my answer to Pascal's Wager

"If it turns out that I’ve been wrong all along, and there is in fact a god, and if it further turned out that this kind of legalistic, cross-your-fingers-behind-your-back hair-splitting impressed him, then I think I would choose not to worship him anyway."

-Douglas Adams

fresh meat

Every word of this story is true. I did my best to transcribe the conversations verbatim, but the nature of them made me stop listening about halfway through. The words contained herein are accurate, but not all-inclusive.

Friday night, 6 pm-ish.

Mild-mannered manager Jon is taking an order, but abruptly hangs up the phone, comes into the kitchen, and starts rolling dough with great, furious intensity, swearing to himself. Phone rings two minutes later, and I answer:

me: "Popolino's, can I help you?"
shrill voice: "I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO THE OWNER!! NOT THE MANAGER, BUT THE OWNER!!"
me: "Uh, he's not here-"
sv: "I KNOW THE OWNER, AND I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO HIM!! WHAT'S HIS PHONE NUMBER?"
me: "Well, if you know him--"
sv: "I WILL NOT BE TREATED THIS WAY!! I AM EXTREMELY MAD!!!"
me: (thinks to self) "No shit you are. You're also a raging bitch, and probably fat."

Jon comes up behind me and checks the caller id. "Hang up on her."

me: "We have already tried to take care of you. Have a good night." *click*

Five minutes later, a woman in her late 30s-early 40s walks into the restaurant with two small children and an older, shriveled-looking lady in tow. She stands at the counter with her arms folded, and Jon ignores her, instead retreating to the office. I immediately know what is up, and decide to bite the bullet.

me: "Can I help you?" *thinks to self* "Boy, you're a big one, aren't you?"
voice I recognize as shrill, but less so: "I want the name and phone number of your owner right now, please."
me: "He's probably in the phone book." I spell his name for her.
her: "Phone book."
me: "Excuse me?"
her: "PHONE BOOK." I give her the book, and she looks up the owner's number and calls him. Aside, to her child: "Oh, look, he lives close to Grandma." No answer. She turns to me again. "I want you to dial your owner's cellphone number. I want him to know how I've been treated."
me: *thinks to self* "Sorry, you spent all your cooperation allowance." To her, simply: "No."
her: "I KNOW THE OWNER. HE CAME OVER TO OUR HOUSE LAST WEEKEND, AND I THINK HE NEEDS TO KNOW HOW HIS EMPLOYEES TREAT LOYAL CUSTOMERS. I HAVE A STORE CREDIT, AND I WANT TO USE IT RIGHT NOW."
me: "You can't come in here shouting at us, demanding things, and expect us to just give them to you. If this is the way you're going to behave, we don't want your business at all. I think you should leave."
her: "OH, I THINK THE OWNER KNOWS THAT YOU DO WANT MY BUSINESS. I HAVE BEEN A LOYAL CUSTOMER FOR SEVEN YEARS..." blah blah blah, more shouting.

I refer her to Jon, who tells her that she does not, in fact, have a store credit, and that she needs to get her stories straight if she's going to lie in order to get free pizza. She starts shouting again, and Jon tells me to call the police. I eagerly comply.

her: "GO AHEAD AND CALL THE COPS!! I HOPE IT'S OFFICER (name)!!! OR MAYBE IT'LL BE OFFICER (name)!!! HE'LL BE VERY INTERESTED TO HEAR ABOUT THIS!!!"
me: *thinks to self* "Oh, you're already familiar with the police. Imagine that."

She goes outside and sits in her car, appearing a few minutes later to tell us that when the police come, she'll be in her car. This turns out to be a moot point, for when the police do show up, she runs up to them and tells her story, frantically gesticulating and pointing at me through the window. The police officer (a lady, maybe one or two years older than me, and kinda cute) comes in and asks us what's up, and we tell her that we don't want this crazy lady ever coming here or calling us again. They relay the message, and after the woman shouts at the police for a couple minutes, she eventually gets into her car and drives away.

The unmitigated gall of this woman, to come in and pretend we owe her something, and to pretend that she knows the owner (whose name, phone number, and address are a mystery to her), and then throw a fit when we call BS... you'd think she worked at the white house.

I can't believe how worked-up people get about paying for food. This woman is probably plotting how to browbeat an unsuspecting Deek's or Slap Shot employee into giving her some free pizza, and meanwhile, her poor little kids have to listen to her go totally ballistic whenever she doesn't get exactly what she wants. We called the cops on their mom, for chrissake. I feel kinda sorry for them; they will either make a psychologist very, very wealthy someday... or get all the free therapy they can handle in prison. I hope she comes back tomorrow so we can have her arrested for criminal trespass... no, actually, I hope the fat bitch (easily 350) dies of a heart attack tomorrow; it'll be better for everyone she knows. Oh, by the way, her name is Abby Coney. Fear and revile her, all who work in foodservice.

So that's my funny story from last night.

