overscan.org

…

Yes. This actually exists. Like that guy needs any more idiots.

La Resistance…

I have realized that being me is like being at war. There is immense technique involved. At first, to the untrained strategist, it might seem most effective to immediately procede to the Internet Cafe from work to make a hard push at the resume front lines. But, that is not taking into account the Army of Irritation Battalion that awaits at the Starbucks. Our troops right now are much too weak and there would be many casualties. Therefore, despite the extra march to our base in Astoria, the extra supplies and Chinese Food medics that await there will provide rejuvenation for the troops. This will also give the troops a chance to develop a strategy for Operation Job Preparation, an extremely laborious and complicated mission. The previous battles this week have been won with much success. Operation LERN and Operation Dishes & Laundry were won with great ease. However, it is times like these where I must remember Napoleon’s defeat, trying to attack on multiple fronts with weak troops. Just as Russia could have been within Napoleon’s sights, the great lands of Resume-CoverLetteria are within my grasp but only if I prevent rash miscalculation.

Taking Action

Dear Regency Hotel,

I am writing to you in complaint about the variety, or lack thereof, of chips in your staff vending machine. I have noticed that that the entire top two rows consist of greasy artifically flavored chips. In case you were unaware, Wheat Thins, a Nabisco Product, are available in the same individually packed, vending machine sized bags. In addition to the lack of Wheat Thins, I also have a problem with the sole existence of flavored chips in the vending machines. There is not one instance of plain chips in the vending machines. Plain chips are the essence of chip. Plain chips let the consumer decide on flavoring in selecting a dip or cheese spread. Flavored chips do not offer this option. You cannot simply scratch the red flakes off of a flavored chip, expecting to find a plain chip underneath. I hope that you take these comments into consideration upon the next restocking of the vending machine.

Healthily,

JR

False Advertising

Counter Guy: What can I get for you?

John: One toasted Everything bagel, please.

Counter Guy: Would you like to add Cream Cheese?

John: Shouldn’t that be included?

Blue Hands and Blue Laws

The temperature in New York has been in a steady decline for the last few days. According to weather.com, it was 6 degrees yesterday evening, but with the wind chill it was -8 degrees. Yesterday evening was the first time that I had to face the cold for an extended period of time. In this case, it was self-inflicted. On my way home from the city at 2:30 AM, due to an overzealous choice of train routes, I ended up in a 30 minute standing experience on the upper platform of an elevated Queens subway station, completely exposed to the elements, rather than in the underground station that the more conservative train route would have allowed. After the final arrival of the train and the subsequent ride to my station, I braved the 10 city block walk back to my humble abode at 2261 42nd Street. After reaching the warmth of the apartment, I began to thaw. I had never before had the feeling of thawing, but it is very similar to the feeling that your body gets upon immediately moving from a cold night-time swimming pool to a 100 degree hot-tub. The heat slowly seeps into your cold appendages, creating a feeling similar to that of a body part that has fallen asleep.

This moring, I took note of the sense of comradery that the weather situation seems to create among the people of New York. No matter what your financial situation, the weather will effect you here, and all residents of the city are in the fight together. If someone comes in from outside, they seem happy to update you about the weather situation.

A few hours later, in a sparcely packed subway car…

I observed a strange man in a red puffy NFL jacket yell at a girl and her boyfriend using foul language until they decided it would be best for them to leave the car. After this uproar, I looked over at another girl who was sitting a few seats away, also witnessing this experience. I gave her a look that included raised eyebrows with the implication, “What was that all about?” She looked away. Apparently there is not a sense of comradery between subway riders who both witness a crazy person in action.

As I rode the rest of the way home, thinking about the rest of the evening, I made the decision that I was going to get a six-pack of Dos Equis Lager and enjoy the tasty beverage in the comfort of my own home, perhaps even creating a beer garden on the frozen fire escape. I reached the beer aisle at the store, and after selecting my beverage of choice, proceeded toward the counter, where I was immediately greeted by the store clerk.

