Monthly Archives: May 2008

When social networks go “ugh”?

Ponderings

I deleted both my MySpace account and my FaceBook account today. Over the last few months, I have found them to become quite… “high school-ish.” I originally created these accounts so I could find people from my past and visa-versa.

I think the social networking concept is a great one. I like the idea of a network where I can go and search for and easily communicate with my friends and family via message (either post or real-time).

Well, I did until the whole “applications” thing started. The “Pieces of Flair” and the “I just bought you as my pet” things got annoying enough to me that it ruined the concept of what a social network should be to me. It’s all that crap I could do without. As much as I dislike Bear411 (for reasons other than these), I like the fact that I can search for friends and easily communicate with them. Nothing else.

Then there is the web design aspect. FaceBook at least looked uniform (which did stifle self-expression). MySpace, on the other hand, propagates bad web design. Nothing like browsing to a webpage that autoplays some obnoxious song at you. Did people learn nothing from the blink tag era? Granted, most of the people using these sites probably weren’t even around when the blink tag went nuts.

Just my opinion.

Until next time...
Erik

Another child, another accident.

Ponderings,

First one, now another. I think we’re just going to get our kids big rubber balls to walk in and be done with it.

Our youngest, our 18 year old son, calls today. He was heading to our house from his mothers for the weekend. He had been in an accident. Correction—he had CAUSED the accident. He wasn’t paying attention and rear-ended someone who had stopped in the road ahead of him. AND that person then rear-ended the person stopped in front of them. Joy. Less than two months after we give him the car and he wrecks it and takes out two other vehicles in the process.

The son is fine, aside from his knees bothering him (he somehow whacked the underside of the dash during the accident) and the verbal lashing he has received from the husbear and myself. The husbear is upset, mad and disappointed—all the emotions one has as a parent when their child is in danger and causes danger.

The car is totaled. It is amazing the damage that can be done at 35 miles per hour. Guess he’ll find out what it’s like to be an adult faster than he wants. I’m glad we gave him a “boat.”

(sigh)… at least he wasn’t using a cell phone at the time….

Until next time...
Erik

Poor Tattoo Choice?

Tattooisms,

I was going to post about my best buddy today, but something happened that I just had to write about. This was one of those “I just have to tell someone” stories. He will understand… and I’ll make it up to him later. 😉

Here’s the story. I arrive at the tattoo shop this evening just as the [She Who Shall Not Be Named, At Her Request] started a tattoo on a customer. [She Bitch Who Shall Not Be Named, At Her Request] is our primary tattoo artists. She has been tattooing for 16+ years and knows her stuff.

But this isn’t about her. It’s about the customer: it was a 16-year old BOY getting a tattoo.

I don’t really have a problem with the age thing. We attempt to talk most underage people out of a tattoo. I believe it would not be responsible to not attempt to do so. I typically won’t say “no” as they will just go elsewhere or have it done in an unprofessional/unclean environment. Anyone under 18 years of age must have a parent sign for them, and remain there during the procedure. His mom was there with him, as well as a friend-girl. (After a while I realized it was his “Guuurrl-friend”.)

But this isn’t about his age either. It’s about his tattoo choice.

He was getting a lower back tattoo. Also known as a “tramp stamp”.

I have issues with tramp stamps on both men and women. More so on men. I’m not sure why, and I should be the last one to be judgmental about someone’s tattoo choices. I just have issue with them. I’ll deal with that at some point, I’m sure.

BUT this was not just any tramp stamp. It wasn’t your typical flowery or tribal-type tramp stamp…

This tramp stamp was a word. And not just any word. It was HIS OWN NAME! Read that again. His. Own. Name.

WHY???

Why would anyone have their own name tattooed on themselves? And of all places to have it tattooed, why on this green earth would you have your own name tattooed DIRECTLY above your ass?

What the hell is going to happen when this kid has to take showers in gym glass? (Do they still do that these days?) Worse still, what if he ends up in prison? And what about when he is wearing swim trunks at the lake? How do you explain that? Or is it like a “Hello my name is” sticker so that when he is on the bottom of some orgy pile some daddy can look down and know who he’s fucking?

And what about his mom? Did she not think this was odd? I later found out his mom was the one who drew out his name. And worse, she helped him pick the location of the tattoo. WHAT THE HELL?

I think this one will stick with me for a while….

To make matters more… well… funny (to me): he had a “v” in his name that was centered directly above his ass-crack. It was like a directional pointer saying “Please fuck me here!”.

Until next time...
Erik

A Day in My Life…

Ponderings, , , ,

I was asked what a typical day is like for me.

Wow. Have you ever actually sat down and tried to figure out what was “typical”?

Let’s see…

5:50 AM: The alarm goes off. As of the last few weeks, I have started either using the snooze button, or just shutting the damned thing off and not getting out of bed.

Somewhere between 5:51 AM and 6:30 AM: The husbear prods me and asks if I’m going to get up. At which point I usually do.

I drag my butt to the bathroom and have a hot shower. But not too long—we have a shallow, hand dug well, so long showers are a luxury for trips out of town.

I get out of the shower and get dressed in the bathroom with the clothes I have hung in the bathroom the night before. (Yes, I hang my clothes out the night before!)

I wander downstairs and head for the kitchen for a nice glass of Diet something. Nothing like a slight jolt of caffeine to help get me started.

I wander from the kitchen to my computer, at which point I plant my butt in front of it and check my email, and some of my favorite bloggers sites.

6:30 AM: The husbear’s alarm goes off and I can hear him stumble out of bed and down the stairs.

6:45 AM: I kiss the husbear goodbye for the day, head out the door, get in my truck, and head out for the day job at the Great Retail Empire.

It’s at this point that I sometimes go to the bank to make a bank deposit for the business (our salon and our tattoo studio). I sometimes go to Sonic for 44 ounces of caffeinated happiness.

I somehow make it the 8 miles from the house to the parking lot of the IS building for the Great Retail Empire.

7:10-ish: I sit in the truck wishing like hell I didn’t have to go in. Sadly, I do.

Between 7:10-ish AM and 5:30-ish PM: Lots of shit happens that I’m sure the Great Retail Empire would like for me to not talk about online. But oh well. The team of 16 or so that I am on supports roughly 250,000 Windows workstations globally. That tends to keep us busy. We also are working on all sorts of other projects too, such as virtualization and better methods of OS deployment.

I have no real reason as to why I’m putting the following pictures here, other than for your amusement. Comment as you will…


My first “5 Years” anniversary picture… what the hell? (Taken in 1999)


My next “5 Years” picture (Taken in 2006)

During the day I text my buddy on-and-off for most of the day. And the husbear too.

5:30-ish PM: I leave the Great Retail Empire if I’m lucky enough to escape and drive to the tattoo studio. Sometimes I have an appointment or a walk-in, and sometimes not.

8:00 PM: Tattoo studio closes for the night, at which point I drive home. (Yes, I know it closes early for a tattoo studio, but this town rolls up for the night about the same time.)

Between 8:20-ish and 10:00-ish PM: I do paperwork for the shops, check my email, read my favorite bloggers, and maybe write one myself if I can think of something to actually write about. I also get my clothes out for the next morning and get ready for bed.

10:00-ish PM: I crawl into bed to start the sleep cycle.

Rinse, lather, repeat…

Somewhere in there I try to have a little fun. Somewhere….

Welcome to my life.

Until next time...
Erik