Once, in a previous job, I had a customer who had a legitimate complaint. The company I worked for had screwed up, this customer suffered for it and had every reason to be livid. He made it clear that he was dissatisfied and that he expected us to fix the issue, but he was unfailingly gracious and courteous about it. Because of that, I, and several other employees bent over backward to solve his issue. It was a nice object lesson for me about how to treat the employees of a business when something goes wrong that is not directly their fault.
He was so delighted with our resolution of the issue that he insisted on giving me a bottle of wine as a thank you. I told him that I couldn’t accept tips of any kind and that the manager would only pour it down the drain, but he insisted. I told the manager, in keeping with the rules. The manager told me later that he poured the wine down the drain, but there were no witnesses, and he smiled unnervingly when he said it. That, too, was a lesson for me.
I’ve always been fascinated by devices that allow you to do something illegal and get away with it without making that activity any safer. Radar detectors are a great example. They aren’t collision detectors. They don’t warn you if your speed creeps up. They just tell you if someone who can cite you for speeding is in the area. Really, the radar detector's main function is as a priority-clarifier.
I owned a radar detector for a short time. I left it at home one day and got burgled. It was the most valuable thing they took (I was broke at the time). When the police asked what was missing, and I started the list with “Radar detector,” their enthusiasm for helping me decreased noticeably.
I think the problem isn’t that our role models are unrealistic, so much as who we pick to be our unrealistic role models. Looking back now, I see that most of the fictional characters I was presented with as role models were men who were really good at fighting, and at saving the semi-helpless women to whom they were attracted.
That’s not great, but it is better than what girls got for role models, which was women who were really good at being attractive and imploring the boys’ role models to save them.
Indiana Jones and Marion Ravenwood could have bucked that trend. They at least had other interests beyond fighting and being attractive. He was a professor and a scientist. She was a small business owner and a successful competitive drinker.
Of course, as a Hollywood film hero, Indiana Jones needed to have a different girlfriend every movie. He moved on to a squeamish damsel and a backstabbing Nazi, fine role models both!
So, in America, Smarties are a candy that’s pretty much just sugar pressed into a pill shape. I don’t know why they’re called Smarties, except that maybe their inventor named them after himself, because he was proud of having thought of a legal way to make money with a used pill press.
This comic was, of course, written for humorous purposes, and doesn’t really reflect my opinions about how men and women process their emotions.
In reality, I think the only real difference between how men and women handle their emotions is that women have to process several emotions men don’t. For example, women have to deal with the emotions created when men constantly accuse them of being overly emotional. This, sometimes makes women angry, which the man in question points to as proof, making her even angrier, resulting in an escalating chain reaction that will eventually end with women finally deposing us in a violent revolution, while their male victims shout things like, “What?!” “Calm down!” and “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
And I, for one, welcome our new feminine overlords. I remind them that some men are on the record as “getting it,” having, for example, said positive things about women in the commentaries posted with reruns of their web comics.
Note from Missy: I’ll put in a word with my cohorts about sparing you.
To the wedding guests, self-written vows are often an excruciating exercise in enduring excessive earnestness. (Sorry, got a little carried away with the alliteration there.) From a performance point of view though, self-written vows are a marvelous opportunity to deliberately inflict discomfort on a large group of people. It’s the one time in the average person’s life that they can hand-select the members of a large audience, have that audience’s undivided attention, and say whatever they want with zero fear of being interrupted.
I’m kind of amazed that most personalized wedding vows don’s sound something like, “I promise to love, honor, and obey, and to treat you with respect and honestly, a marked contrast to how I’ve been treated by my cousin Eric, who is sitting in the third row, and still owes me money from when we were 16!”
If you tell everyone you know that you want to call a meeting of all of your family and friends so that you can say a few things, they tense up, and a lot of them will deliberately avoid the whole thing. If you tell them you’re getting married or renewing your vows, they’ll not only show up, they’ll bring a gift.
Sadly, it’s all true. That’s how I proposed, that’s how we got married, and that’s how we announced it to my family.
For the record, when my father and his wife at the time got their card, their first comment was, “Geez, Scott. You’ve gotten so fat, I didn’t recognize you in that picture.”
What I’m saying is that we Meyers aren’t an emotionally demonstrative bunch.
Note from Missy: It’s been over 20 years, but this is how I remember the proposal: We were walking by the shop window, looked at the rings, and I said, “Hey, that ring we were thinking about is on sale.” Then we both shrugged and were kind of like, “You wanna?” So really, either way, TOTES ROMANTIC.
