05 December 2008
29 November 2008
09 October 2008
06 September 2008
04 September 2008
31 August 2008
29 August 2008
16 August 2008
15 August 2008
I've got you, babe
Why, yes. This morning's commute did feature a song from Donny and Marie Osmond. You mean yours didn't? Huh.
Sadly, the Good Morning America Summer Concert series is winding down. My usual subway stop is at the far corner of Bryant Park. Which gives me a good block of listening time on the way to the office. Oh, but they've saved the best for last. Gone, but not forgotten they will be.
Now, look. The "music" and, I used that term loosely, has been pretty cruddy. But, the series has been a great enabler of people watching - which comes in second for me, only to people mocking.
As I mentioned before, I got to see a grown woman drop f-bombs in front of kids at the Miley Cyrus show. Last week, when leaving the office on Thursday night, I got to see people camped out on the sidewalk (all the way around the block) for the Jonas Brothers.
I caught a little Feist. I saw some RENT.
But nothing. Nothing at all. Can compare to next week's finale. Ladies and gentlemen. I give you, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Kid Rock.
My prediction? I'll be the guy in the collared shirt.
13 August 2008
If I had to sum up Maine in one image ...
it would be this one. So as to scare you all away.
Seriously. Frickin' awesome. My new favorite state.
Seriously. Frickin' awesome. My new favorite state.
11 August 2008
08 August 2008
07 August 2008
Start spreading the news
One of my parents: Guess who stayed in Amarillo last night? Paul McCartney. He is taling old route 66. He stayed at the Ambassador Hotel and was driving an old green Broncho
Me: guess who died 4 blocks from my apartment? John Lennon
Them: today?
Me: guess who died 4 blocks from my apartment? John Lennon
Them: today?
Well, it's official
Yesterday, Kelly and I were in a spirited debate about how best to deal with stupid, gawking tourists on the sidewalks.
She contended that it was rude for me to passionately exclaim, "JUST WALK!" and "HOLY JESUS!" when a passel of tourists exited a restaurant and stood, motionless on the sidewalk. I contended that her preferred method (bumping into them with extreme prejudice) had much different context coming from a 5 foot 3 size small than it does coming from 6 foot 5, 210 pounds of me. Though, I am not averse to dropping a shoulder on a local, like I did last week, (he was either going to plow into me or I could brace myself. It was the best hit I have laid on someone since IM flag football. Seriously, I laid the jackass out. Which is what should happen when you are flat out sprinting like Carl Lewis in a crowded subway station.) I don't really have a half-speed when it comes to initiating contact like that. (clearly)
This morning, Radley pooped on the sidewalk, instead of having to go all the way to the park.
This afternoon, a co-worker told me to slow down. I was talking too fast.
For the past 5 weeks, as a coping mechanism, I think, I was viewing this as if it was summer camp. It's not. I really live here.
She contended that it was rude for me to passionately exclaim, "JUST WALK!" and "HOLY JESUS!" when a passel of tourists exited a restaurant and stood, motionless on the sidewalk. I contended that her preferred method (bumping into them with extreme prejudice) had much different context coming from a 5 foot 3 size small than it does coming from 6 foot 5, 210 pounds of me. Though, I am not averse to dropping a shoulder on a local, like I did last week, (he was either going to plow into me or I could brace myself. It was the best hit I have laid on someone since IM flag football. Seriously, I laid the jackass out. Which is what should happen when you are flat out sprinting like Carl Lewis in a crowded subway station.) I don't really have a half-speed when it comes to initiating contact like that. (clearly)
This morning, Radley pooped on the sidewalk, instead of having to go all the way to the park.
This afternoon, a co-worker told me to slow down. I was talking too fast.
For the past 5 weeks, as a coping mechanism, I think, I was viewing this as if it was summer camp. It's not. I really live here.
05 August 2008
03 August 2008
01 August 2008
The irony
Listening to three button hand me down while staring at the parsons school.