“It’s Sunday,” he said, and gestured toward my case of beer.

“Okay,” I responded.

“You cannot buy that here.”

“Why not?”

“It is Sunday morning, you cannot buy that until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you serious?”

And he was. After arriving home and looking the problem up online, I discovered that New York, as well as many other New England States, have “Blue Laws,” the origin of which dates to Puritan times. This particular law prohibits the sale of alcohol on Sundays, starting at midnight on Saturday evening. Apparently God does not approve of drinking on Sundays, unless you are drinking his blood with a serving of his body on the side. Strangely, God apparently has no problem with drinking in a roudy bar, since those are still open and serving until 4:00 in the morning.

Why the Sistine Chapel is like IKEA; Jesus; & Post Offices

I arrived in Rome today and since i only have one day in Rome, I had to mentally browse over the multitude of options that are available for a day in Rome. Eventually, I decided that I wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, which has the famous ceiling painted by Michaelangelo.

I arrived there, and after checking out the Basilica, which is a large church at the center entrance of the vatican which requires that all people where pants (apparently god had something against knees, because guys and girls in 3/4 pants and capri pants were admitted just fine).

After researching how to get the Sistine Chapel, I found that the only way to see it was to go through the Vatican Museum, which has an entry fee of $7 Euro for students. So I bit the bullet, and paid the money to enter this area. I immediately saw signs for the Sistine Chapel, just as there are arrows pointing to the Mona Lisa in every room of the Louvre. So I started following the signs. I went through room after room of old fine art by people such as Raphael. It was then that I realized that the Sistine Chapel was not coming up anytime soon and that in the Ikea analogy the Sistine Chapel is the checkout counter. I continued to roam
this maze, seeing millions of babies with wings instead of self-assembly furniture. One thing that Ikea and the Vatican Museum have in common is the amount of young children, upset with their plight inside of this maze.

It is not that this old art is not good, but while looking at this art you are surrounded by hoards of families who are only there to see the Sistine Chapel, and are frustrated by being forced through this $7 maze. These people, in their frustration emit a lot of heat which makes the experience even more pleasurable. The whole place reeks of dumbass. Since there are signs to the Sistine Chapel in EVERY room, the children are constantly looking up at the ceiling of every room, all of which are painted, and asking °is this it?°. Sadly for them it is not.

There are also other people, usually couples, who take turns taking pictures of each other in front of famous works of art. As if their presence in the foreground of this photograph is going to hold a candle to the art that has lasted thousands of years. I am glad that couples do not takes pictures in Ikea in front of the bedroom set that they might choose to buy.

After finally reaching the checkout stand, i mean the Sistine Chapel, I found it to be a large room so full of people, each one craning their neck back in some attempt to cause muscle damage, that you can hardly move. You walk down, as close to the center as you can get, and join them in their neck-craning activities. At least for me, chlostrophobia sets in quickly, and i exit the chapel to the outside of the building. BUT NO! Through the door is not the exit at all. The Sistine chapel was not the checkout stand, but instead the warehouse area where you can pull down boxes of made-to-build furniture. After I exited the chapel, I was
bombarded, not with tea light candles and poorly made potato mashers, but with a barage of Jesus paraphernalia to be purchased. You can buy busts, with or without the crown of thorns, posters of bloody jesus, various saints, crosses, keychains. Horrified, I ran out the true exit and in the heat of the moment, purchased a $3.50 coca-cola by accident, not even
realizing what i was doing.

Additionally, the Vatican City as it is called, is essentially a part of Rome, It has the same laws, and is involved in the same economic circle as the city of Rome. Other than its cultural significance, the only modern day thing that separates the Vatican from other parts of Rome is the fact that it has its own postal code. Because of this novelty, there are post offices ALL OVER the Vatican, so that you can send postcards to your relatives back home and have °Vatican City° stamped on them by the postal service.

That is all.