I think about death a lot.
Sorry. That was a bit blunt. You may have started reading thinking you were going to see a sweet, father-to-child letter that would bring some "aww's." Don't worry -- I might get there eventually. But I thought I should give some kind of rationale, while I'm thinking of it.
I'd say that's my #1 fear in life -- death. I always considered it a pretty rational fear, really. "Thanatophobia." Which is, apparently, a real thing.
But be not a-fear'd -- to the best of my knowledge I'm not dying, or in danger of dying any time soon. I'm a relatively healthy 31 year old male, with a proud family history of "longevity," to go along with a relatively healthy lifestyle.
However, I'm still preoccupied with my early demise. I ride my bike to work, often...and (don't tell Erika this, but) there are some times when I have a premonition the night before that I'm going to get into a horrible accident on my way in to work.
Of course, all thoughts of the premonition vanish when I'm on the road...and so far, my "future telling skills" are historically lousy. I've started to use it to the effect that I'll wish bad things upon people just so it won't happen to them.
But because of this, and because my wife is now about 10 weeks pregnant, my thanatophobia has been thrown into hyper-drive. Now I think, what if my kid never gets to meet me?
Macabre, I know. Sorry. Again, this might be me "wishing bad things upon myself" just so they won't happen. Bear with me.
Anyhow, to allay this fear...I thought I might write a letter to that little alien-looking mini-person...just so he or she could have some kind of idea what I was like, and what I would have been like if I hadn't died heroically, saving the life of dozens of orphans from a warehouse fire (because orphans love warehouses).
Okay. On with the madness.
Dear Bean,
That's what we called you, early on. The bean. Our little bean. Two little centimeters of human, growing inside of my wife. Or, at least you were the first time I saw you.
It probably doesn't mean much to you now. If you're old enough to be reading this, you're probably old enough to forget about all that crap that happened while you were in the womb. The placenta, the uterine lining, the umbilical cord, the muffled sound of the theme song to the show Top Chef...all a distant memory.
Who am I? Who was I? Well...I'm your father, dammit. Don't you ever forget that. Mom says to eat your vegetables, so do it, dammit. Listen to your mother.
Sorry. Truth?
First, I'll give you some history. To be frank, I had a bit of a different idea in mind when I thought about "me being a father." I thought what I wanted to do was bring a child into a perfect little world, where I owned a home, had no debt, and had enough money to cover a full college tuition to the "Ivy League University of your Choosing." I wanted to be making a bunch of money that I could give you so you wouldn't have to actually hold a job until you graduated college at 23.
But that wasn't reality. I have a hell of a time trying to save money, and I've never really been much for "stability." When I met your mother, I fell madly in love with her, and I believed that I owed it to humanity to bring a copy of her into the world.
Consequently, all my thoughts of this "perfect little world" fantasy met with my new reality. But, I mean, no parent is ever really ready to embark on this "child rearing" adventure, right? So, once the "let's make a baby" idea was proposed to me, I thought, "Yeah. Let's do it. Sounds like fun."
So we made you. You're probably not old enough yet to learn how we did it...but needless to say, it's one of the great perks of trying to have children. The process was, really, much easier than I thought it'd be. Two months of (really) inconsistent attempts and suddenly you blipped into existence. Heck, the ink was barely dry on my health insurance plan...if you'd come two months earlier, you would have been a really terrible financial burden.
Not that that's your fault, or anything. You're just a prune-sized glob of goo. In fact, I hear your baby teeth are just starting to form as I type...so congrats on that. I have grown-up teeth...which makes me better than you. Boom. How does that feel?
Sorry. So, who was your dad? I know, I haven't answered that yet. It's a good question.
Well I tell you, I have one hell of a dad (which means you've got one hell of a granddad). He's a guy that I deified, really...which means, I made him to be "God-like" (sorry, I'm going to use some big words here -- ask you mother what they mean if you're confused). In fact, he's such a great guy that I can't imagine being as great a dad as he was...and I find it hard to believe that one day you could be typing a letter to your unborn child where you're saying that you ever deified me.
Don't get me wrong. It'd be an honor. I'm just saying...it's hard for me to imagine.
Because, who was your dad? Again, I'm failing to answer the question. But, to be honest, it's a hell of a question.
I don't know who I am, really. You little bastard. Geez. Get off my back.
Sorry. I get angry sometimes.
I'm a guy who likes new paragraphs and sentence fragments.
Apparently.
Here's the truth: I'm scared. You're probably scared, too. You're all, "Where the hell am I? Why's it so dark? Why do my fingers have webs?"
Of course, all new dads are scared...I guess that's just part of the experience, right? I'm thinking, "Jesus...I have all this credit card debt. I don't even own a car, or a home. I don't know what I'm going to do for money when my wife is out of work. And I'm supposed to be the provider? Holy crap."
But the reality is, I'm going to do the best I can. You won't know any better -- hell, you probably won't be smarter than me until you're well into your 20s, and I'll have built up enough life experience by that time that I'll seem smarter than you anyway. And you will respect me, dammit. No child of mine is going to go through life not respecting his damn parents.
So, who was your dad? Dammit, that's a stupid question. Who is anyone? I'm just another guy, trying to enjoy himself in this short time that he's schlepping around this rock. I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm probably less perfect than most people. I found my soul mate, and we decided to create you.
We were successful...lucky you.
The better question is, what did I want to be once I found out you existed? Well, here's how I feel now:
I will do everything in my power to make sure you have a great life. I will try my hardest...sacrifice every part of me...do whatever it takes to give you happiness (hee hee...penis), and make sure you stay happy. I might suck at it. You won't know, of course, because kids never know whether or not their parents suck at being parents until they're much older
Regardless, I'll try to be (objectively) the best dad possible. I'm not working with much, frankly. As we speak, I've got about $150.00 to my name. I mean, I've got a good job with health insurance and everything...but things are pretty tight right now. And you're due to pop into the world in about 6 months. Yikes.
Luckily for both of us you've got a terrific mom, and we work really well together. You've also got a great extended family, who will probably be very annoyed with me as they're reading this...talking about death, debt, and all that icky stuff. But the Rhoades' and Godwin's are all very sane people...especially your mom and I. So you won't have to worry about turning out mental because part of your genetic seed is faulty.
Though, hopefully, whether you're a boy or a girl, you end up with more of your mom's looks than mine. Or, at least, you're spared my overly broad nose, squinky eyes, and receding hairline. But there's nothing you can do to help that -- I mean, I've lived with those things, and I managed to attract a babe like your mother, so it's probably not nearly as bad as I make it out to be.
But more than anything, I hope you're happy. Content. All that. You don't need to be successful, or rich, or powerful, or famous, or any of those things people strive for. You don't have to achieve great things, or leave some kind of lasting impression on humanity. I just want you to enjoy yourself. Do things that make you proud. Things that interest you; excite you. And if you're doing something that makes you unhappy, knock it off and do something else.
I'll be chock full of wise wisdom like that...provided I don't die suddenly before you're carried to term. Because, even though I'm scared, feeling unworthy, and totally unprepared for your arrival...I'm really looking forward to it. It's one of those unselfish, rewarding parts of human nature that I want to experience. I think I can help raise you right. If, somehow, I failed? Well...I hope you can see that I tried with every ounce of my being, and gave you as good a shot as anyone out there.
Guess that's it. Did I answer your questions? Did you have anything else? Shoe size? Um. 11 1/2. College GPA? 3.3. Any other questions, I mean, about my personality or anything?
No? Okay, good. Good luck. And make me proud, dammit. As if I could ever not make me proud, you rad little bean.
Love,
Dad
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
FAQ
I've decided to write an FAQ. The only problem is, very few people actually ask me questions...and I'm not sure I've ever been asked the same question with anything that would qualify it as being "frequent" (though I have been getting the "Oh my God, is that a goiter?!" question quite a lot lately).
So FAQ might be a misleading title. It should be more like a "Stuff You Might Be Curious About Put in the Style of a Question and Answer Blog Post" (SYMBCAPSQABP) (prounounced "Sim-bee-cap-squab-puh)
Here goes:
So, Tyler, why did you start this blog?
Shut up. Next question.
What?
No. Seriously. Shut up.
Whoa, why are you being such a dick?
I'm not being a dick, I'm just being real with you, Mayor McCheese. And, honestly, for reals, I just want you to shut the hell up and leave me alone.
Jesus. Fine. I don't care about your stupid FAQ anyway.
Good. And that wasn't a question.
Well, last time I asked a question you just yelled at me, and told me to shut the hell up.
No I didn't.
Yes you did. It was, like, the first thing you said.
Was that me?
It was.
I don't remember that.
You can just re-read this blog post. "Shut up" was literally the first answer you gave.
Well I didn't say "shut the hell up." You're making it sound worse than it actually was.
You said that in the second question.
No I didn't.
I mean the third question. I was all like, "Man, why are you being such a dick?" Then you said something about Mayor McCheese, and you told me to shut the hell up.
Oh, you're right. Sorry about that.
Sorry?
Yeah, I'm really sorry. I've just been pretty stressed out lately.
Well, why did you decide to write an FAQ blog entry if you weren't in the mood to answer questions?
Is that pronounced "Fack?" Or "Eff-ay-cue?"
Are you asking me a question now?
Sounds like it.
Umm...I think it's "eff-ay-cue."
Cool. Thanks. Can I borrow your bold?
My bold?
Why do you keep repeating me?
I don't know...that's just what I do to express incredulity.
Well stop it. It's hack-y.
Sorry.
It's fine. So, can I?
Are you going to start asking me questions, then?
I don't know yet.
Well, okay. You can have it. But can I start using italics?
Whatever you want.
Okay, cool.
Um...but you aren't going to use bold as well as italic, are you?
I guess not.
Thanks. I mean, I'm not trying to come off as some kind of control freak or anything, but y'know...I am borrowing your bold, and it wouldn't make sense if we were both still writing bold.
No, I get it. It's fine.
Thanks for being so understanding.
Were you going to ask me questions, then?
I guess I could. Um, so, why'd you get into acting?
Stupid question. And I already answered that in, like, a two part post that no one read.
I read it.
That's because you wrote it, brainiac.
Fair enough. Does it bother you when no one reads your blog?
No.
Seriously?
Well, I'll tell you two things I don't like, and I try not to do. The first is, I try to avoid apologizing for "not writing more often." Because usually I'm not sorry...I'm just lazy. And I don't want to apologize for being lazy, because I'd be apologizing all the damn time...and that's just not my style. The second thing I try not to do is: I try not to comment on the fact that the stuff I'm writing is not being read by anyone...because that's not why I write here.
Wait, isn't that the whole point of a blog? To have people read it?
I guess so...but I never expect people to actually read this stuff. I can't tell if that's low self-esteem, or just me being realistic. But, it's not like I'm writing anything particularly groundbreaking, provocative, or even interesting. For example, just re-read this post.
Well, why don't you write about more interesting stuff?
Interesting stuff is boring. Next question.
I don't know what that-
NEXT QUESTION!!!
Look. Dude. This...this just isn't working out.
What's wrong?
