the walk emphasizing there masculinity, while girls learn the walk to fake masculinity. They have to be separated to keep the teasing down to a minimum. Girl cops can be so mean.
This explains why mall security guards are so bad at it. They don't have the luxury of a six weeks of training. No their Walking the Walk get squeezed in between "How to button your buttons" and Lunch. Their one day course doesn't allow them to fine tune their actions or even be judge by a group of their peers. They get no ticker tate parades, certificate, or celebratory ice cream for these guys, they have to get everything in before the sun goes down and Bob the janitor locks the doors. The insecurity and over compensating for lack of proper training has lead them to more of a hindrance to mall rats then help. Also when they are recruiting 17 year olds, it makes it hard not to laugh.
I know what you are thinking..."David it's the belt and all the crap they wear that makes them walk like that." Well, granted they have a regular belt, and a Batman utility belt that clips to the real belt and to the pants, and I know the belt probably weigh about 15 to 20 pounds, but I still think they would walk that way if they were as naked as the day they were born. It's that cocksure attitude that morphes their one time normal walk to a six foot male member walk. You know what I am talking about and you know I am right. Watch and see how the cops walk and then talk to them. See if the extent of the Candid Cop Walk directly correlates with how big of punk they are. And when I am right, you have to pay my bail for when I point this out the next cop who decide to give me the ole stink eye.
Have you ever notice the swagger that accompanies all law enforcement personal? You find it in every echelon of power, from the "high and mighty" federal agents, to the lowly mall security guards. It appears to be a combination of a model's booty shaking with an Olympic speed walkers form. Arms swing from side to side, increasing speed as the footsteps build. Hips swishing as they perfect the intimidation stare on passing store front windows. How do you not laugh at this?
I wonder the origins of the candid cop walk, as I have so deemed it. I believe it is a required course in police training. They fit it in somewhere between Miranda and marksmanship. I can imagine two days dedicated to Talking the Talk and Walking the Walk. You learn witty retorts to crack heads' answers and hooker come ones in the off chance you are "lucky" enough to be on an episode of Cops. The next day the captain, his wife, and some detective come in to critic and judge your walking abilities. Six hours, four bottles of water, and two sweat towels later you have your paper certificate stating you have graduated from your day course Walking the Cop Walk 101. Well, all of you except Steve who could never reach his center and would either fall over or slap himself in the face with the confusion of left leg, right arm. Poor Steve. Now that you have the basics you can continue on to the important things, like how to be a dick 24/7.
And like in Middle School gym class they separate the girl cops trainees from the boys. Girls in one room and boys in the other. Boys learn the walk emphasizing there masculinity, while girls learn the walk to fake masculinity. They have to be separated to keep the teasing down to a minimum. Girl cops can be so mean.
This explains why mall security guards are so bad at it. They don't have the luxury of a six weeks of training. No their Walking the Walk get squeezed in between "How to button your buttons" and Lunch. Their one day course doesn't allow them to fine tune their actions or even be judge by a group of their peers. They get no ticker tate parades, certificate, or celebratory ice cream for these guys, they have to get everything in before the sun goes down and Bob the janitor locks the doors. The insecurity and over compensating for lack of proper training has lead them to more of a hindrance to mall rats then help. Also when they are recruiting 17 year olds, it makes it hard not to laugh.
I know what you are thinking..."David it's the belt and all the crap they wear that makes them walk like that." Well, granted they have a regular belt, and a Batman utility belt that clips to the real belt and to the pants, and I know the belt probably weigh about 15 to 20 pounds, but I still think they would walk that way if they were as naked as the day they were born. It's that cocksure attitude that morphes their one time normal walk to a six foot male member walk. You know what I am talking about and you know I am right. Watch and see how the cops walk and then talk to them. See if the extent of the Candid Cop Walk directly correlates with how big of punk they are. And when I am right, you have to pay my bail for when I point this out the next cop who decide to give me the ole stink eye.
Monday, April 10, 2006
A Fool and His Money…
After being here less than 24 hours it is apparent, like my father said, “Vegas’ sole purpose it to separate you from your money.” This philosophy has infected every tier of operation around this desert oasis. Flashy lights, attractive women, and expense booze masterfully play to open you wallet and dance your money away as if it were a Russian ballet. I had heard this was true, but my experience in most of the larger cities, New Orleans, Chicago, and Dallas, had not set me up for this.
It starts with a 30 minute line out of the air port to catch a cab, followed by a 35 minute line to check into your hotel. But the oddity is the amenities you would normally get at any hotel free of charge are anything but here in the Vegas.
Being a product of the 20th century, the first thing I do when I get to the room is open my computer and attempt to log on there. At first glances my wireless picked up what they call a “Hospitality” bandwidth. I silently get excited, for I know the one true link to the outside world is the internet. I open my browser and wait as the page loads. Sure enough, where is every other hotel has free access, the Hard Rock doesn’t. Granted it was a nominal fee, I was taken back to see a fee at all. I mouth a few obscenities, but thought, “No worries, I can live without the internet for a couple of days.” However, I can feel the withdrawal ticks of the addicted.