Captain Kirk was a terrible fist fighter. I can’t think of a single time Kirk ever singlehandedly beat someone into submission with his fists. He always had other crewmen, or Spock was there to hit them with the Vulcan nerve pinch. Maybe ending an episode with the captain just punching an alien in the face until they cried uncle wasn’t deemed heroic enough.
It has always struck me that in Star Trek (and now on The Orville, A TOTALLY DIFFERENT AND DISTINCT SHOW!!!) humans are the most feeble, least ferocious sentient creatures in the galaxy. Except maybe for the Ferengi. I dunno. They do have those sharp little teeth.
On Star Trek: Discovery, there’s a creature who they state many times is from a prey species. He talks at length about how his people can sense death, and live in constant fear. Well, it turns out he can also crush a communicator with his bare hands.
If Star Trek were realistic, humans would not be in command of all the Federation ships. Their primary jobs would be as an emergency source of protein.
So, about the song “Love the One You’re With.” I have to assume that Stephen Stills was single at the time that he wrote it, or went through a breakup shortly afterward, because I don’t know how you play that song for the person you’re in a relationship with and not have it forever change that person’s attitude towards you.
You may think the commercial I suggest is stupid, and you’d be right, but that doesn’t mean nobody’d do it, or that it wouldn’t work. Ever since the debut of Juicy Juice and its slogan, “Juicy Juice is the Juiciest Juice,” all bets have been off.
When it first started, I was of two minds about the show. I liked its message of empowerment for the disenfranchised and nerdy, but I disliked the fact that the show suggested that the key to finding acceptance was through singing and dancing. I’d have preferred it if they had highlighted the method I used to find my niche: sarcasm and ironic detachment. They could have called the show Snark.
Note from Missy: I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the same Note from Missy I left when this comic first ran, but: you can tell that Scott makes up some of this dialog, because I totally know Sy Snootles’ name.
I saw Justice League. I seem to recall enjoying it, but the next day I could barely remember it. If I concentrate, I can come up with some solid recollections of who said or did what, but no part of it jumps out as having been my “favorite part.”
I am irritated that Jason Momoa looks like he does and is funny. Being funny is supposed to be what the fates give guys like me to make up for the fact that we don’t look like him, or Chris Hemsworth, or Terry Crews. If big, pumped-up beefcakes are going to start being funny, I might have to start going to a gym, and I really don’t want to do that.
Oh, yeah, I’m supposed to be talking about the comic. I think the joke in panel three is some of my best work.
One job I had at Disney involved waiting for long stretches for a specific thing to happen. When that thing happened, we were busy. In the meantime it got quite boring. One of my coworkers was a very even-keeled, diplomatic sort. One day I got bored enough that, in an effort to entertain myself, I started walking laps of him, just to see how many times I could circumnavigate the poor guy before he said something.
He never said anything. After 12 laps, he just walked away, and never mentioned it.
I don’t mind at all if a song has elements of country music, or country influences. My biggest problem with “country music” is that, at the time when I was exposed to lots of it, it seemed to me that most of the songs were about “the country,” or about how the singer was “from the country,” and played music from or in “the country.” It was like it didn’t qualify as country music unless the word “country” or “music” was in the chorus of the song.
I’m not a big fan of rock songs about “rocking” either.
Them- “I wanna rock and roll all night!”
Me – “Get to it, then. I’m not stopping you.”
The Super Big Gulp is about as big as most people are willing to go, but there is (or at least was, at one time) a Double Gulp: 64 ounces of ice-cold liquid freedom. Eventually they made the Double Gulp cups from plastic, but at first they were waxed cardboard, and had a top that folded over like a milk carton for extra structural rigidity.
I was unable to find a picture of the old milk-carton style Double Gulp cup online. Luckily, I did find a few other people mentioning that they remembered them, or else I’d have to chalk the whole thing up to some sort of fever dream.
Clearly the open-faced sandwich thing was really bugging me.
Someone wrote complaining that by my definition Subway sandwiches aren’t sandwiches, because instead of slicing the bread in half, the “Sandwich Artists” scoop the loaf out like a dugout canoe. That person was, of course, 100% WRONG. The “Sandwich Artists” finish the sandwich by taking the part of the bread they scooped out and placing it back on top of the filling, thus satisfying my requirement that a sandwich consists on at least one thing held between at least two pieces of another thing.
I know that by my own rules, calling a chowder-filled bread bowl a sandwich is pushing it, but I’ve seen places where they take the top of the loaf of bread and place it on top like a lid, so it totally counts. Yes, it’s difficult to pick up and eat, but not impossible, if you’re careful, and don’t care about making a mess, because you will.