Well, for starters, the "ctrl-b" and "ctrl-i" shortcuts are really annoying, and inconsistent. Like, for some reason, every time I hit enter, ctrl-b, then ctrl-i to cancel my bold writing, and start italicized writing, Blogspot just makes the type both bold and italic.
Like this?
Exactly.
What happens if you just leave it, and don't press ctrl-b or ctrl-i?
This happens. It stays bold.
That's really frustrating.
Tell me about it.
Well, should we just wrap up this FAQ, then? Because it doesn't feel like we really got anywhere...and those technical problems are just frustrating you.
Yeah, maybe we should just stop. I doubt anyone's going to read this anyway. Oops. I mean...um...I don't know if I want people to read this. Yeah. That's it.
Are you going to post this to Facebook?
Sure. I guess so. Why not?
I feel like this is just going to bore a bunch of people...and you don't even know all of your Facebook friends that well.
Well, if they're interested, they'll click on the link. If not, then they'll just ignore it.
Are you ever going to do a real FAQ?
Maybe. Let's see how well this one is received and we'll go from there. I could. I mean...I'm sure there are people out there that I haven't talked to in a long time who are actually interested in the stuff that's going on in my life. But that could just be me projecting...because I'm always interested in the stuff going on in other peoples' lives. Maybe no one's interested at all...which is fine. I don't hold that against them...I've never thought of myself as particularly interesting to begin with. Especially not to strangers, or to people that I only know a little bit, or that I don't talk to at all any more. And those are the only people who might actually want an FAQ. I mean, all of my close friends already know what's going on in my life.
Wow. That last part got pretty serious, and boring. I thought this was going to be another one of those things where you gave funny answers to survey questions. Like this. Or even this.
Maybe next time.
Hey, shouldn't you post a picture here? So that the little thumbnail will be something that will make people want to read this blog?
Like, a girl in a bikini or something?
No, then you'd just get a bunch of dudes reading this. Maybe you should post a shot of some guy's six-pack abs, or something.
Probably still get a bunch of dudes. You're friends with a lot of gay guys.
Good point. Well...maybe I can come up with something in-between. Something like this:
So FAQ might be a misleading title. It should be more like a "Stuff You Might Be Curious About Put in the Style of a Question and Answer Blog Post" (SYMBCAPSQABP) (prounounced "Sim-bee-cap-squab-puh)
Here goes:
So, Tyler, why did you start this blog?
Shut up. Next question.
What?
No. Seriously. Shut up.
Whoa, why are you being such a dick?
I'm not being a dick, I'm just being real with you, Mayor McCheese. And, honestly, for reals, I just want you to shut the hell up and leave me alone.
Jesus. Fine. I don't care about your stupid FAQ anyway.
Good. And that wasn't a question.
Well, last time I asked a question you just yelled at me, and told me to shut the hell up.
No I didn't.
Yes you did. It was, like, the first thing you said.
Was that me?
It was.
I don't remember that.
You can just re-read this blog post. "Shut up" was literally the first answer you gave.
Well I didn't say "shut the hell up." You're making it sound worse than it actually was.
You said that in the second question.
No I didn't.
I mean the third question. I was all like, "Man, why are you being such a dick?" Then you said something about Mayor McCheese, and you told me to shut the hell up.
Oh, you're right. Sorry about that.
Sorry?
Yeah, I'm really sorry. I've just been pretty stressed out lately.
Well, why did you decide to write an FAQ blog entry if you weren't in the mood to answer questions?
Is that pronounced "Fack?" Or "Eff-ay-cue?"
Are you asking me a question now?
Sounds like it.
Umm...I think it's "eff-ay-cue."
Cool. Thanks. Can I borrow your bold?
My bold?
Why do you keep repeating me?
I don't know...that's just what I do to express incredulity.
Well stop it. It's hack-y.
Sorry.
It's fine. So, can I?
Are you going to start asking me questions, then?
I don't know yet.
Well, okay. You can have it. But can I start using italics?
Whatever you want.
Okay, cool.
Um...but you aren't going to use bold as well as italic, are you?
I guess not.
Thanks. I mean, I'm not trying to come off as some kind of control freak or anything, but y'know...I am borrowing your bold, and it wouldn't make sense if we were both still writing bold.
No, I get it. It's fine.
Thanks for being so understanding.
Were you going to ask me questions, then?
I guess I could. Um, so, why'd you get into acting?
Stupid question. And I already answered that in, like, a two part post that no one read.
I read it.
That's because you wrote it, brainiac.
Fair enough. Does it bother you when no one reads your blog?
No.
Seriously?
Well, I'll tell you two things I don't like, and I try not to do. The first is, I try to avoid apologizing for "not writing more often." Because usually I'm not sorry...I'm just lazy. And I don't want to apologize for being lazy, because I'd be apologizing all the damn time...and that's just not my style. The second thing I try not to do is: I try not to comment on the fact that the stuff I'm writing is not being read by anyone...because that's not why I write here.
Wait, isn't that the whole point of a blog? To have people read it?
I guess so...but I never expect people to actually read this stuff. I can't tell if that's low self-esteem, or just me being realistic. But, it's not like I'm writing anything particularly groundbreaking, provocative, or even interesting. For example, just re-read this post.
Well, why don't you write about more interesting stuff?
Interesting stuff is boring. Next question.
I don't know what that-
NEXT QUESTION!!!
Look. Dude. This...this just isn't working out.
What's wrong?
Well, for starters, the "ctrl-b" and "ctrl-i" shortcuts are really annoying, and inconsistent. Like, for some reason, every time I hit enter, ctrl-b, then ctrl-i to cancel my bold writing, and start italicized writing, Blogspot just makes the type both bold and italic.
Like this?
Exactly.
What happens if you just leave it, and don't press ctrl-b or ctrl-i?
This happens. It stays bold.
That's really frustrating.
Tell me about it.
Well, should we just wrap up this FAQ, then? Because it doesn't feel like we really got anywhere...and those technical problems are just frustrating you.
Yeah, maybe we should just stop. I doubt anyone's going to read this anyway. Oops. I mean...um...I don't know if I want people to read this. Yeah. That's it.
Are you going to post this to Facebook?
Sure. I guess so. Why not?
I feel like this is just going to bore a bunch of people...and you don't even know all of your Facebook friends that well.
Well, if they're interested, they'll click on the link. If not, then they'll just ignore it.
Are you ever going to do a real FAQ?
Maybe. Let's see how well this one is received and we'll go from there. I could. I mean...I'm sure there are people out there that I haven't talked to in a long time who are actually interested in the stuff that's going on in my life. But that could just be me projecting...because I'm always interested in the stuff going on in other peoples' lives. Maybe no one's interested at all...which is fine. I don't hold that against them...I've never thought of myself as particularly interesting to begin with. Especially not to strangers, or to people that I only know a little bit, or that I don't talk to at all any more. And those are the only people who might actually want an FAQ. I mean, all of my close friends already know what's going on in my life.
Wow. That last part got pretty serious, and boring. I thought this was going to be another one of those things where you gave funny answers to survey questions. Like this. Or even this.
Maybe next time.
Hey, shouldn't you post a picture here? So that the little thumbnail will be something that will make people want to read this blog?
Like, a girl in a bikini or something?
No, then you'd just get a bunch of dudes reading this. Maybe you should post a shot of some guy's six-pack abs, or something.
Probably still get a bunch of dudes. You're friends with a lot of gay guys.
Good point. Well...maybe I can come up with something in-between. Something like this:
Monday, July 12, 2010
Piracy
I blame the RIAA.
Those are the geniuses who decided to start suing people who were "file sharing" music starting in 2003. They took hundreds of people to court. The vast majority of the defendants were totally and undeniably guilty of theft, but some of them were baffled, confused, and quite photogenic. Consequently, when the public thinks of online pirates, this is what they think of:
Those are all people that were all sued by the RIAA for "stealing music." And that lineup doesn't include the deceased grandmother, the family that didn't own a computer, the 12 year Brianna LaHara, and the 13 year old Brittany Chan.
These lawsuits were, in a word, "monumentally stupid."
It made the corporations (the ones spending all the money, and taking all the risks to produce this stuff) look like bullying assholes. It made Metallica (METALLICA!) look like a bunch of corporate shills. It made the layperson believe that software pirates were terrified single mothers, children, and the elderly.
But I have a secret. Here's what online pirates really look like:
Yarr.
Or, at least, that's how I picture them. They're actually (primarily) male, ranging in age between late 20s to early 40s. They're intelligent. Sophisticated. Incredibly well-organized. Usually foreign. And relentless.
To top it all off, they're also wealthy. Pirates make a lot of money doing this. A lot. Don't let the sob stories fool you. Don't think they're just providing some kind of free public service to "fight the man." The people running online piracy sites make a comfortable living, selling other peoples' creations. It's no different than a person walking into a store, stuffing a bunch of DVDs into their backpack, then walking out to the sidewalk and selling those DVDs for a dollar a piece. It's not noble. It's not "taking on money-hungry corporations." It's just straight-up stealing.
I mean, most people would never grab a DVD off of a store shelf and sneak it outside...but they'd be more than happy to watch a pirated movie online. The crime is no different...really. It's just more anonymous, and far less risky.
"But hang on a second, Tyler," you wail. "How could they possibly make money doing this? Doesn't it cost a lot of money to host these sites?"
I'm glad you asked that.
First off, any pirate site worth its salt does not host any videos. They post links that redirect you to video hosting sites (which are, a lot of the time, subscription-based...in addition to selling ad space).
But on top of that, any time you go to one of these pirate sites, you'll still get advertisements. These range from "kind of annoying" (pop-up ads and banners) to "pretty irritating" (non-skippable video ads, forced redirects) to "straight up dangerous" (adware, malware, viruses). Every site has them. And the more traffic they get, the more money they make. The more irritating the advertisement, the bigger the payout.
Consequently, these link sites encourage users to record and post movies (often without paying them a dime), while the admins sit back and collect any profit (paid to their anonymous PayPal accounts via the scammy advertising sites).
In fact, one of the major operators of these link sites is the Russian Business Network. This is a cyber-crime organization that takes the revenue earned from these pirate sites, and feeds it into child pornography, identity theft schemes, prostitution rings, the black market, and an army of malware scams. Essentially, when you go to a site run by the RBN, you're helping pay for all of these illegal activities.
And the infuriating thing for me is: these people have created nothing. They've contributed nothing. They've just set up a website, loaded it with ads and bullcrap, then pawned it off on the unwary public...because who wouldn't want to watch any movie or TV show ever filmed for free? When the RIAA filed all of their idiotic lawsuits, the pirates (and their proprietors) look like the victims! It's incredible.
"So," you snivel, "what can I do?"
Well, in spite of all my rantings, I won't ask you to stop watching pirated movies. It's a losing battle...I know...and I don't want to seem like a square. I get the appeal. Heck, I'd be lying to you if I told you I haven't ever downloaded something illegal.
But, there's stuff you can do. Little stuff, to encourage networks to start migrating their material online. For instance, if you're presented with the option -- take the legit one. Like, instead of watching Modern Family on some shitty pirate site, just go to Hulu and tolerate the 30 second ads (you can navigate away from the screen, check your e-mail, read my blog, etc.). I think you'd feel a lot better knowing that your money is going to the people who make the stuff you watch, and not this smug little foreign dude:
Problem?