Drinks are free, while you are playing the games, which essentially means the drinks cost you more than any other bar in town. However, I got the gambling out of my system early…funny how loosing money, hard-earned of course, really gets the taste of speculative risk out of my mouth. But, I was able to have the experience and get a couple of drinks. However, when I woke up at 7 this morning, I wanted a cup of coffee. I went down to the front desk and experienced the perfectedness of Vegas sucking you in. I only wanted a cup of coffee, but was side tracked by a hottie at the tables. I sat down, willingly opened my wallet…First position,…pulled some cash…Second Position…., and laid it on the table…Third Position. The next hour I sat and watched the spins, lifts, and pirouettes of my fleeting money. This young lady was very attractive and spoke with a entrancing accent. But, I can honestly say, as hind sight is 20/20, I don’t like her at all. That was the most expensive cup of coffee I have ever had. Fortunately it was good coffee.
I bid my devil in a fine form good bye and walk to the bar to get more coffee. Now, my experience at the Casinos at home have taught me, you can get free drinks at the casino bar, you guessed it, not here. I wait as they brew the coffee, expecting to get it free, but was less shocked at this point, as my 5 ounce cup of wake up juice cost more than the Starbucks stores you see invading every corner. Not too mad, I walk back towards the room and think to myself of how I would like a morning paper to accompany me to the end result of the coffee, but as I walk to the front desk, I reflect on the past hours in the Sin City and realize paying 3 dollars for a foreign paper is not worth it.
Monday will bring renewed zest of working hard and resolutions to break. But for now, I am having a great time, and I have learned a lot about the commerce of LV. As my buddy with me says… ”When it comes to money, you never have enough and you can always make more.” But, foolishly parting with you money for things you can and do live with out, well that is only know as one thing…Vacation, and I love the vacation, and I love The Vegas…
It starts with a 30 minute line out of the air port to catch a cab, followed by a 35 minute line to check into your hotel. But the oddity is the amenities you would normally get at any hotel free of charge are anything but here in the Vegas.
Being a product of the 20th century, the first thing I do when I get to the room is open my computer and attempt to log on there. At first glances my wireless picked up what they call a “Hospitality” bandwidth. I silently get excited, for I know the one true link to the outside world is the internet. I open my browser and wait as the page loads. Sure enough, where is every other hotel has free access, the Hard Rock doesn’t. Granted it was a nominal fee, I was taken back to see a fee at all. I mouth a few obscenities, but thought, “No worries, I can live without the internet for a couple of days.” However, I can feel the withdrawal ticks of the addicted.
Drinks are free, while you are playing the games, which essentially means the drinks cost you more than any other bar in town. However, I got the gambling out of my system early…funny how loosing money, hard-earned of course, really gets the taste of speculative risk out of my mouth. But, I was able to have the experience and get a couple of drinks. However, when I woke up at 7 this morning, I wanted a cup of coffee. I went down to the front desk and experienced the perfectedness of Vegas sucking you in. I only wanted a cup of coffee, but was side tracked by a hottie at the tables. I sat down, willingly opened my wallet…First position,…pulled some cash…Second Position…., and laid it on the table…Third Position. The next hour I sat and watched the spins, lifts, and pirouettes of my fleeting money. This young lady was very attractive and spoke with a entrancing accent. But, I can honestly say, as hind sight is 20/20, I don’t like her at all. That was the most expensive cup of coffee I have ever had. Fortunately it was good coffee.
I bid my devil in a fine form good bye and walk to the bar to get more coffee. Now, my experience at the Casinos at home have taught me, you can get free drinks at the casino bar, you guessed it, not here. I wait as they brew the coffee, expecting to get it free, but was less shocked at this point, as my 5 ounce cup of wake up juice cost more than the Starbucks stores you see invading every corner. Not too mad, I walk back towards the room and think to myself of how I would like a morning paper to accompany me to the end result of the coffee, but as I walk to the front desk, I reflect on the past hours in the Sin City and realize paying 3 dollars for a foreign paper is not worth it.
Monday will bring renewed zest of working hard and resolutions to break. But for now, I am having a great time, and I have learned a lot about the commerce of LV. As my buddy with me says… ”When it comes to money, you never have enough and you can always make more.” But, foolishly parting with you money for things you can and do live with out, well that is only know as one thing…Vacation, and I love the vacation, and I love The Vegas…
Saturday, April 1, 2006
For Bored People and Company Executives
I just saw a commercial for the new Gatorade flavor. It started with a basketball in the middle of an open concrete basketball court. Rain was coming down. Suddenly birthed from the basketball was a very large black man. He stretched and guzzled down the new Gatorade flavor. Granted the new birth symbolism equating to the new flavor was overtly obvious, the name of the flavor was what caught me by surprise. The new flavor was "Rain." What the hell it that.