Sports are full of hilarious names.
This blog rules. A venture capitalist on the West Coast shares what he knows about IT, security, grapefruit juice, and game theory thought experiments. And that's just in the top 4 posts. Massively stimulating for the brain; if I were more alert, I would have devoured it like so much Chicken Fajita pizza. However, it's very early in the morning, and I haven't had coffee.

changing history, part 2

This makes me sad. Isn't satire supposed to be protected speech? Or does Comedy Central only care about what Catholics think is funny?

I thought this episode was hilarious, but mostly because of its great sendup of Alcoholics Anonymous. I've long held that AA is not appropriate as a court sentence, because it REQUIRES that you walk in of your own free will and admit that you have a problem with alcohol. If you want to quit drinking, AA will work if you're willing to do what they ask you to. However, if you get a minor or a DUI or break some windows, have never done it before, and will never do it again because what you did was stupid and uncharacteristic of you, the answer is not to be forced to listen to people tell you that you have an incurable disease and that you have to give yourself up to a higher power so that you never drink again.

I bet the Catholic League laughs their sanctimonious asses off when South Park makes fun of Rosie O'Donnell, Micheal Jackson, R. Kelly, gay people, and Scientologists. Too bad they can't laugh at themselves; they're missing out on an opportunity for some real personal growth. (the pope's knowing wink at the screen before the virgin mary farts blood all over him is classic slapstick comedy.)

hmm. that does seem rather inflammatory. you'd have to see it to appreciate it; try and steal it from the internet. apparently, that's the only place this episode exists any more.

changing history

I deleted the post from Dec. 28th.

I agonized for a little while over it; I'm not a big fan of altering history, but I think it's for the best. To condense a story down to its moral, one should not navel-gaze when they're in a bad mood, which is what I did, and the results were, uh... not pretty. (naver-gaze?! OH NO!!!!) I came off sounding like an ungrateful little bitch, and I'm really not. I apologize to anyone that had to read that nasty tripe.

I talked to Arshad for the first time in almost two years earlier this week. It didn't seem like it had been that long, but I am not one to have long phone conversations, and we ended up talking for more than three hours... I guess we had a lot to say. (We tried to disengage from one another, but really just ended up talking for another hour.) I'm glad to know that so many of my friends are happy and successful, doing things with their lives that have meaning for them.

In the grand tradition of a college student seeking to memorize information, I have made flashcards of the odds of making a particular hold'em hand when there are X outs to said hand. (Most interesting factoid: if you have 12 outs on the flop, say a winning flush draw, and an A that would win if you paired it, you are more than a 50% favorite to win - about 54%) I used to think that I hated math more than anything in the world, even fundamentalists; in reality, I just hate math classes. If only Mr. Janes could see me now.

During auditions for the cast of voice actors for Family Guy, most of the people who auditioned for teenage son Chris's part used a surfer-type voice to bring the character to life. Not surprising; what would a bunch of uncreative people in California try to do, if not be a surfer? (go to Hawaii...?) Seth Green got the part primarily for his bizarro interpretation of the boy, which was based on someone he had known in his previous, pre-acting life. As some that have known me for a very, very, very long time may remember, one of my earliest dreams was to be a voice actor, ever since I discovered that I had a knack for imitating Michaelangelo from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (you know, the surfer). From there, I progressed to the not-particularly-funny Dave Coulier's Jackalope, and then went on to annoy friends, family, and neighbors for years until I blossomed into a Mr. Garrison/Kim Jong Il/Tyrone the Crackhead doppelganger. The moral of this story is that if you are reading this, and you have a funny, imitatable voice, please call me and say something so that I can rehearse your ridiculous ululation and use it to become a member of the next ensemble cast of an animated show made for adults.

I got the Aqua Teen Hunger Force season 4 DVD for Christmas - although I do love the Mooninites, I wish they had found a way to strike a balance between Dr. Weird and Spacecataz. Dr. Weird made me pee a little from laughing more than twice, and although Spacecataz is funny, it's just not... random enough. But I digress. The special features include video of the voice actors recording an episode that is on the DVD; an interesting look behind the curtain. Meatwad and Carl are both voiced by the same skinny white guy, Dave Willis (hi-larious), and Master Shake is voiced by (I think, and I'm too lazy to look it up) Matt Maiellaro. Frylock is voiced by a guy whose name I don't know and cannot find that looks weirdly like Frylock. Oh, and the new winner of Worst DVD Feature Ever: these guys thought it would be funny if the "Play All" button on the menu played all the episodes - simultaneously, in Triscuit-sized windows. LAAAAAAAAAAAAAME!!!!

oh, and Kevin? You forgot about the time that you "showed 'em all," ... mostly just Paul, but you showed 'em something. I'm still not sure what. ^_^

ps - i got an ipod for christmas and you didn't. that makes my toys cooler than yours....again. my only complaint is that even casting an askance glance at the thing scratches the face. other than that, it is the coolest christmas present I've ever gotten. Thanks, Mom. *hugs* (i know, it's not the present, but the thought that counts... and what an awesome thought.)

so i'm not a moron after all!!!

warning: this post will be intensely boring to those of you not interested in poker theory.