This is especially true if you're an actor, writer, director, or someone who'd like to eventually make money doing something in the arts. That guy pictured above? He's not an artist. He's not Robin Hood. He's just a thief...a bushy-eyebrow'd thief.
And if you can afford it, just rent movies or go to the theater. There are so many good, inexpensive options out there now (like Netflix, On-Demand, etc.) that you shouldn't have to cry "poverty" every time there's something good you want to watch. Again, this is especially true for the aspiring professional artists out there.
But like I say...if you watch this stuff, I ain't mad atcha'. I was a lot like you...but I've recently come to the realization that I need to be a little bit less anarchic, and a little more responsible (must have happened when I turned 30). I think we're going to get to a very exciting point where every show ever made will be available to watch at any time, anywhere (for a monthly fee). If we let these pirates dictate the rules, then none of the money will get to the people who deserve it -- these are the actors, writers, directors, producers, and studios.
That little Russian dude up there? He shouldn't be getting jack squat...because he created nothing and risked nothing...so he deserves nothing.
Those are the geniuses who decided to start suing people who were "file sharing" music starting in 2003. They took hundreds of people to court. The vast majority of the defendants were totally and undeniably guilty of theft, but some of them were baffled, confused, and quite photogenic. Consequently, when the public thinks of online pirates, this is what they think of:
Those are all people that were all sued by the RIAA for "stealing music." And that lineup doesn't include the deceased grandmother, the family that didn't own a computer, the 12 year Brianna LaHara, and the 13 year old Brittany Chan.
These lawsuits were, in a word, "monumentally stupid."
It made the corporations (the ones spending all the money, and taking all the risks to produce this stuff) look like bullying assholes. It made Metallica (METALLICA!) look like a bunch of corporate shills. It made the layperson believe that software pirates were terrified single mothers, children, and the elderly.
But I have a secret. Here's what online pirates really look like:
Yarr.
Or, at least, that's how I picture them. They're actually (primarily) male, ranging in age between late 20s to early 40s. They're intelligent. Sophisticated. Incredibly well-organized. Usually foreign. And relentless.
To top it all off, they're also wealthy. Pirates make a lot of money doing this. A lot. Don't let the sob stories fool you. Don't think they're just providing some kind of free public service to "fight the man." The people running online piracy sites make a comfortable living, selling other peoples' creations. It's no different than a person walking into a store, stuffing a bunch of DVDs into their backpack, then walking out to the sidewalk and selling those DVDs for a dollar a piece. It's not noble. It's not "taking on money-hungry corporations." It's just straight-up stealing.
I mean, most people would never grab a DVD off of a store shelf and sneak it outside...but they'd be more than happy to watch a pirated movie online. The crime is no different...really. It's just more anonymous, and far less risky.
"But hang on a second, Tyler," you wail. "How could they possibly make money doing this? Doesn't it cost a lot of money to host these sites?"
I'm glad you asked that.
First off, any pirate site worth its salt does not host any videos. They post links that redirect you to video hosting sites (which are, a lot of the time, subscription-based...in addition to selling ad space).
But on top of that, any time you go to one of these pirate sites, you'll still get advertisements. These range from "kind of annoying" (pop-up ads and banners) to "pretty irritating" (non-skippable video ads, forced redirects) to "straight up dangerous" (adware, malware, viruses). Every site has them. And the more traffic they get, the more money they make. The more irritating the advertisement, the bigger the payout.
Consequently, these link sites encourage users to record and post movies (often without paying them a dime), while the admins sit back and collect any profit (paid to their anonymous PayPal accounts via the scammy advertising sites).
In fact, one of the major operators of these link sites is the Russian Business Network. This is a cyber-crime organization that takes the revenue earned from these pirate sites, and feeds it into child pornography, identity theft schemes, prostitution rings, the black market, and an army of malware scams. Essentially, when you go to a site run by the RBN, you're helping pay for all of these illegal activities.
And the infuriating thing for me is: these people have created nothing. They've contributed nothing. They've just set up a website, loaded it with ads and bullcrap, then pawned it off on the unwary public...because who wouldn't want to watch any movie or TV show ever filmed for free? When the RIAA filed all of their idiotic lawsuits, the pirates (and their proprietors) look like the victims! It's incredible.
"So," you snivel, "what can I do?"
Well, in spite of all my rantings, I won't ask you to stop watching pirated movies. It's a losing battle...I know...and I don't want to seem like a square. I get the appeal. Heck, I'd be lying to you if I told you I haven't ever downloaded something illegal.
But, there's stuff you can do. Little stuff, to encourage networks to start migrating their material online. For instance, if you're presented with the option -- take the legit one. Like, instead of watching Modern Family on some shitty pirate site, just go to Hulu and tolerate the 30 second ads (you can navigate away from the screen, check your e-mail, read my blog, etc.). I think you'd feel a lot better knowing that your money is going to the people who make the stuff you watch, and not this smug little foreign dude:
Problem?
This is especially true if you're an actor, writer, director, or someone who'd like to eventually make money doing something in the arts. That guy pictured above? He's not an artist. He's not Robin Hood. He's just a thief...a bushy-eyebrow'd thief.
And if you can afford it, just rent movies or go to the theater. There are so many good, inexpensive options out there now (like Netflix, On-Demand, etc.) that you shouldn't have to cry "poverty" every time there's something good you want to watch. Again, this is especially true for the aspiring professional artists out there.
But like I say...if you watch this stuff, I ain't mad atcha'. I was a lot like you...but I've recently come to the realization that I need to be a little bit less anarchic, and a little more responsible (must have happened when I turned 30). I think we're going to get to a very exciting point where every show ever made will be available to watch at any time, anywhere (for a monthly fee). If we let these pirates dictate the rules, then none of the money will get to the people who deserve it -- these are the actors, writers, directors, producers, and studios.
That little Russian dude up there? He shouldn't be getting jack squat...because he created nothing and risked nothing...so he deserves nothing.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 1
When I moved to L.A., I had a fool-proof plan.
I was going to audition for "every game show" out there. And I was going to get on those game shows, because I think I'm smart (I'm not), and people generally like me (they don't). If I could just get on one...one tiny little show, I'd be set (to the tune of, at least, several thousand dollars).
It was foolproof.
And I got close a couple of times. I auditioned for "Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader." Apparently, I'm not (fifth graders know that "yellow" plus "red" equals "orange," not "purple").
I also tried out for the show "Don't Forget the Lyrics." Apparently, my audition was pretty damn forgettable (they made fun of me for wanting to give most of my money away to my family...jerks).
However, eventually I did appear on a game show.
Well, kinda'.
I'll explain.
A little over a year ago I saw a "audition notice" for a show called "The Singing Bee." I was all, "Hey, I can sing! And I frigging LOVE bees!" So, I sent in my details, and promptly forgot about it.
Lo and behold, a week later, some casting intern wrote back, asking me if I'd be available to come and audition...at beautiful CBS Radford Studios (a place I'd been, probably, about a dozen times already, for background work).
So I show up, sign in, and take a seat in a vast "underground cafeteria-looking room." It was filled with tables and chairs -- in front of each chair was a nice little "release form," and a free pen (free-ish). I took a seat next to a scary-looking young couple who smelled like cigarettes, gasoline fumes, and meth lab.
It was here that I found out that the show was being produced by the Country Music Channel, and that the song-mix was going to be about 60% country, 40% everything else.
Shit.
I hate country music.
Oh well. I'll gave it the ol' "sporting try." I figured, maybe there'd be a lot of Johnny Cash and Dixie Chicks.
Did I say "Dixie Chicks?" I meant Merle Haggard. Yeah.
So, the concept of the show was basically "Don't Forget the Lyrics," except, instead of Wayne Brady, there was some woman from the show Reba. And instead of "good music," there was a bunch of crappy country music.
My task was to take a "lyrics test." This is...exactly what you think it is. A bunch of song lyrics, with "blanks" to be filled in.
I did my level best, and handed over my sheet of paper. There were, maybe, about 90 people in this first room...and I thought that maybe a third of them were "country music fans," so that was the third that was going to be kept...while I'd be given a "better luck next time" by the 20-somethings who seemed to be in charge of casting the show.
True to their word, there was a lot of "good music" mixed in with the country...and a lot of the country songs were things that I'd heard. But there was also a crap-ton of wild guessing.
After everyone had completed the test, we sat around as the the tests were graded. They read off the list of those who'd be advancing to the next round of the interview process (a group of 24).
They started reading the names...and...well, because you're reading this blog entry, you probably guessed that I was one of those 24 names.
Cool.
What now?
Well, I'll tell you.
They split us into three groups (of 8) for a camera test, where we'd get to play a pared-down version of the show. I was in group #1, which was nice, because I was hungry...and going first meant I could get something to eat sooner.
The casting folks took us into another room, lined us up against the wall, and executed each of us with a single bullet to the back of the head.
Wait, whoops. Sorry. Let me try that again. They lined us up against a wall and asked us a series of questions, drawing information from one of the sheets that we filled out earlier. That's right. Sorry, I got confused.
My turn came up.
"Hi, what's your name?"
"Tyler Rhoades."
"And Tyler, do you listen to country music?"
"All the time."
"Who is your favorite country singer?"
Pause.
"Oh, y'know. Johnny Cash. He's incredible."
"It says here that you're a Paula Abdul fan?"
"Yes. I frigging love Paula Abdul." (I don't, but I thought it'd be funny)
"Could we just get you to say that directly into the camera?" Apparently they'd been talking over the part where I said that...so they made me dance like a monkey. I was happy to oblige.
"I...frigging....love....Paula....Abdul."
"What do you like about her?"
Pause.
"I had her poster on the wall," (another lie). "It was the one where she was wearing a kind of leather cap, and..." (I imitated the imaginary poster, to the delight of the interviewers) "Just all the metal and leather. It was a pretty amazing poster."
"And can you tell us one interesting thing about you?"
Pause.
"I've been using Rogaine for the last three years, and my scalp has never been more luscious and full than it is now."
Laughter. Couldn't tell if it was polite or not. But...laughter is laughter, right? Self-deprecation FTW.
Anyways, they worked their way down the line, interviewing those other poor saps, and then the "game show" part of the interview started.
They had a laptop set up, preloaded with songs. They'd play a bit of the song, then stop it. If you knew the lyrics, you'd raise your hand. They'd call on you. Then you'd step forward and "sing the hell out of the missing lyrics," whether you were accurate or not. Because they reminded us, you don't have to be a great singer, just really animated and interesting.
If you were right, they'd ding a bell. If you were wrong, they'd push the button on a buzzer.
The game started. Nobody scored on the first song. Probably just early jitters. I didn't even try.
Next song started:
My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them...
Uh oh. Gnarles Barkley. Crap. I can't understand the guy most of the time, but I like the song. Maybe I can snag this one.
Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little
It looked like fun
And the music stopped.
I raised my hand.
They called on me.
I stepped forward.
I was told to wait until the camera got a close-up of me. Then I was supposed to say my name.