Rain is not a flavor. Rain is something you hide from, something that prevents yard work. Rain is children playing, sleeping late, and renewed cleanliness. It's not something that invokes feelings of thirst quenching joy. I don't look forward to tall glass of rain water after I work out. It provoked a feeling, as I am sure the commercial wanted, but I don't know if they hit the mark with that one.
More and more you are starting to see what I call hippie names for products. Old Spice has body wash and deodorant entitled Pacific Surge, Mountain Rain, Cool Blast. You get candles in the scent of fresh linen, cotton, clean air. Laundry detergent boasting fresh spring, late fall, cold of winter. I just don't understand what's going on. Isn't enough we have to have everything smell like we rolled around in Mother Earth, but now we have to drink her to?
What happened to the favorites? Orange, Grape, or the ever special Lemonlime, now that's a flavor for sports drinks.You know exactly what you are getting when you twist the top and pound down half the bottle as the sweat drains from you face. It replenishes you like the morning shower after a night of drinking. What about kool aid. When the answer to the question of "what flavor do you want," was easily answered and understood when you replied "Red." Now red can mean...Fruit Punch, Passion Fruit, Strawberry, raspberry, Strawberry-Banana, Sun, Fire, Hell's Broth, and whatever the ivy league marketing intern can think of to equate the "newness" of what you drink. I miss the simplicity.
I was in Walmart the other day getting some shampoo. Standing in the middle of the isle overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of choices, I start to get frustrated. Damaged Hair, Curly hair, No Hair, Fragile Hair, Damaged and Fragile Hair, Curly but yet damaged and fragile hair...there were just too many choices. I lash out at the inanimate object by saying through gritted teeth, "What happened to just focusing on cleaning hair, where is the Clean hair Shampoo." About to give up and just pick the most manly looking bottle, the lady next to me hands me a bottle. I glance at the description and smile as it states...For Clean Hair." I knew that was the stuff for me. Now I just have to find the For Non Sweaty/Stinking underarms, and the For Clean Teeth and No Cavities, and For Clean Skin soap. These containers are not usually decorated with bright colors leading to a colorfully stocked medicine cabinets. But, the drabness of the bottles saves money and keeps the Metrosexual accusations at a minimum.
I don't need advertisements to allure me with catchy names and flashing wrappings. I need honesty, directness, and truth. This will lead to product loyalty, and once your hooked, like crack, there's now turning back. So Johnson and Johnson and Proctor and Gamble, when your executives have nothing better to do than reading the nobody public's blogs, take this to your next power meeting.
Rain is not a flavor. Rain is something you hide from, something that prevents yard work. Rain is children playing, sleeping late, and renewed cleanliness. It's not something that invokes feelings of thirst quenching joy. I don't look forward to tall glass of rain water after I work out. It provoked a feeling, as I am sure the commercial wanted, but I don't know if they hit the mark with that one.
More and more you are starting to see what I call hippie names for products. Old Spice has body wash and deodorant entitled Pacific Surge, Mountain Rain, Cool Blast. You get candles in the scent of fresh linen, cotton, clean air. Laundry detergent boasting fresh spring, late fall, cold of winter. I just don't understand what's going on. Isn't enough we have to have everything smell like we rolled around in Mother Earth, but now we have to drink her to?
What happened to the favorites? Orange, Grape, or the ever special Lemonlime, now that's a flavor for sports drinks.You know exactly what you are getting when you twist the top and pound down half the bottle as the sweat drains from you face. It replenishes you like the morning shower after a night of drinking. What about kool aid. When the answer to the question of "what flavor do you want," was easily answered and understood when you replied "Red." Now red can mean...Fruit Punch, Passion Fruit, Strawberry, raspberry, Strawberry-Banana, Sun, Fire, Hell's Broth, and whatever the ivy league marketing intern can think of to equate the "newness" of what you drink. I miss the simplicity.
I was in Walmart the other day getting some shampoo. Standing in the middle of the isle overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of choices, I start to get frustrated. Damaged Hair, Curly hair, No Hair, Fragile Hair, Damaged and Fragile Hair, Curly but yet damaged and fragile hair...there were just too many choices. I lash out at the inanimate object by saying through gritted teeth, "What happened to just focusing on cleaning hair, where is the Clean hair Shampoo." About to give up and just pick the most manly looking bottle, the lady next to me hands me a bottle. I glance at the description and smile as it states...For Clean Hair." I knew that was the stuff for me. Now I just have to find the For Non Sweaty/Stinking underarms, and the For Clean Teeth and No Cavities, and For Clean Skin soap. These containers are not usually decorated with bright colors leading to a colorfully stocked medicine cabinets. But, the drabness of the bottles saves money and keeps the Metrosexual accusations at a minimum.
I don't need advertisements to allure me with catchy names and flashing wrappings. I need honesty, directness, and truth. This will lead to product loyalty, and once your hooked, like crack, there's now turning back. So Johnson and Johnson and Proctor and Gamble, when your executives have nothing better to do than reading the nobody public's blogs, take this to your next power meeting.
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