Too far even for VH1

I had hoped the reality TV craze would die when the writers' strike ended. And I know I comment on bad TV far too often, but I have a lot of time to think at the gym.

Today, I watched something truly appalling. I think it was called "Celebracadabra." It involved B-list former celebrities trying to eke out five more of their 15 minutes in the spotlight by being trained to be magicians.

Street magicians.

Watching Carnie Wilson and C. Thomas Howell and a Pussycat Doll and some comedian I'd never heard of named Ant duke it out for audiences outside Graumann's Chinese Theater caused physical pain. Seriously.

The actual magic tricks were halfway decent (each "celebrity" has a professional magician as a coach). The sniping and back-biting and showmanship was icky.

The cheesiest part, though, was the end. You are not cut from this show. You "disappear." Literally. Poor, not ready for street magic Carnie sat in an ornate chair, the host put a piece of fabric over her, waved his hands, pulled it off and she was gone.

Now if only that trick would work on an entire television network...

In times of crisis

I wasn't sure if I was going to post about this, or how, but it's been hanging over me all week, so I might as well. Over the weekend, a coworker lost her young adult son in a motorcycle accident. It's times like this that either bring out the best or the worst in people.

I work in a department of about 30 people and, like any other group of people who spend a lot of time together, we have our ups and downs. For the most part, it's like a big extended family. You like some of your cousins, you can't stand others, but when push comes to shove, they're yours. So, it was no surprise to me how quickly everyone rallied around to support this woman in such a horrible time.

It was a matter of minutes before a collection was taken up and a card passed around. Tuesday, almost everyone went to the viewing, even people who barely knew this woman.

Everyone, that is, except one guy. This particular gentleman always seems to have a complaint about everyone and is, in his mind, always the victim of some sort of discrimination. When he was approached about whether or not he needed to follow someone to the funeral home, he said, "I'm not going. She was never nice to me. She never liked me." Someone tried to explain to him that this wasn't about that. It was about the fact that this could happen to any of us. That, he himself, had kids and should understand.

Not only did he refuse to go. He lied and said he was going and used the situation to leave work early.

This week showed me the kindest, most sensitive side of 99% of my coworkers, but it's that last 1% that has left a bad taste in my mouth.

Does this make me a bad person?

I normally love kids. Ask anyone who knows me. Unlike many childless people my age, I find it easy to talk to them. I generally "get" them and know how to get through to them. I am far from someone who merely tolerates them.

But there is one particular child, a boy of twelve now, that I just can't stand. I really like his parents and even his older sister, so I will do my best to limit the identifying details. But I have known this kid since he was around eight.

He was always one of those wound up, mouthy kids. At eight, it was almost cute, in a precocious sort of way. You could find ways to find him amusing. Plus, he was little. You always assumed he would outgrow it.

At ten, his behavior was a little immature, but he was the youngest of three children and you could see where life with two older sisters might have made him this way. It was safe to guess that he would calm down over the next few years and, like his sister before him, become a pretty cool teenager.

Now, he is twelve. Unlike most people, this is actually my favorite age. They're old enough to really talk to and occasionally tackle serious issues with, but they're still kids at heart. Despite their encroaching maturity, there is this charming innocence that kids this age try so hard to hide, but inevitably fail.

Not this kid.

What was precocious at eight is impertinent at twelve. Time has not calmed him. In fact, it may have made him a little crazier. He is in little brother mode constantly, at an age when most kids reserve little brother mode for home only. He's downright unpleasant to be around.

Yet, a part of me still feels guilty for disliking him. He's still just a kid.

I am a geek

This isn't a secret to anyone who has ever met me. It's not even something I try to hide. I subscribe to Geek Monthly, so I think I'm technically a card-carrying geek.

Lucky for me I married a geek.

And this weekend was a thoroughly geeky one. We discussed new cell phones (which we aren't due to get until July).

We played video games (he likes Quake, I like The Sims, we both like anything involving fighting on the Wii).

We watched a Star Wars Marathon on Spike TV. We had a minor catastrophe when our DVD player decided that every DVD we put in it was from the wrong region. We used Google to solve the problem.

Tonight we'll probably eat dinner and then deconstruct the mixed martial arts fighters while surfing on our laptops for neat new gadgets.

Overheard in the airport part II

A man sitting behind me made a 40 minute continuous string of business phone calls. He was talking about meetings and reviewing things and all sorts of things that anyone who works for any big company talks about. Then I heard this (in a think North Carolina accent):

"I'm just going to call Houston and tell 'em to go get three bottles of Jack and send 'em over to the Girls Gone Wild bus. You get 'em three bottles of Jack on the Girls Gone Wild bus they'll be in hog heaven."

What job other than Jack Daniels sales rep involves this conversation?

Overheard in the airport

The man sitting next to me on the phone with one of his sons.

He was telling the son that he was on the way to Florida with his sister to help his mother make arrangements for their father's funeral. It was clear that he had passed away after a long illness (there was talk of "not having to tell anyone to turn off the machines").

Fine, so it was not an unexpected death. But, one of the man's carry on items for his trip to his father's funeral? A tennis racket.

Who thinks of these things at a time like that?

Bad Car-ma (sort of part II)

Just a day after I read here about my dear friend Hulk's bout of bad "car"-ma, I had my own.

In a rare moment, some coworkers and I decided to actually leave the site for lunch today. I offered to drive.

We were on our way down the windy little road that our company is on when a truck driving the other way kicked up a pebble...right into my windshield. It was a tiny little thing, but it hit it just right to leave a BB-sized star-shaped nick in my windshield.

It's also just enough that my car will fail the state motor vehicle inspection if I don't fix it.

Did I mention that my windshield is made of some special sort of glass and the dear husband once priced it and it's like $3000 to replace??