"Tyler Rhoades."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done"
DING!!!
Thank God that happened...because that part of the song always confused me. It doesn't really make sense grammatically. Though, who am I to criticize the great Gnarles?
And luckily for me, this part kinda' played to my strength as a singer -- I could give 'er a little "rock growl," without having to get too high, or sound too pretty. The casting folks looked sufficiently surprised, and impressed.
We continued on. I think I got two or three more songs right (pretty sure one of them was a Phil Collins song). Which, among the group of 8, made me the highest scorer.
Needless to say, I felt pretty good about that second part of the audition. I mean...I think they sensed that I wasn't quite the "country music" fan that I pretended to be...but I have what my wife likes to call "A Surprisingly Good Voice." Which sounds like a back-handed compliment until you get a good look at me...then it makes sense.
So a week or two later, I got a call from one of the casting folks. They wanted me to come in to do a "trial run" of the show for producers, writers, network execs, and the host of the show (that woman from Reba).
I agreed. And thought, "Aw, dammit. I've got to listen to a bunch of country music now, don't I?" So, I logged into CMT.com and forced myself to sit through the worst genre of music ever conceived -- young country.
Ick.
TO BE CONTINUED (and hyper-linked...eventually) IN PART 2!!!
I was going to audition for "every game show" out there. And I was going to get on those game shows, because I think I'm smart (I'm not), and people generally like me (they don't). If I could just get on one...one tiny little show, I'd be set (to the tune of, at least, several thousand dollars).
It was foolproof.
And I got close a couple of times. I auditioned for "Are you Smarter than a 5th Grader." Apparently, I'm not (fifth graders know that "yellow" plus "red" equals "orange," not "purple").
I also tried out for the show "Don't Forget the Lyrics." Apparently, my audition was pretty damn forgettable (they made fun of me for wanting to give most of my money away to my family...jerks).
However, eventually I did appear on a game show.
Well, kinda'.
I'll explain.
A little over a year ago I saw a "audition notice" for a show called "The Singing Bee." I was all, "Hey, I can sing! And I frigging LOVE bees!" So, I sent in my details, and promptly forgot about it.
Lo and behold, a week later, some casting intern wrote back, asking me if I'd be available to come and audition...at beautiful CBS Radford Studios (a place I'd been, probably, about a dozen times already, for background work).
So I show up, sign in, and take a seat in a vast "underground cafeteria-looking room." It was filled with tables and chairs -- in front of each chair was a nice little "release form," and a free pen (free-ish). I took a seat next to a scary-looking young couple who smelled like cigarettes, gasoline fumes, and meth lab.
It was here that I found out that the show was being produced by the Country Music Channel, and that the song-mix was going to be about 60% country, 40% everything else.
Shit.
I hate country music.
Oh well. I'll gave it the ol' "sporting try." I figured, maybe there'd be a lot of Johnny Cash and Dixie Chicks.
Did I say "Dixie Chicks?" I meant Merle Haggard. Yeah.
So, the concept of the show was basically "Don't Forget the Lyrics," except, instead of Wayne Brady, there was some woman from the show Reba. And instead of "good music," there was a bunch of crappy country music.
My task was to take a "lyrics test." This is...exactly what you think it is. A bunch of song lyrics, with "blanks" to be filled in.
I did my level best, and handed over my sheet of paper. There were, maybe, about 90 people in this first room...and I thought that maybe a third of them were "country music fans," so that was the third that was going to be kept...while I'd be given a "better luck next time" by the 20-somethings who seemed to be in charge of casting the show.
True to their word, there was a lot of "good music" mixed in with the country...and a lot of the country songs were things that I'd heard. But there was also a crap-ton of wild guessing.
After everyone had completed the test, we sat around as the the tests were graded. They read off the list of those who'd be advancing to the next round of the interview process (a group of 24).
They started reading the names...and...well, because you're reading this blog entry, you probably guessed that I was one of those 24 names.
Cool.
What now?
Well, I'll tell you.
They split us into three groups (of 8) for a camera test, where we'd get to play a pared-down version of the show. I was in group #1, which was nice, because I was hungry...and going first meant I could get something to eat sooner.
The casting folks took us into another room, lined us up against the wall, and executed each of us with a single bullet to the back of the head.
Wait, whoops. Sorry. Let me try that again. They lined us up against a wall and asked us a series of questions, drawing information from one of the sheets that we filled out earlier. That's right. Sorry, I got confused.
My turn came up.
"Hi, what's your name?"
"Tyler Rhoades."
"And Tyler, do you listen to country music?"
"All the time."
"Who is your favorite country singer?"
Pause.
"Oh, y'know. Johnny Cash. He's incredible."
"It says here that you're a Paula Abdul fan?"
"Yes. I frigging love Paula Abdul." (I don't, but I thought it'd be funny)
"Could we just get you to say that directly into the camera?" Apparently they'd been talking over the part where I said that...so they made me dance like a monkey. I was happy to oblige.
"I...frigging....love....Paula....Abdul."
"What do you like about her?"
Pause.
"I had her poster on the wall," (another lie). "It was the one where she was wearing a kind of leather cap, and..." (I imitated the imaginary poster, to the delight of the interviewers) "Just all the metal and leather. It was a pretty amazing poster."
"And can you tell us one interesting thing about you?"
Pause.
"I've been using Rogaine for the last three years, and my scalp has never been more luscious and full than it is now."
Laughter. Couldn't tell if it was polite or not. But...laughter is laughter, right? Self-deprecation FTW.
Anyways, they worked their way down the line, interviewing those other poor saps, and then the "game show" part of the interview started.
They had a laptop set up, preloaded with songs. They'd play a bit of the song, then stop it. If you knew the lyrics, you'd raise your hand. They'd call on you. Then you'd step forward and "sing the hell out of the missing lyrics," whether you were accurate or not. Because they reminded us, you don't have to be a great singer, just really animated and interesting.
If you were right, they'd ding a bell. If you were wrong, they'd push the button on a buzzer.
The game started. Nobody scored on the first song. Probably just early jitters. I didn't even try.
Next song started:
My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them...
Uh oh. Gnarles Barkley. Crap. I can't understand the guy most of the time, but I like the song. Maybe I can snag this one.
Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little
It looked like fun
And the music stopped.
I raised my hand.
They called on me.
I stepped forward.
I was told to wait until the camera got a close-up of me. Then I was supposed to say my name.
"Tyler Rhoades."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done"
DING!!!
Thank God that happened...because that part of the song always confused me. It doesn't really make sense grammatically. Though, who am I to criticize the great Gnarles?
And luckily for me, this part kinda' played to my strength as a singer -- I could give 'er a little "rock growl," without having to get too high, or sound too pretty. The casting folks looked sufficiently surprised, and impressed.
We continued on. I think I got two or three more songs right (pretty sure one of them was a Phil Collins song). Which, among the group of 8, made me the highest scorer.
Needless to say, I felt pretty good about that second part of the audition. I mean...I think they sensed that I wasn't quite the "country music" fan that I pretended to be...but I have what my wife likes to call "A Surprisingly Good Voice." Which sounds like a back-handed compliment until you get a good look at me...then it makes sense.
So a week or two later, I got a call from one of the casting folks. They wanted me to come in to do a "trial run" of the show for producers, writers, network execs, and the host of the show (that woman from Reba).
I agreed. And thought, "Aw, dammit. I've got to listen to a bunch of country music now, don't I?" So, I logged into CMT.com and forced myself to sit through the worst genre of music ever conceived -- young country.
Ick.
TO BE CONTINUED (and hyper-linked...eventually) IN PART 2!!!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bike Crash! POW!
So, I got in my first "bike crash" today. Pretty big milestone for me -- I had a paper route for 3 years, and I've been riding here for about 7 months...and I'd never come into contact with another bike or car in all that time.
But I got it today. The brass ring. I got my ass run over.
Or...at least...my front tire.
It started off like any other Thursday morning, riding into work. As I pulled off of Glenoaks onto Buena Vista, I saw a line of cars stopped at an intersection. So, tucking myself as far right as I could, I started cruising past the stopped automobiles.
"Suckers," I thought to myself. "Bet you wish you could be me, all foot-light and fancy free."
However, annoyingly, one dude in a black Jeep started creeping into my lane...either because he saw me and wanted to block me in...or because he didn't see me, and he just sucks at driving. This happened at the "red X."
Either way, I motored past him and headed for the light. To my dismay, another motorist in a white car was creeping into my lane as well. I tried to speed up and pass her.
But she wasn't creeping, she was turning. Right. Onto the freeway on-ramp. I wasn't watching for an actual right-hand turn, because we hadn't reached the intersection yet -- she was using that little space between the "parked cars on the right" and the "intersection" to turn early.
Consequently, I didn't realize what was happening until too late. My front tire lost a "battle of tires" to her right-front tire, and I was launched about 10 feet off of my bike, onto the nice little grassy area between the road and the sidewalk.
Luckily for me, there was no limo parked there...so I had a nice, soft landing.
The first thing I thought was: "Shit." Not because I was upset, but because I had, apparently, Superman'd through a pile of dog shit, which was now all over the front of my green hoodie.
I started laughing, even as I was skidding across the grass. This was probably out of embarrassment...but also because it was kind of neat to slide across a patch of wet grass. I secretly hoped that it looked pretty cool to the other cars waiting at the stoplight. This is kinda' how I imagined it:
Now there is this weird moment in time, where a "vehicle" somehow magically transforms from an "obstacle to avoid" into a "human being." It's a really bizarre thing...and anyone who's been in a car accident is probably familiar with this transition. It's jarring. One moment there's a car that's somehow drifting into me...at the next moment, there's a very nice, older woman standing next to me telling me "I'm sorry -- I didn't see you there. Are you okay?" with an indeterminate eastern European accent.
And I was. Okay. The bike was...well...beaten up, but it looked like it hadn't been too damaged, structurally. The tire was bent, but not extremely so (I was still able to ride it, once I'd disengaged the front brake). But the fork, brakes, handlebars, pedals, and gears all seemed to come through with minor scratches. Heck, my clothes even came through unscathed...unless you count the smear of feces down the front of my hoodie. But my newly-purchased khakis didn't have so much as a grass stain on them.
But I ran into another problem: "So...what now?" It's not like we could exchange insurance info (that's part of the reason I ride a bike -- no insurance). And it's not like she's on the hook to pick up the tab or anything. I mean...I suppose she is legally...but it's not like I was going to file a claim with her insurance or anything. It was just a stupid little bent wheel.
"Oh shit," I thought, smelling poop, "was this my fault?"
I went over the accident in my mind. Squeeze past asshole in Jeep. Approach intersection. Try to squeeze past car turning. Bike tire squished. Flying. Shit.
This is officially collision type #7 on the bike safety checklist...it's also known as "The Right Hook, Pt. 2". Of course, legally, I was in the clear because she hit me, not the other way around. According to Johnny Law, she should have checked her blind spot before turning right.
But, realistically, I was not in the right. I should have slowed down to the speed of traffic once the light turned green. I should seen and recognized her turn signal. I should have known the on-ramp was coming up. I pride myself on making it so that I don't even give cars the opportunity to hit me (called: "Ride as if you're invisible"). But this time I totally failed.