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Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
30 July 2008
29 July 2008
That's Right (You are from Texas)
In news from back home:
…A housewarming shower for the new offices of Texas Agri-Life Extension will be held August 6th from 4:30-6:30pm at the Nita Lea Building at 903 14th Street. The event is hosted by Hereford Cattlewomen and Panhandle Dairy Women…
That might be the most country blurb I have ever read.
…A housewarming shower for the new offices of Texas Agri-Life Extension will be held August 6th from 4:30-6:30pm at the Nita Lea Building at 903 14th Street. The event is hosted by Hereford Cattlewomen and Panhandle Dairy Women…
That might be the most country blurb I have ever read.
28 July 2008
Things you didn't think you could miss about Austin, Texas
No, seriously. There are probably 50 Brazillion better Chinese joints in my neighborhood. But, I fucking miss PF fucking Changs.
And I didn't know I did (or could) until I was on the phone with Kristal earlier tonight. There had been a little mix-up in the grocery shopping tonight. Between me, shallots and scallions.
Now, let me back this up. I'll just do it this way. About 3 this afternoon, I was e-mailed the following shopping list:
Fresh parsley
Fresh Thyme
1 Shallot (type of onion)
large cucumber
grape tomatoes
small red onion
2 avocados
fresh cilantro
1 jalapeno pepper
2 limes
french baguette
soft goat cheese
chipotle chili powder
cooking spray
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
Now, there's a good chance that if you're reading this, you're a Texan that has never lived in New York before. That means, there's a good chance you've never been grocery shopping in New York. Which means you can't fathom that the above list required me to hit THREE different stores FOUR different times. Total.
I found jalapenos at one store. One. Baguettes? Well, I was upstairs, perusing the immense kitchenwares section (read: lowering my urge to kill) when I hear them announce baguettes are now on sale for 75 cents. I sprint downstairs to find empty baskets.
Tonight? While grocery shopping? I threw a pitchfork. I killed a guy.
So, shallots. Tonight, at grocery store number two (which, btw, is my favorite, solely because they stock Sweet Leaf Tea), I grabbed what was labelled as "shallots." Turns out, they were scallions. Now, having never used, needed or eaten either ... well, I was at a severe disadvantage.
Which of course means, I got a horticultural lesson in my apartment and re-dispatched to grocery store number one. Who should get off its ass and stock Sweet Leaf. The fuckers.
ANYWAY, I'm talking to Kristal, asking her to help me identify shallots. And she says, scallions are the things in PF Chang's beef broccoli.
I've never wanted anything more in my life.
I drooled on the 3 year old who was setting the bear trap at my feet and smiled at the lady aiming the RPG at my cart. Hey. I told you grocery shopping in New York was rough.
And I didn't know I did (or could) until I was on the phone with Kristal earlier tonight. There had been a little mix-up in the grocery shopping tonight. Between me, shallots and scallions.
Now, let me back this up. I'll just do it this way. About 3 this afternoon, I was e-mailed the following shopping list:
Fresh parsley
Fresh Thyme
1 Shallot (type of onion)
large cucumber
grape tomatoes
small red onion
2 avocados
fresh cilantro
1 jalapeno pepper
2 limes
french baguette
soft goat cheese
chipotle chili powder
cooking spray
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
Now, there's a good chance that if you're reading this, you're a Texan that has never lived in New York before. That means, there's a good chance you've never been grocery shopping in New York. Which means you can't fathom that the above list required me to hit THREE different stores FOUR different times. Total.
I found jalapenos at one store. One. Baguettes? Well, I was upstairs, perusing the immense kitchenwares section (read: lowering my urge to kill) when I hear them announce baguettes are now on sale for 75 cents. I sprint downstairs to find empty baskets.
Tonight? While grocery shopping? I threw a pitchfork. I killed a guy.
So, shallots. Tonight, at grocery store number two (which, btw, is my favorite, solely because they stock Sweet Leaf Tea), I grabbed what was labelled as "shallots." Turns out, they were scallions. Now, having never used, needed or eaten either ... well, I was at a severe disadvantage.
