And Now? The Time Has Come ...

This is the final entry for this blog.

Why?

Because I'm now at Rupe's Value Added Services ... Redux.

"Well ... that kind of tells me why ... but not really, if you know what I mean ..."

You're right.

So go read the initial posting over there and your question will be answered, already.

.......... Ruprecht  ( STOPped putting new entries here. You know why if you followed directions )

Cheese Substance

How many times have I told you: "Use Velveeta, go to jail?"

(At least once. Here.)

And, really ... if you need a reason to avoid Velveeta (you don't - commons sense should dictate that), verbiage use such as this will do the trick: 

"No illnesses have been reported in connection to the underpreserved cheese substance." 

Reason enough. 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP abusing cheese, don't use Velveeta )

What Part Of "Barq's" Don't You Understand?

Two weeks have gone by and - Wouldn't you know it? - I find myself back at Chick-Fil-A once again.

*sigh*

Not my choice of a quick dinner while on the go. (As a matter of fact, the next time we're out, I'm picking the eatery for a change of pace.)

You know ... I never have understood the attraction of Chick-Fil-A. I've frequented their locations a handful of times - the majority in the last year - and I haven't yet had anything that strikes me.

Well that's not necessarily true. When there those few weeks ago I included a side of coleslaw with my order. It would have been completely unremarkable except for one thing: Chick-Fil-A shaves their slaw into such small particles it has the consistency of chewing grains of sand. It's barely coleslaw; it's more like eating flavored shavings. Yeah, that was the impression the stuff left me with. At least, I can say I've tried it. And no need to go back to it again.

Anywho, everyone else had ordered and I was last up. I requested the same thing as previous, a spicy chicken sandwich meal. This time noted there was hot sauce available as one of their condiments. I could make the sandwich taste as if there was a bite to it being the description ("spicy") was deceiving. (Interesting Side Note: This time around I was asked by the service person what type of cheese I wanted on the sandwich. The image displayed and stated on the menu board plainly states the item comes with pepper jack cheese. Being given a choice point blank upon ordering leads me to conclude Chick-Fil-A simply enjoys messing with my head.)

Understand: As far as fast food joints go, the place isn't bad. It's just, well ... dull. There's nothing that stands out about it. (And even that's not completely true. The employees? They're overly nicey-nice. They exude a kind of suspicious scrubbed-clean fakery to the point they lean toward a somewhat creepy side. They're kind of like a clean version of "children of the corn" - you know they're going to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night to do you harm. (Of course, I jest ... I think ...)

At any rate, my order put in, I was asked what drink I wanted with my meal. "Barq's, please" I responded.

"What?" the service kid asked me quizzically.

"Barq's" I said once more.

The kid leaned closer to me obviously befuddleded and asked again. For the third time I said "Barq's." I was speaking English and I know I was speaking loudly enough for him to hear me; I wasn't privy why there was a disconnect. He looked at me with a bit of a crinkle in his brow, appearing not to want to ask a forth time. 

"Barq's Root Beer, please" I explained.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't even know that's what it was called," he fumbled.

Inwardly I sighed to myself, but didn't say anything. My drink was filled and given to me. I thanked him and went on my way.

"Why didn't you just tell him you wanted root beer?" I was asked by a member of my dinner group.

"Look: The founders of Barq's have done a hell of a job branding their product and establishing a niche in the soft drink arena. I would be doing them a huge disservice if I called out Barq's with the common terminology of "root beer" ... which their beverage isn't precisely. Not to mention if there were any Cajuns within earshot they would have lambasted me ... and understandably so with regard to my lack of respect toward the product ..."

I was rewarded with an eye roll.

Yes ... I know: Sometimes I'm a freak.

.......... Ruprecht ( will not STOP calling it "Barq's" ) 629

Uncomfortable Laughter

Want to know what I'm pissed off about regarding the video below?

Why in the world is there laughter when the President makes the following comment?

"The United States does not have a monopoly on crazy people ..."

The events he touches on during this discussion are serious ... dead serious.  

Life and death serious.

Gun control and the inefficiency of Congress to pass some of the most common sense laws concerning gun control. What has gone wrong in the meantime because of Congress' ineffectual buffoonery. In both the videos, the discussion holds a gravity of such weight you can't help but consider some of the things he states and be amazed by them.

And then? Most amazing of all? People laugh at the "monopoly" comment.

When I first heard this, my jaw immediately dropped. I don't know whether it says anything about what's on the minds of the people in the audience, I don't know if they're truly listening, I don't know if they simply don't get it. But what the President is addressing is anything but comical.

This is no laughing matter. Some mentally deranged motorhead with a screwed up agenda goes on a life-changing rampage, the President himself is just this side of dumbfounded while talking about it ... and the audience is yucking it up.

I find this amazing and sad at the same time ...

"The question then becomes: "Well, what can we do about it?" The only thing that's going to change is public opinion. If public opinion does not demand change in Congress, it will not change."

With a public response like that laughter? And at a grave comment such as that? No wonder the gun control situation is stagnant. One can see why Congress won't take a comment such as that seriously ...

Of course, I'm exaggerating at what Congress would do. Right?

No. Not really ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP ) 319

Write On ...

You know ... it's funny. Some people don't understand. 

They don't understand why I write, what I write about or why I write about what I do. 

Some have even said I haven't written anything legible the entire time I've written. (If you believe the old adage "Even a broken clock is right twice a day" then something I've written has to have struck a chord with someone out there at some point in time. Think about that for a moment and see if it makes sense ...)

I just write. And I enjoy doing it.