Which meant that, as she was giving me her contact information, and taking mine...and as she offered to pay for the repairs (a very nice woman, like I said), all I wanted to do was apologize to her for being an idiot, and a terrible cyclist. It reminded me a lot of this:
But I just rode off instead, only issuing a lame, half-assed warning to her that she should be watching for bicycles. As I was about a half-mile down the road, she called me and apologized, asking if I needed a ride to where I was going (as I say, she was a very nice lady). I called her back and told her that I was fine, and thanks for calling.
But I got it today. The brass ring. I got my ass run over.
Or...at least...my front tire.
It started off like any other Thursday morning, riding into work. As I pulled off of Glenoaks onto Buena Vista, I saw a line of cars stopped at an intersection. So, tucking myself as far right as I could, I started cruising past the stopped automobiles.
"Suckers," I thought to myself. "Bet you wish you could be me, all foot-light and fancy free."
However, annoyingly, one dude in a black Jeep started creeping into my lane...either because he saw me and wanted to block me in...or because he didn't see me, and he just sucks at driving. This happened at the "red X."
Either way, I motored past him and headed for the light. To my dismay, another motorist in a white car was creeping into my lane as well. I tried to speed up and pass her.
But she wasn't creeping, she was turning. Right. Onto the freeway on-ramp. I wasn't watching for an actual right-hand turn, because we hadn't reached the intersection yet -- she was using that little space between the "parked cars on the right" and the "intersection" to turn early.
Consequently, I didn't realize what was happening until too late. My front tire lost a "battle of tires" to her right-front tire, and I was launched about 10 feet off of my bike, onto the nice little grassy area between the road and the sidewalk.
Luckily for me, there was no limo parked there...so I had a nice, soft landing.
The first thing I thought was: "Shit." Not because I was upset, but because I had, apparently, Superman'd through a pile of dog shit, which was now all over the front of my green hoodie.
I started laughing, even as I was skidding across the grass. This was probably out of embarrassment...but also because it was kind of neat to slide across a patch of wet grass. I secretly hoped that it looked pretty cool to the other cars waiting at the stoplight. This is kinda' how I imagined it:
Now there is this weird moment in time, where a "vehicle" somehow magically transforms from an "obstacle to avoid" into a "human being." It's a really bizarre thing...and anyone who's been in a car accident is probably familiar with this transition. It's jarring. One moment there's a car that's somehow drifting into me...at the next moment, there's a very nice, older woman standing next to me telling me "I'm sorry -- I didn't see you there. Are you okay?" with an indeterminate eastern European accent.
And I was. Okay. The bike was...well...beaten up, but it looked like it hadn't been too damaged, structurally. The tire was bent, but not extremely so (I was still able to ride it, once I'd disengaged the front brake). But the fork, brakes, handlebars, pedals, and gears all seemed to come through with minor scratches. Heck, my clothes even came through unscathed...unless you count the smear of feces down the front of my hoodie. But my newly-purchased khakis didn't have so much as a grass stain on them.
But I ran into another problem: "So...what now?" It's not like we could exchange insurance info (that's part of the reason I ride a bike -- no insurance). And it's not like she's on the hook to pick up the tab or anything. I mean...I suppose she is legally...but it's not like I was going to file a claim with her insurance or anything. It was just a stupid little bent wheel.
"Oh shit," I thought, smelling poop, "was this my fault?"
I went over the accident in my mind. Squeeze past asshole in Jeep. Approach intersection. Try to squeeze past car turning. Bike tire squished. Flying. Shit.
This is officially collision type #7 on the bike safety checklist...it's also known as "The Right Hook, Pt. 2". Of course, legally, I was in the clear because she hit me, not the other way around. According to Johnny Law, she should have checked her blind spot before turning right.
But, realistically, I was not in the right. I should have slowed down to the speed of traffic once the light turned green. I should seen and recognized her turn signal. I should have known the on-ramp was coming up. I pride myself on making it so that I don't even give cars the opportunity to hit me (called: "Ride as if you're invisible"). But this time I totally failed.
Which meant that, as she was giving me her contact information, and taking mine...and as she offered to pay for the repairs (a very nice woman, like I said), all I wanted to do was apologize to her for being an idiot, and a terrible cyclist. It reminded me a lot of this:
But I just rode off instead, only issuing a lame, half-assed warning to her that she should be watching for bicycles. As I was about a half-mile down the road, she called me and apologized, asking if I needed a ride to where I was going (as I say, she was a very nice lady). I called her back and told her that I was fine, and thanks for calling.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Suck It, Travelocity: Part 2
(continued from PART 1)
Most of you who know me, know one thing -- I'm not good at talking. I'm a mumbling, self-conscious, confusing, painfully shy human being whenever I'm engaged in conversation. I share a cubicle wall with a woman who I've said, maybe, four words to since I started working here six months ago (those words were, most likely, "Oh," "Excuse me," and "Thanks"). I don't talk good, and those of you who disagree with that statement (my wife) are totally wrong.
However.
When I write, suddenly I'm Oscar "Frigging" Wilde (minus all of the "charm," "creativity" and "good writing ability"). I start using words so big that I have no idea how to spell them (thank Jehovah for those squiggly red lines underneath misspelled words). I start spinning complex analogies, referencing obscure historical figures, and demonstrating an easy knowledge of theories that have taken people years to comprehend.
I'll tell you a secret -- I'm not really smart. I just look all of this stuff up on Wikipedia as I'm typing, so it sounds like I'm speaking "off the cuff." In reality, each of these blog entries that takes, perhaps, 5 minutes to read takes me hours, sometimes days to write.
What's this got to do with Travelocity?
Well...I'll tell you.
The easy way to fix this would have been to actually "call" Travelocity. I want to say that I didn't do that because: "I didn't want to talk to another Indian dude, who couldn't possibly help me (or really understand my issue)." But, I think it was actually more because I'm afraid of hurting peoples' feelings. If I'm actually talking to someone, I feel like I want to apologize for being mean...on those rare occasions where I actually have to be mean.
So I did what any good coward would do when faced with this problem. I sent an e-mail. Most of it was grievances I already covered in Part 1...so I'll spare you the repetition and just skip to last paragraph:
[boring part edited out]
So, my question to you is this: why on earth would I ever use Travelocity again? Or recommend Travelocity to anyone I know? I mean, does this seem like a legitimate fee that I've been charged? At all? I seriously doubt that JetBlue "won't allow" Travelocity to use the lower fares to pay the "change" fee (as I was able to calculate the charges on JetBlue.com, and saw that the fare saving paid for the change fee). My guess is that the whole sum is just pocketed by Travelocity, which strikes me as horribly dishonest. No doubt these ridiculous, nonsensical fees are covered under the vagaries of the "General Policies" section of the confirmation e-mail, but in the interest of running a fair business, I would ask that you refund the $260.00 fee I was forced to pay to Travelocity for the change.
Not bad, eh? I used the word "vagaries," but I'm still not totally sure I used it right. Either way...here was the response I got back from Travelocity:
We understand your concern that you would like to make changes to your reservation to without any charges. [ed: a comma would have helped there, methinks...also got a little "to" happy] We know that fees and penalty restrictions are unpleasant, but we need to uphold them.
Please note that these policies are laid by the airlines and we as a travel agency need to follow them. The maximum amount of the reissue fee plus any difference in the fare is charged by the airline. Travelocity only charges $ 30.00 as an exchange fee.
Again I do apologize for the frustration this has caused and hope that you will understand our situation.
Sincerely,
Ryan T
Travelocity Customer Care
Gauging from the response...I don't think Ryan T actually read my e-mail. He saw that I had a "complaint about change fees," looked up Travelocity's JetBlue change policy interpretation, and sent a template response meant to pacify the "stupidly outraged" and "easily pacified."
Of course, nowhere did I request a "change to my reservation to without any charges." And, the policies that are being enforced by Travelocity are not "laid by the airlines" (hee hee...laid...). Ryan was using all the right words, but they had nothing to do with my e-mail.
My guess? Ryan looks a lot like this dude:
So, I wrote back:
On the contrary, the inability to use the difference between the fares on 4/7 and 5/11 ($103.00) to pay the change fee is not "laid by the airline." JetBlue policy explicitly allows customers to use a difference in fare to pay the fee for changing dates. I highly doubt that JetBlue holds your travel agency to a different standard than it does its customers, which leads me to the conclusion that this fee policy is Travelocity's, not JetBlue's.
In fact, I will quote JetBlue's policy on this: "For JetBlue Nonrefundable Fares, changes or cancellations may be made prior to scheduled departure for a fee of $100 per person plus any applicable difference in airfare. Any remaining balance will be placed in a JetBlue air-only credit and may be applied toward future travel for one year from date of issuance."
There is nothing in the JetBlue policy about a "negative difference" being forfeited. Quite the opposite; there is a specific stipulation addressing that eventuality, where the difference is paid out via "air-only credit." The Travelocity customer service representative I spoke with said that they are "not allowed" to use the difference to pay the change fee, but that is demonstrably false. Forfeiting the difference is not covered anywhere in the Travelocity "General Guidelines" which claim to be only applying airline policy to the fees it charges.
Which is to say that your response is insufficient. Travelocity is not following airline policy, unless there's a different set of rules for travel agencies than there are for customers (there aren't). But the more important question is: how is Travelocity acting in good faith? I am not calling the $30 per-person into question, as that is covered by policy. I'm calling the $206 I was erroneously charged by Travelocity into question, since they applied the JetBlue fight date change guidelines incorrectly. I would again ask to be refunded the erroneous fee that was charged.
Please note my use of the words "erroneous" and "demonstrably," which I probably used incorrectly. Oh well. As I say, I'm not a word-smith...I'm more of a "word-parrot;" I have no idea what the frick I'm saying. Also, I was originally calling the $30 fee into question...but that was more of a "start high" negotiating tactic than anything else.
But, either way, it was "pearls before swine" again (even if they were cheap, $0.99 imitation pearls), because here was the response I got:
We understand your disappointment with the advised reissue charges.
As advised to you in our previous email, please note that he reissue fees as advised to you are as per the airlines policies and we are unable to change the same. [ed: I've read that sentence, maybe, a dozen times...I still have no idea what he was trying to say] The tickets are issued by the airlines and the change fees are applicable as per the fare rules of your tickets. The airlines change fees of $100.00 and the fare difference is charged by the airlines and we only charge you $30.00 service fees.
We once again apologize for your disappointment and appreciate your understanding.
Sincerely,
Steven T
Travelocity Customer Care
Awesome. My guess: Steven is a total moron. But that's just a guess -- I wouldn't want to libel anyone (yes, I just looked up "libel" to make sure I could use it as a verb -- I can, damn you). I mean...was he really just apologizing for my disappointment? Really? What does that even mean? Shouldn't they be apologizing for "disappointing me?" That's like hitting someone with your car, and apologizing for their broken leg...not for hitting them with your damn car. It's also how dumb people sound when they're trying to sound smart.
My guess? Steven looks something like this:
Needless to say, Steven "Da' Moron" T. really got my goat. So, I wrote one final missive...and if I got another stupid non-response, I was going to actually pick up a phone and call someone. Yep...they'd angered me out of my anti-social terror.