Which of course means, I got a horticultural lesson in my apartment and re-dispatched to grocery store number one. Who should get off its ass and stock Sweet Leaf. The fuckers.
ANYWAY, I'm talking to Kristal, asking her to help me identify shallots. And she says, scallions are the things in PF Chang's beef broccoli.
I've never wanted anything more in my life.
I drooled on the 3 year old who was setting the bear trap at my feet and smiled at the lady aiming the RPG at my cart. Hey. I told you grocery shopping in New York was rough.
I heart the subway
When I first moved here (read: A period of time that started when I put the moving truck in park and ended about a day ago) I thought of the subway system as this city's shiv. Everything seems normal. Nothing going on. WHAM! Hidden blade in your gut. Hand covered in blood. Face torqued in agony. WHY!?! OH, WHY ME!??
Then, I started wrapping my mind around it (read: I started looking at maps and - much more importantly - listening to a certain someone.) Now, I kind of dig the subway. Sure, nothing I can think of is more miserable than realizing you've been sweating on your walk when you are greeted with an inferno of still, warm, thick, immobile air 60 feet below the surface of God's earth. Is it too late for that protective sheath of deodorant? I've even started liking the little rats. I root for them in their battle against the football sized ones. I know they're doomed. Like Colt McCoy. But that's what makes sports fun.
But, my favorite thing about the subway? Never in my life have I been so sure I'm on a hidden camera show. Also? I realize representative democracy works. I never have to wonder why we have so many freaks in Congress. We, the voting public, are just doing our jobs.
“In your country club, your church and business, about 15 percent of the people are screwballs, lightweights and boobs and you would not want those people unrepresented in Congress." -- Former Wyoming Sen. Alan K. Simpson, who - CLEARLY - never rode the subway enough, based on those numbers.
Then, I started wrapping my mind around it (read: I started looking at maps and - much more importantly - listening to a certain someone.) Now, I kind of dig the subway. Sure, nothing I can think of is more miserable than realizing you've been sweating on your walk when you are greeted with an inferno of still, warm, thick, immobile air 60 feet below the surface of God's earth. Is it too late for that protective sheath of deodorant? I've even started liking the little rats. I root for them in their battle against the football sized ones. I know they're doomed. Like Colt McCoy. But that's what makes sports fun.
But, my favorite thing about the subway? Never in my life have I been so sure I'm on a hidden camera show. Also? I realize representative democracy works. I never have to wonder why we have so many freaks in Congress. We, the voting public, are just doing our jobs.
“In your country club, your church and business, about 15 percent of the people are screwballs, lightweights and boobs and you would not want those people unrepresented in Congress." -- Former Wyoming Sen. Alan K. Simpson, who - CLEARLY - never rode the subway enough, based on those numbers.
26 July 2008
Greetings from Brooklyn
OK, you can't tell it, but, yes, that is a limo with swing up doors. I guess they were running low on gull wing doors.
20 July 2008
19 July 2008
Today's discovery
It's fucking hard to not clap when the Yankees fuck up. Even in a bar full of their shithead fans.
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Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
18 July 2008
And now for something completely different
I was one minute late to work this morning. Because of a fucking Miley Cyrus concert.
On the plus side, I did get to walk by the scene with Pink Floyd's Us and Them on the iPod. Well, played, shuffle play music gods. Well played indeed.
On the down side, I watched a woman tell a bunch of 12 year old girls to "get the fuck out of her way. I don't have time for this fucking bullshit." And she didn't call earmuffs, either.
Back to the plus side, two blocks past Bryant Park, I saw another group of preteens (4 girls, 1 guy) wandering around with maps and (what looked like) autograph pads. Though my personal sense of direction was on a northbound train at that moment, I volunteered directions. "The Miley Cyrus show is that way."
From an octave approximating a dog mauling a squeaktoy came, "MILEY CYRUS IS PLAYING A SHOW??!?"