Sometimes it's about me, sometimes it's about them, sometimes about things in general, sometimes in specifics. Sometimes? It's about nothing at all.

Those people who don't understand? Maybe one day they will figure out why I do what I do. I'd like them to, but it's not my concern.

I'll just keep writing ...

.......... Ruprecht ( hasn't STOPped yet. Nor does he intend to. ) 157

Dream A Little Dream ...

Robert Downy Jr. was in my dream last night.

No ... wait ... it was Brad Pitt.

Hold on ... wait ... no it wasn't: It was a combination of the two.

Except the combination looked like both of them equally, morphed together. And that morphed Downey/Pitt was short, squat, powerful and - most puzzling of all - black. (I cannot tell you why because I have no idea. I chalk it up to the strangeness of the dream ...)

I was downtown somewhere, in a nameless big city. There were television screens all around in barren offices that contained nothing but desks and unadorned walls. Some sort of focus group I was in was worrying over why cheap, personal, portable bar units you could wear like a fanny pack were so popular. Downey/Pitt was one of those who had to get in on the action.

Calls were made. Moves were put into force. And, before you knew it, Downey/Pitt had his very own brand of cheap, personal portable bar unit. The infomercial used for the product (I don't remember its name, but it was something catchy and innocuous at the same time) was colorful, flashy and attention-grabbing. Accountings of the units sold, in insanely furious numbers, were tabulated by some firm which reported their consumption by the masses hourly.

Days later, a package arrived for me. It was a large, brown box. I opened it and inside were fist-sized stress relievers with brown LEDs inside them that lit up every time a bar unit was sold somewhere. Each of the stress relievers blinked incessantly and randomly. I took the box to where I knew Downey/Pitt was at, knocked and entered. He was slumped in a beanbag chair in nothing but his underwear, looking board as he watched the infomercial for the hundredth time. I handed him a stress reliever and he looked at it for a moment while rotating it in his hand, then tossed it to the side, bored with it.

In a focus group later in the day, Downey/Pitt and others, dressed nattily in three-piece suits, were crowded around news reports stating the steady decline of the sales of bar units. There were worried concerns all around; millions of units had been sold in the days prior and millions more were in inventory. Ideas were furiously tossed around the room what could be done to spur sales once more and a solution was reached, something about putting an added bonus in or on the units which would revitalize sales.

Decisions were reached and calls were made to put the idea in action.

The next day, there was the expected increase in sales as a result.

The entire dream was one big vicious circle with rising and falling sales, group meetings, revampings and glowering over television screens day in and day out. Nothing changed except the heavy disappointment in the air that money wasn't coming in followed by overly loud back slaps and exaggerated high fives when sales shot once again through the roof. 

No one left the offices we were in, no one ate, no one had a life other than concentrating on the next big thing ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP ) 525

Translation: Ir Voto

Tomorrow I work the polls for the California Statewide Direct Primary Election.

And I don't mind admitting: I'm a little bit frightened about it.

Don't get me wrong: It's not the election itself I'm frightened about. Nor being face to face with any voters who come in. The long hours? Pish, posh ... not a worry. Possible boredom? Nah ... I'll have pad and paper at the ready during any lulls. I'm good.

It's some of the people I may be working with I'm sketchy about. Let me give you a few for instances ...

During training, I had some questions of the speaker conducting the class. I raised my hand and asked my questions as they came up, one of which was:

"In the event of a person registered to vote doesn't have their California driver's license for identification or doesn't have one at all or doesn't know their social security number, are they allowed to vote provisionally?"

Simple enough, right? But ... not 10 minutes later, another question arose from a lady sitting a few seats to my left:

"What happens if someone doesn't have their license or their social security card to show you?"

Really? Was this woman paying attention during training? Was she there to actually learn anything with the goal of working on election day? Or was she there simply for the freshly-made blueberry donuts and a second cup of Joe? I stared at her for sometime in disbelief.

More interesting still came the aftermath of discussion about those who didn't speak English or who may be more comfortable voting in Spanish. I was surprised to hear the response after the training speaker announced those folks would indeed be allowed to vote in Spanish, that it need not be in English.

Hearing this, there was a hushed but audible hiss in the room from various folks. Wow. I was genuinely taken aback by such an outburst, quiet though it was. Just as surprising were the low murmurs I heard complaining "If they're voting they need to do it in English!" and other similar comments.

These were some of the people overseeing the polls? I would be working alongside many who could potentially be called upon to assist voters in need, even if it was assistance on a non-English request? Would they react similarly if a voter was handicapped? Something else?

Voters have rights about this sort of stuff, don't they?  Rights about a safe haven to vote, free from intimidation and influence and all that jazz. Right?

You bet your bippy they do.

Sure enough, not only is there a Voter Bill Of Rights readily available but doubly so on California Secretary of State Debra Bowen's website:

• Item #1: "You have the right to cast a ballot if you are a valid registered voter. A valid registered voter means a United States citizen who is a resident in this state, who is at least 18 years of age and not in prison or on parole for conviction of a felony, and who is registered to vote at his or her current residence address."
• Item #8: "You have the right to election materials in another language, if there are sufficient residents in your precinct to warrant production."

Rights such as these (and others) seemed common sense to me, especially if folks visiting the polls are registered voters. 

So ... could there be drama at the old polling place Tuesday? There very well could be.

And not only am I curious to see what goings on could raise their ugly heads, I'm just a wee bit frightened of what my reaction might be toward any of those motorhead workers ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP with your prejudiced belly-achin' already ... ) 622