With my newest letter, I thought I'd try a different tack -- because dumb people seem to understand analogies best, I lead off with that:
Let me see if I can use an analogy in order to help you understand what I'm saying...because I don't believe that you have demonstrated any understanding of the basis of my complaint. So, here is my analogy:
I hire a plumber to install my kitchen sink. He does so, and charges me $400. Once the sink is installed, I decide that I don't like the color of the faucet, and ask the plumber to exchange the "bronze" for the "chrome." He does so, but informs me he will charge me $30 for re-installation, plus whatever the hardware store charges for exchanges. He shows up the next day and installs the new chrome faucet, telling me that the hardware store charged him $100 for the exchange...which I must now pay to him. This confuses me, so the next day I go to that same hardware store and ask an employee how much they charge for exchanges. The employee at the hardware store tells me that they would not charge in my case, since I exchanged the expensive bronze faucet for the much less expensive chrome faucet. This means that the plumber...
A) Told the truth, and the hardware store only charges plumbers for exchanges.
B) Committed fraud, and pocketed the $100.00 that he charged me.
Does that make sense? I went to the hardware store (JetBlue) and asked them about their exchange policy (date change policy). I was told that they wouldn't charge me. Is Travelocity committing fraud? Or does JetBlue hold travel agencies to a different standard?
Because, regarding JetBlue policy, I want to be absolutely clear here: if the fare for the new date of departure is more than $100 cheaper than the fare for the date of the original departure, there is no charge from JetBlue to change a flight date. I've now been told by two different Travelocity employees that this $100 charge is "per airlines policy," but that is simply not true. And having one, two, three, or thirty Travelocity employees tell me the same thing will not make it any more true.
So forgive me while I repeat myself, but I feel I must do so until you acknowledge this fact: if the fare on the new date is more than $100 cheaper than the cost of the fare on the original booking date, JetBlue does not charge its customers to change the date of a flight.
Here is why this is a big deal. Customers go to travel agent sites to receive better pricing, and deals on travel packages. But, in this instance, instead of getting a better deal, I've been punished (to the tune of $266) for using Travelocity. If I had just booked this deal through JetBlue.com, I would have that $260, plus an additional $6 credit that I could use for future travel (if only plane tickets in the future could somehow cost $5.99...dare to dream). Essentially, my choice to book the flight through Travelocity cost me $266.
And please, this has nothing to do with "disappointment," so stop using that word. It's more "confusion," "disbelief," and quite a bit of "frustration." I don't want platitudes. I don't want apologies. And I don't want to have another response from Travelocity wherein you just repeat the falsehood that the "$100 charge came from the airline." It didn't, and it doesn't. I want that $200 charge refunded. And if you continue to refuse my request, I want you to show me exactly where in the JetBlue "date change" policy you are seeing the claim that a customer must forfeit the difference in ticket prices in the event of a date change. Or else admit that this $100 charge is not JetBlue policy, but, rather, a fraudulent attempt by Travelocity to exact a fee, shrugging off responsibility by repeating the falsehood that the charge came from the airline.
I didn't hear back from Travelocity for a couple of days. I figured they were just giving me the ol' brush-off. Like, "Well, we already dealt with this guy. He's obviously crazy. If we ignore him, he'll just go away eventually."
So I wrote to JetBlue, trying to find out if, maybe, I was wrong about my understanding of their change policy. I got a pleasant response the next day.
Thank you for contacting JetBlue Airways regarding your JetBlue Reservation. We appreciate the opportunity to respond.
Yes, there is a $100 change fee per person if you choose to change to a different date. If the fare is lower, example $100 then you would break even.
Regards,
Carolyn
Customer Commitment Crew
JetBlue Airways Crewmember 92321
Nice. I betcha' Carolyn looks something like this:
So I was on the brink of actually "calling" when, to my total surprise, I heard back from Travelocity. This was someone with a couple of brain cells to rub together. Someone who can actually read. A guy who got to is allowed to put the word "Supervisor" in parenthesis by his signature. Maybe it was my analogy. Maybe it was my persistence. Maybe I just got lucky. Either way, here's what I heard back from the lovely little gnome-humpers:
Please note that as your ticket fare Jet Blue does not authorize us to refund the balance credit of $103.00 per passenger. We contacted Jet Blue and refuse to provide any authorization to issue a voucher. Jet Blue do not provide such option to travel agencies.
However, we appreciate your business and hope you will come back to Travelocity. To assist in your future travel plans, we are offering you a Future Trip Discount off the purchase of a TotalTrip package or GoodBuy Hotel stay on Travelocity, within 1 year of date of issue of the Code subject to the Terms and Conditions shown below.
[details edited out, you silly bastards -- this is my code, not yours]
Sincerely,
Spencer T (Supervisor) Travelocity Customer Service
So good wins out over evil, I suppose. Or...at least...good gets about 40% of his wasted money refunded. I guess that's a victory. Still, even though Spencer grudgingly gave up the travel discount voucher, he had to get in a silly "Please note" dig. Seems he was under the impression that the $103.00 was in the form of a "travel voucher," as opposed to a "fee discount."
But...either way...I guess I got some of my money back, compliments of a dude who probably looks like this:
And now it seems that they've forced me to come back, and redeem my silly little "voucher" through their agency. Well...damn it all. Rest assured, I'll never be using any of these frigging websites ever again. And take this as a lesson, all. Stay away. Far away. Don't let the gnome tempt you -- it's all a lie.
Most of you who know me, know one thing -- I'm not good at talking. I'm a mumbling, self-conscious, confusing, painfully shy human being whenever I'm engaged in conversation. I share a cubicle wall with a woman who I've said, maybe, four words to since I started working here six months ago (those words were, most likely, "Oh," "Excuse me," and "Thanks"). I don't talk good, and those of you who disagree with that statement (my wife) are totally wrong.
However.
When I write, suddenly I'm Oscar "Frigging" Wilde (minus all of the "charm," "creativity" and "good writing ability"). I start using words so big that I have no idea how to spell them (thank Jehovah for those squiggly red lines underneath misspelled words). I start spinning complex analogies, referencing obscure historical figures, and demonstrating an easy knowledge of theories that have taken people years to comprehend.
I'll tell you a secret -- I'm not really smart. I just look all of this stuff up on Wikipedia as I'm typing, so it sounds like I'm speaking "off the cuff." In reality, each of these blog entries that takes, perhaps, 5 minutes to read takes me hours, sometimes days to write.
What's this got to do with Travelocity?
Well...I'll tell you.
The easy way to fix this would have been to actually "call" Travelocity. I want to say that I didn't do that because: "I didn't want to talk to another Indian dude, who couldn't possibly help me (or really understand my issue)." But, I think it was actually more because I'm afraid of hurting peoples' feelings. If I'm actually talking to someone, I feel like I want to apologize for being mean...on those rare occasions where I actually have to be mean.
So I did what any good coward would do when faced with this problem. I sent an e-mail. Most of it was grievances I already covered in Part 1...so I'll spare you the repetition and just skip to last paragraph:
[boring part edited out]
So, my question to you is this: why on earth would I ever use Travelocity again? Or recommend Travelocity to anyone I know? I mean, does this seem like a legitimate fee that I've been charged? At all? I seriously doubt that JetBlue "won't allow" Travelocity to use the lower fares to pay the "change" fee (as I was able to calculate the charges on JetBlue.com, and saw that the fare saving paid for the change fee). My guess is that the whole sum is just pocketed by Travelocity, which strikes me as horribly dishonest. No doubt these ridiculous, nonsensical fees are covered under the vagaries of the "General Policies" section of the confirmation e-mail, but in the interest of running a fair business, I would ask that you refund the $260.00 fee I was forced to pay to Travelocity for the change.
Not bad, eh? I used the word "vagaries," but I'm still not totally sure I used it right. Either way...here was the response I got back from Travelocity:
We understand your concern that you would like to make changes to your reservation to without any charges. [ed: a comma would have helped there, methinks...also got a little "to" happy] We know that fees and penalty restrictions are unpleasant, but we need to uphold them.
Please note that these policies are laid by the airlines and we as a travel agency need to follow them. The maximum amount of the reissue fee plus any difference in the fare is charged by the airline. Travelocity only charges $ 30.00 as an exchange fee.
Again I do apologize for the frustration this has caused and hope that you will understand our situation.
Sincerely,
Ryan T
Travelocity Customer Care
Gauging from the response...I don't think Ryan T actually read my e-mail. He saw that I had a "complaint about change fees," looked up Travelocity's JetBlue change policy interpretation, and sent a template response meant to pacify the "stupidly outraged" and "easily pacified."
Of course, nowhere did I request a "change to my reservation to without any charges." And, the policies that are being enforced by Travelocity are not "laid by the airlines" (hee hee...laid...). Ryan was using all the right words, but they had nothing to do with my e-mail.
My guess? Ryan looks a lot like this dude:
So, I wrote back:
On the contrary, the inability to use the difference between the fares on 4/7 and 5/11 ($103.00) to pay the change fee is not "laid by the airline." JetBlue policy explicitly allows customers to use a difference in fare to pay the fee for changing dates. I highly doubt that JetBlue holds your travel agency to a different standard than it does its customers, which leads me to the conclusion that this fee policy is Travelocity's, not JetBlue's.
In fact, I will quote JetBlue's policy on this: "For JetBlue Nonrefundable Fares, changes or cancellations may be made prior to scheduled departure for a fee of $100 per person plus any applicable difference in airfare. Any remaining balance will be placed in a JetBlue air-only credit and may be applied toward future travel for one year from date of issuance."
There is nothing in the JetBlue policy about a "negative difference" being forfeited. Quite the opposite; there is a specific stipulation addressing that eventuality, where the difference is paid out via "air-only credit." The Travelocity customer service representative I spoke with said that they are "not allowed" to use the difference to pay the change fee, but that is demonstrably false. Forfeiting the difference is not covered anywhere in the Travelocity "General Guidelines" which claim to be only applying airline policy to the fees it charges.
Which is to say that your response is insufficient. Travelocity is not following airline policy, unless there's a different set of rules for travel agencies than there are for customers (there aren't). But the more important question is: how is Travelocity acting in good faith? I am not calling the $30 per-person into question, as that is covered by policy. I'm calling the $206 I was erroneously charged by Travelocity into question, since they applied the JetBlue fight date change guidelines incorrectly. I would again ask to be refunded the erroneous fee that was charged.
Please note my use of the words "erroneous" and "demonstrably," which I probably used incorrectly. Oh well. As I say, I'm not a word-smith...I'm more of a "word-parrot;" I have no idea what the frick I'm saying. Also, I was originally calling the $30 fee into question...but that was more of a "start high" negotiating tactic than anything else.
But, either way, it was "pearls before swine" again (even if they were cheap, $0.99 imitation pearls), because here was the response I got:
We understand your disappointment with the advised reissue charges.