This post on 2+2 interested and frustrated me. The poster presents a problem: KQ suited has a little more equity (win/tie likelihood) than A10 off-suit when you put it up against any two random hold 'em hands. (KQ: 47.1% / A10: 44.3%) However, the equity values reverse when the same two hands are calling a raise from someone holding any of the top 30 percent of possible hold 'em hands. (A10: 56.5% / KQ: 54%) His question was: Which would you rather be the raiser with, and which hand is more valuable?

I had two ideas about this situation.

1. I would rather have A10, because if the other guy called my raise with an A with a lower kicker, I would be killing him, whereas if he called my raise with the same cards and I had KQ, I would be in a pretty bad spot. Lots of tournament players at the $10 level would gleefully call all sorts of bets with A-anything, particularly at late stages of the game.

2. The difference in this case is SO MARGINAL that I would probably just raise with KQ anyways and not even think about it.

I wanted to post these thoughts, but they would not come out of my fingers in an intelligent way. Every time I rewrote my reply, I was afraid that I was missing some sort of deep expression of poker theory, and that the 1.5 to 3 percent gap in equity differences was the sort of thing that makes a big difference over the long term. Not wanting to sound as stupid as I was certain that I was, I went with the "say nothing" option.

Opting not to reply, the thread refreshed itself, this time with two replies from two of the most prolific posters on 2+2. The first post made my second point, and the second post made my first, both in ways that were much clearer than what I had come up with. My confidence restored, I threw in my $0.02, but mostly so I could make a little joke about slicing a tomato.

Moral of the story: My instincts aren't so bad after all, and 2+2 is freakin' sweet.

one flight down

The time is (bing!) 6:23 am.

I've been up since yesterday morning, and I still can't sleep. Yesterday, I had a job interview at Sears. They want to offer me the job, but I have to pass a background check first.

I think that sentence is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Maybe that's why I feel like college is a waste of money and a futile exercise in how much better everyone else is at not catching felony charges than me.

It's quiet in the house this morning... the only sounds are the music and the dishwasher. I was suddenly overcome with the desire to clean at 5am, and I went so far overboard that I was hanging stuff on the walls and moving furniture around to make room for the incoming Christmas tree. Roommate Adam was drinking with me tonight, which is a very strange occurrence; he was even willing to let me teach him how to play Magic with several of my closest friends (and BP). Everyone, even Derek, has long since gone home or gone to bed, and I find myself enjoying the solitude.

The whiskey told me that I should listen to some Norah Jones, and all it's done so far is make me miss Arshad. I haven't talked to that boy since ... well, close to two years ago. He sent me some books to read while I was locked up, but because lockup is a crazy, backwards place, I didn't get to read them until I was free. I also never took the time to personally thank him... so, until it crosses my mind to call and do it voicewise, thank you, Arshad, for turning me on to Augusten Burroughs (no pun intended).

Five and a half hours remain until the foosball tournament. I am hoping to stay awake until the festivities are over; meanwhile, half of me hopes that keenan will randomly show up online with the promise of artificial stimulants.

Tonight seems auspicious... I feel like dumping out all the garbage that life has filled me with over the past couple of months, but I know that between the alcohol and the up-all-night, it will be much more maudlin and self-pitying than I really mean it to be.... so I think I will simply express my desire for a less-garbage-filled life.... and then leave it alone.

I don't remember why it was so important for me to blog tonight; maybe it's just because I have the opportunity to use my roommate's laptop and hang out in the living room, instead of holing up in my massively messy bedroom and eventually crawling into bed. Either way, I feel spent.

I shouldn't have said that John Lennon was the greatest voice for peace in two generations yesterday. To do so would be to discount and dismiss the contributions of people around the world, such as Bill Clinton, the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Mother Teresa. That is patently ridiculous, and I wish to modify the sentence as such: Mr. Lennon was one of the greatest peace activists the world will ever see, and it is supremely ironic that he met an entirely meaningless end.

Here comes the sun.

frohe geburtstag zum dir

Kevin's birthday is today; by the time you read this, he's 24, his hairline is receding, and the only thing he has left to look forward to is free coffee at Hardee's in 31 years. Wish him a happy birthday: vogeltanz@gmail.com.

I got my check today. Furthermore, the refund of all the garbage Enterprise Car Fuck You In The Ass tried to stick me with is coming tomorrow. Happy Kevin's Birthday to Dusty. Our long national nightmare is finally over.

The dough rolling machine at Pops made all kinds of horrible noise that made it impossible to understand anything anyone said unless they shouted. We have since replaced the guts of said machine, and now it is whisper-quiet, to the point where I occasionally insert dough and turn it off because I cannot tell that it is on.

There is a foosball tournament at Paul's on Saturday... I am too lazy/tired to look up a link for registration right now, but I will be sure to blog about the happenings afterward.

And, finally, today is the anniversary of John Lennon's unfortunate demise. It is very sad that a good and true soul can be extinguished by a darkened and sickened one, but alas, it is a fact of life. The good do not always triumph, and although evil does not often win the day, the damage that it does cannot be erased, nor can it be easily forgotten. May we all remember the vision and hope that Mr. Lennon embodied, and endeavor to carry out his wishes, despite the darkness that seeks to extinguish the light.