As advised to you in our previous email, please note that he reissue fees as advised to you are as per the airlines policies and we are unable to change the same. [ed: I've read that sentence, maybe, a dozen times...I still have no idea what he was trying to say] The tickets are issued by the airlines and the change fees are applicable as per the fare rules of your tickets. The airlines change fees of $100.00 and the fare difference is charged by the airlines and we only charge you $30.00 service fees.
We once again apologize for your disappointment and appreciate your understanding.
Sincerely,
Steven T
Travelocity Customer Care
Awesome. My guess: Steven is a total moron. But that's just a guess -- I wouldn't want to libel anyone (yes, I just looked up "libel" to make sure I could use it as a verb -- I can, damn you). I mean...was he really just apologizing for my disappointment? Really? What does that even mean? Shouldn't they be apologizing for "disappointing me?" That's like hitting someone with your car, and apologizing for their broken leg...not for hitting them with your damn car. It's also how dumb people sound when they're trying to sound smart.
My guess? Steven looks something like this:
Needless to say, Steven "Da' Moron" T. really got my goat. So, I wrote one final missive...and if I got another stupid non-response, I was going to actually pick up a phone and call someone. Yep...they'd angered me out of my anti-social terror.
With my newest letter, I thought I'd try a different tack -- because dumb people seem to understand analogies best, I lead off with that:
Let me see if I can use an analogy in order to help you understand what I'm saying...because I don't believe that you have demonstrated any understanding of the basis of my complaint. So, here is my analogy:
I hire a plumber to install my kitchen sink. He does so, and charges me $400. Once the sink is installed, I decide that I don't like the color of the faucet, and ask the plumber to exchange the "bronze" for the "chrome." He does so, but informs me he will charge me $30 for re-installation, plus whatever the hardware store charges for exchanges. He shows up the next day and installs the new chrome faucet, telling me that the hardware store charged him $100 for the exchange...which I must now pay to him. This confuses me, so the next day I go to that same hardware store and ask an employee how much they charge for exchanges. The employee at the hardware store tells me that they would not charge in my case, since I exchanged the expensive bronze faucet for the much less expensive chrome faucet. This means that the plumber...
A) Told the truth, and the hardware store only charges plumbers for exchanges.
B) Committed fraud, and pocketed the $100.00 that he charged me.
Does that make sense? I went to the hardware store (JetBlue) and asked them about their exchange policy (date change policy). I was told that they wouldn't charge me. Is Travelocity committing fraud? Or does JetBlue hold travel agencies to a different standard?
Because, regarding JetBlue policy, I want to be absolutely clear here: if the fare for the new date of departure is more than $100 cheaper than the fare for the date of the original departure, there is no charge from JetBlue to change a flight date. I've now been told by two different Travelocity employees that this $100 charge is "per airlines policy," but that is simply not true. And having one, two, three, or thirty Travelocity employees tell me the same thing will not make it any more true.
So forgive me while I repeat myself, but I feel I must do so until you acknowledge this fact: if the fare on the new date is more than $100 cheaper than the cost of the fare on the original booking date, JetBlue does not charge its customers to change the date of a flight.
Here is why this is a big deal. Customers go to travel agent sites to receive better pricing, and deals on travel packages. But, in this instance, instead of getting a better deal, I've been punished (to the tune of $266) for using Travelocity. If I had just booked this deal through JetBlue.com, I would have that $260, plus an additional $6 credit that I could use for future travel (if only plane tickets in the future could somehow cost $5.99...dare to dream). Essentially, my choice to book the flight through Travelocity cost me $266.
And please, this has nothing to do with "disappointment," so stop using that word. It's more "confusion," "disbelief," and quite a bit of "frustration." I don't want platitudes. I don't want apologies. And I don't want to have another response from Travelocity wherein you just repeat the falsehood that the "$100 charge came from the airline." It didn't, and it doesn't. I want that $200 charge refunded. And if you continue to refuse my request, I want you to show me exactly where in the JetBlue "date change" policy you are seeing the claim that a customer must forfeit the difference in ticket prices in the event of a date change. Or else admit that this $100 charge is not JetBlue policy, but, rather, a fraudulent attempt by Travelocity to exact a fee, shrugging off responsibility by repeating the falsehood that the charge came from the airline.
I didn't hear back from Travelocity for a couple of days. I figured they were just giving me the ol' brush-off. Like, "Well, we already dealt with this guy. He's obviously crazy. If we ignore him, he'll just go away eventually."
So I wrote to JetBlue, trying to find out if, maybe, I was wrong about my understanding of their change policy. I got a pleasant response the next day.
Thank you for contacting JetBlue Airways regarding your JetBlue Reservation. We appreciate the opportunity to respond.
Yes, there is a $100 change fee per person if you choose to change to a different date. If the fare is lower, example $100 then you would break even.
Regards,
Carolyn
Customer Commitment Crew
JetBlue Airways Crewmember 92321
Nice. I betcha' Carolyn looks something like this:
So I was on the brink of actually "calling" when, to my total surprise, I heard back from Travelocity. This was someone with a couple of brain cells to rub together. Someone who can actually read. A guy who got to is allowed to put the word "Supervisor" in parenthesis by his signature. Maybe it was my analogy. Maybe it was my persistence. Maybe I just got lucky. Either way, here's what I heard back from the lovely little gnome-humpers:
Please note that as your ticket fare Jet Blue does not authorize us to refund the balance credit of $103.00 per passenger. We contacted Jet Blue and refuse to provide any authorization to issue a voucher. Jet Blue do not provide such option to travel agencies.
However, we appreciate your business and hope you will come back to Travelocity. To assist in your future travel plans, we are offering you a Future Trip Discount off the purchase of a TotalTrip package or GoodBuy Hotel stay on Travelocity, within 1 year of date of issue of the Code subject to the Terms and Conditions shown below.
[details edited out, you silly bastards -- this is my code, not yours]
Sincerely,
Spencer T (Supervisor) Travelocity Customer Service
So good wins out over evil, I suppose. Or...at least...good gets about 40% of his wasted money refunded. I guess that's a victory. Still, even though Spencer grudgingly gave up the travel discount voucher, he had to get in a silly "Please note" dig. Seems he was under the impression that the $103.00 was in the form of a "travel voucher," as opposed to a "fee discount."
But...either way...I guess I got some of my money back, compliments of a dude who probably looks like this:
And now it seems that they've forced me to come back, and redeem my silly little "voucher" through their agency. Well...damn it all. Rest assured, I'll never be using any of these frigging websites ever again. And take this as a lesson, all. Stay away. Far away. Don't let the gnome tempt you -- it's all a lie.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Suck it, Travelocity: Part 1
I'll start from the beginning. If you get bored, then feel free to skip ahead to the "good stuff." Or hell, just go read something else; jerk. Might I recommend "The Scarlet Pimpernel"?
Anyway, on with the banality...
So, for Christmas last year, I decided to get my wife a "trip to New York." Because, well, I knew she'd like it, and it's something we've dreamed about doing since we started dating, 7 years ago.
So, to present the gift, I purchased one of those "recordable cards," where you have 10 seconds to record a personalized message. My 10 second message was a clip from the song "New York, New York." Because, well, it was on my iPod, and it was about New York. I know, I know; I'm incredibly clever, and handsome, and tall, and strong, and handsome, and handsome.
She opened it, and loved it.
Which was awesome for me, too. Seeing my wife happy is just about the best thing in the world, and I try to experience that feeling as much as possible.
We started planning right away. She looked at museums and Broadway shows she wanted to see. I looked at how (exactly) to get to New York, and where we'd stay once we got there.
Eventually we settled a date; early April. Once that detail was set, I could start pricing tickets. JetBlue had some very good rates, and I'd heard good things about them, so I decided to give 'em a shot. They also happened to fly regularly out of the Burbank airport, with direct flights to JFK. This was perfect, because Burbank Airport is much closer to our house than LAX, and the airport is just all-around awesomer than the stink-hole that is LAX.
I wanted to book through the JetBlue website, but for some reason it kept kicking out an error when I tried to pay. I called the airline directly, and found out that, if I wanted to purchase tickets over the phone, I had to pay an additional fee. "No thanks," said I.
In retrospect, I should've just paid the stupid fee...but I can be horribly impatient sometimes.
Because I just wanted to get the damn thing paid for, ASAP. This is how my mind works -- if I put it off, I'll just forget about it; I have to utilize any momentum my procrastination-friendly brain gives me. To accomplish this, I went to Travelocity.com to book my tickets, which meant that I'd be paying a third-party to book my seat for me, giving me a way around the frigging error message.
I booked the tickets, and proudly sent the confirmation e-mail to my wife, once again feeding my "Make Erika happy" addiction. With plane tickets out of the way, I could focus on all of the "fun stuff we could do once we got there."
Which we did, for a couple of weeks.
Then my wife got cast in Twelfth Night.
And guess what. They performed at the beginning of April, right when we were planning on being in New York.
Crap.
Guess that means I have to move the reservation, huh?
Yep.
Okay. No problem.
So I went back to the JetBlue website and entered in my confirmation code -- they've got a great little site when it's not broken. I attempted to change my reservation, and everything was working fine as I clicked through the options. At the end, right before confirming, the site gave me a "total cost" for the change, and I found out, to my delight, that since the fare on our new date of our departure was over $100 less than the original fare, the change was totally free! As Mr. Carroll would say: "Callooh! Callay!"
But once again, when I tried to "Confirm," I got another damn error message. Oh, JetBlue...you're a crafty little bastard, aren't you? With your silly little malfunctioning website.
So I called JetBlue and got through, after 30 minutes on hold. I gave my details to the lady on the other end, and as she was entering the info her computer froze. So she put me back on hold as she spoke to "tech support." After 10 minutes she came back on the line and informed me that her computer was broken, but she'd queue up my call to four of her "buddies" around the office, and once they'd finished their call, they'd take mine. She begged me not to hang up, apologized profusely, and implored me to "Not hate us forever." It was, actually, kind of adorable...and it made it pretty impossible for me to be mad. She put me back on hold, and I waited another 10 minutes before I hung up (because I really, really needed to pee).
After peeing, I called back and spoke with another friendly woman. She entered my data, and discovered that, in order for me to make the change I had to go through Travelocity.
Gah.
Okay. Fine.
So I called Travelocity, and (of course) spoke to a man at a call center in India. Now, I have nothing against the good people of India. They're, typically, much smarter than we are, and generally far more attractive. However, this particular operator happened to be a bit of a tool. And I had a hard time understanding him, due to his accent. And he had a hard time explaining himself because English was not his primary language. And he kept getting irritated with me, because I wanted to understand what was going on, and (frankly) I couldn't, because of the aforementioned issues.
But what I found out, eventually, was that Travelocity charges $30 per ticket to change dates. Fine. Whatever. That was on the stupid confirmation e-mail, somewhere in the fine print. Okay. But, in addition to that, they informed me that JetBlue charged an additional $100 fee to change tickets, and I'd need to pay that too.
"But, um," I muttered, "the new tickets are cheaper, right?"
"Yes."
"So, doesn't that mean that they use the difference in fares to pay the change fee?"
"No. They don't allow us to do that."
"Oh. Um. Okay."
He asked me if I agreed to forfeit the difference in pricing...which was a strange question. I mean, did I have a choice? If I said, "No," would they just make the change anyway and not charge me? Of course not. It was either forfeit the difference, or cancel the reservation entirely. So, lamely, I agreed.
I gave him my credit card number, and he charged the $260.00.
Then I hung up.
Then I got really mad.
Because, basically, I was being massively punished for using Travelocity. My original tickets cost $700, which means the "fee" was just over 1/3 of the cost of the original tickets. If I'd booked through JetBlue (like I'd wanted to), I would have paid $0. In fact, there would have been $6 in credit left over, that I could have used for any future travel with JetBlue.
So, all told, because of my impatience, and Travelocity's duplicity, I was out $266.
That my friends, it total bullshit. So, casting off my usual "compliant meekness," I decided to fight back.
Which I will do...in PART TWO
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
We Are the Crap
Here's the 2010 version of We Are the World, officially titled "We Are the World 25 For Haiti":
Here's the original 1985 video:
And here's an SNL cold open, which was the first I'd heard of the 2010 version being released:
Finally, Huey Lewis gained "thirty points worth of awesome" (redeemable at my house) for his Jimmy Kimmel-produced parody video.
You still with me? No? Dammit. That'll teach me to lead off with 20 minutes of video for you guys to slog through to get to the meaty, sweet, tasty written-section of this blog.
Okay, well, since only the true die-hards are left...I'll tell you all what Mr. Jones could have done to fix the new, suck-tacular "We Are the World."
First off, here's what I liked:
But, since I have you all here...let me be honest. I've always liked the idea of a "singing super-group." I like watching famous singers get one or two lines of a song, then over-sing it as much as they possibly can -- it brings me joy. I even liked Voices that Care (featuring a strangely attractive, non-skeletal Celine Dion), and the MTV All-Star's remake of What's Going On? And, of course, I frigging loved the original "We Are the World." I pretty much have every inflection from every soloist in that song memorized. That's how much I listened to, and loved that song.
However, this We Are the 2010 World 25 Haiti Are The thing is just a heaping pile of fail...and I use that word sheepishly, because I'm starting to tire of people using "fail" as a noun.
So if I'm recording legend Quincy Jones...and I'm raking this dung heap into a manageable pile, here's what I tell the people:
What do we take away from all this? Well, hopefully I've given you the malady that's been with me for the last couple of days. That is -- this goofy song is stuck tight in my head. I thought blogging about it would make the music go away...but I'm afraid that it just made it worse. Damn.
Here's the original 1985 video:
And here's an SNL cold open, which was the first I'd heard of the 2010 version being released:
Finally, Huey Lewis gained "thirty points worth of awesome" (redeemable at my house) for his Jimmy Kimmel-produced parody video.
You still with me? No? Dammit. That'll teach me to lead off with 20 minutes of video for you guys to slog through to get to the meaty, sweet, tasty written-section of this blog.
Okay, well, since only the true die-hards are left...I'll tell you all what Mr. Jones could have done to fix the new, suck-tacular "We Are the World."
First off, here's what I liked:
- Wyclef Jean's crazy demon wail (let him do whatever the hell he wants, the man's Haitian, and as far as I know, he's the only Haitian singer in the entire world).
- Pink and Kelly Clarkson (one of the few singers who could sounded like they could sing without digital assistance).
- Jeff Bridges (one of my favorite actors...casting pearls before swine).
- Pretty much everything else.
But, since I have you all here...let me be honest. I've always liked the idea of a "singing super-group." I like watching famous singers get one or two lines of a song, then over-sing it as much as they possibly can -- it brings me joy. I even liked Voices that Care (featuring a strangely attractive, non-skeletal Celine Dion), and the MTV All-Star's remake of What's Going On? And, of course, I frigging loved the original "We Are the World." I pretty much have every inflection from every soloist in that song memorized. That's how much I listened to, and loved that song.
However, this We Are the 2010 World 25 Haiti Are The thing is just a heaping pile of fail...and I use that word sheepishly, because I'm starting to tire of people using "fail" as a noun.
So if I'm recording legend Quincy Jones...and I'm raking this dung heap into a manageable pile, here's what I tell the people:
- If you require the use of Auto-Tune to sing, you can help lend your voice from the security of the Dan Ackroyd Memorial Bleachers. I'd rather have a room full of Bob Dylans and Cyndi Laupers than a single T-Pain.
- Leave the drippy, self-important, blow-hard sincerity at the door. See how the 1985 singers were all smiling, and having a good time (except for Springsteen...who looked like he just got over food poisoning)? You don't have to look like you're in pain to show you care. In fact, all the serious faces make you look like a bit of a knob-job.
- If you are barely notable enough for a Wikipedia article, you are not welcome. Yes, I'm looking at you, Nipsey Hussle.
- Jamie Foxx -- go away.
- Seriously. Just go away. Ray was a massively overrated movie, and it doesn't make you a musician. The Soloist sucked too. I don't care if you know how to play the piano. Go away.
- No old people singing solos. Sorry. I respect your body of work, but your voices don't match the "pop" feel of the song. Feel free to join us from the bleachers.
- "Change" has three syllables, Celine. It also has an "I." Trust me, it does.
- Rapping in unison hasn't been cool since Run DMC did it. Break that section up. Each of you gets a line. Except for you, Swizz Beatz. I have no idea who you are. How did you get past security?
- Why on earth would you drop the dynamics going into the first chorus? You've got Celine doing her wacky French-Canadian run-a-thon which leads to.......a quiet, down-played chorus. It gave me whiplash. Shouldn't the chorus come in over the top and soar like a soaring eagle soaring over the Azores? I mean, that's what the build-up is for, right?
- Everyone take off your damn sunglasses. You're indoors. I know you need them to look cool, but you don't look cool. You look like you're high. Plus, your unnecessary sunglasses cost about as much as a Haitian makes in 3 months. You can only wear sunglasses if you're blind, and there are only three blind singers...one of which is six feet under.
- Who are those two strange looking old guys in salmon-colored button-up shirts? Did they win this opportunity from a silent auction at their country club?
- Everyone wears a pair of headphones. Everyone. No exceptions. Even if they're not plugged in to anything, you wear them. This is essential. Bonus points if only one ear is covered. Also, at some point you must press the headphones to your ear with one hand, because...how else are you going to be able to hear the music?
- DO IT LIVE!!! Seriously, how cool was it to see Tina Turner throw it to Billy Joel? Or to see Willie Nelson miss the first couple of notes in his duet line with Dionne Warwick (who then held up the words for him to read)? Or how Bruce Springsteen leaned into the microphone like he was mad at it? Now we get snapshots of a bunch of static, lifeless, studio sessions? That's just lame, and uninteresting.
- No, Jamie Foxx, your Ray Charles impression was not funny. It was stupid. Especially after the little cocky laugh and swagger you gave when it was done.
- Please don't play to the cameras. In fact, please just ignore the cameras. When you look down the barrel it's creepy. Besides, this is about the music, not the video...you egotistical weirdos.
- Everyone needs to be holding sheet music. I know you have it memorized. Good for you. It doesn't matter. Hold the music. It looks better. Trust me. I'm Quincy Jones.
- Could we possibly inject a little "Haitian Folk Music" into this thing? I mean...Wyclef tried, but the rest of the piece was so bland and poppy that he just came off sounding like a wailing maniac in the final cut.
- Less head-bobbing and false sincerity on the chorus, more swaying. Swaying is cool, and it creates the appearance that you all actually like each other.
- Let the ladies from Heart sing, for God's sake. People need to be made more aware of this band, and the fact that Ann Wilson still has a ridiculously awesome voice.
- Jamie Foxx, are you still here? Go away.
What do we take away from all this? Well, hopefully I've given you the malady that's been with me for the last couple of days. That is -- this goofy song is stuck tight in my head. I thought blogging about it would make the music go away...but I'm afraid that it just made it worse. Damn.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Me. Acting.
Hi, stranger. I'm an actor. Don't believe me? I can't say that I blame you...I have a hard time believing it myself. For instance, did you know that I'm in a cubicle right now? That's right...I should be "on set" somewhere, but instead, I'm typing this out on a computer in a cubicle in a big ol' office building (which is, admittedly, on the Disney Studio lot...but that would just ruin my point, wouldn't it?).
Anyhow, I do act. And, if you want proof, here it is. Me. Acting.
First off, here's my only "national" credit (technically "international"...but Ireland is a nation too, right?). This is from a Sprite commercial I did in 2007. I'm at 0:14, tied to a chair, being menaced by a hair dryer.
Here's another commercial I did in Seattle, for the company MasterPark. I play the dad.
This was a commercial for Powell Electric. I play the "stupid irate guy who went with the wrong electrician."
This was a commercial I did for the Puyallup Fair (for you non-Seattle natives, it's pronounced "pyoo-AL-up). I play the slobbery blubbering crybaby. Sorry that the video resolution is so low, but I'm not sorry for the high quality of the crying sound effects.
I did this scene reading for an IF.net contest. I didn't win. But I got the rare opportunity to seduce me on-camera...so that was nice.
These next three were one of the first things I did in Los Angeles. It was a promotional video for Wizard World, which is a kind of cut-rate Comic-Con.
Here's our 2008 entry in the 48 Hour Film Project. I played a grandmother-loving, MMORPG-playing, potato-salad fanatic named Milt.
Here's my first project with the great Mark Tapio Kines. I don't remember my character's name, but he is, apparently, someone's boyfriend. You see me about a minute in.
I took a turn for some serious, heavy drama in this little self-produced joint called "Stray Doug," produced by our good friend at GadZook films. I play Doug. As for the premise? Well...you'll see...
Finally, here's my second (most recent) short film, written and directed by Mark. I play Ron...who is a bit of a freak.
Anyhow, I do act. And, if you want proof, here it is. Me. Acting.
First off, here's my only "national" credit (technically "international"...but Ireland is a nation too, right?). This is from a Sprite commercial I did in 2007. I'm at 0:14, tied to a chair, being menaced by a hair dryer.
Here's another commercial I did in Seattle, for the company MasterPark. I play the dad.
This was a commercial for Powell Electric. I play the "stupid irate guy who went with the wrong electrician."
This was a commercial I did for the Puyallup Fair (for you non-Seattle natives, it's pronounced "pyoo-AL-up). I play the slobbery blubbering crybaby. Sorry that the video resolution is so low, but I'm not sorry for the high quality of the crying sound effects.
I did this scene reading for an IF.net contest. I didn't win. But I got the rare opportunity to seduce me on-camera...so that was nice.
These next three were one of the first things I did in Los Angeles. It was a promotional video for Wizard World, which is a kind of cut-rate Comic-Con.
Here's our 2008 entry in the 48 Hour Film Project. I played a grandmother-loving, MMORPG-playing, potato-salad fanatic named Milt.
Here's my first project with the great Mark Tapio Kines. I don't remember my character's name, but he is, apparently, someone's boyfriend. You see me about a minute in.
I took a turn for some serious, heavy drama in this little self-produced joint called "Stray Doug," produced by our good friend at GadZook films. I play Doug. As for the premise? Well...you'll see...
Finally, here's my second (most recent) short film, written and directed by Mark. I play Ron...who is a bit of a freak.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