The look on the guy's face was priceless. Get used to being dragged to shit, kid. Maybe, later today, I'll tell you all about me and my personal sense of direction catching The Dark Knight at midnight last night.
On the plus side, I did get to walk by the scene with Pink Floyd's Us and Them on the iPod. Well, played, shuffle play music gods. Well played indeed.
On the down side, I watched a woman tell a bunch of 12 year old girls to "get the fuck out of her way. I don't have time for this fucking bullshit." And she didn't call earmuffs, either.
Back to the plus side, two blocks past Bryant Park, I saw another group of preteens (4 girls, 1 guy) wandering around with maps and (what looked like) autograph pads. Though my personal sense of direction was on a northbound train at that moment, I volunteered directions. "The Miley Cyrus show is that way."
From an octave approximating a dog mauling a squeaktoy came, "MILEY CYRUS IS PLAYING A SHOW??!?"
The look on the guy's face was priceless. Get used to being dragged to shit, kid. Maybe, later today, I'll tell you all about me and my personal sense of direction catching The Dark Knight at midnight last night.
17 July 2008
16 July 2008
It's always the Texans
Now, I know I have been here a grand total of two weeks. And I swear I will never let this town take away my sense of wonderment. I refuse to let everything be routine. All in all? Not going to be a brick in the wall. Sure I haven't been more than a 20 block radius in ... shit. Since going to Jersey two Sundays ago? Holy Hell. Can that be right? Good grief, I think it is.
ANYWAY. I hop on my train last night to go home. We stop at Rock-A-Fella Center. I'm closest to the door. It opens, and there stand two guys in Astros hats and jersies with their All Star Game tickets around their necks. Yeah. Standing in the subway station. In New York. With their tickets to the last All Star Game in the House That Ruth Built. Around their necks.
Before I could get out the classic Matt Belew line "you folks here for the game?" they ask me, (yeah, people in New York asking me for directions ... gooooood idea.) "Will this train take us to the game?"
"Yeah, but it's a local."(My personal sense of navigation later told me this wasn't true on game days. Again, this is why you don't ask me directions. You ask me to call her.)
"Isn't the game in the city?"
Oy. Texans.
ANYWAY. I hop on my train last night to go home. We stop at Rock-A-Fella Center. I'm closest to the door. It opens, and there stand two guys in Astros hats and jersies with their All Star Game tickets around their necks. Yeah. Standing in the subway station. In New York. With their tickets to the last All Star Game in the House That Ruth Built. Around their necks.
Before I could get out the classic Matt Belew line "you folks here for the game?" they ask me, (yeah, people in New York asking me for directions ... gooooood idea.) "Will this train take us to the game?"
"Yeah, but it's a local."(My personal sense of navigation later told me this wasn't true on game days. Again, this is why you don't ask me directions. You ask me to call her.)
Oy. Texans.
15 July 2008
It's a bird. It's a plane. It's ....
my first New York celebrity experience.
I got off the subway this morning (Right stop. On time and everything, thank you very much.) and was greeted with an abnormal delay getting up the stairs. I get up them, finally, and see police tape roping off Bryant Park. Lots of police tape.
Uh oh.
I get about a half a block up, and there are about a hundred Chevrolet pickups parked in a row. In case you haven't been in New York the past two weeks, the All Star game is tonight at Yankee Stadium. Why they get rewarded with an All Star Game for being so stupid as to tear down that park is beyond me, but I digress. This afternoon is an All Star Game parade near my office.
And there it was.
Superman's pickup for the parade.
After snapping this picture, I realized the head of my account at work was standing right next to me. "If you're taking a picture of Sizemore's truck, I hope you got a great shot of Willie Mays'."
Oops.
I got off the subway this morning (Right stop. On time and everything, thank you very much.) and was greeted with an abnormal delay getting up the stairs. I get up them, finally, and see police tape roping off Bryant Park. Lots of police tape.
Uh oh.
I get about a half a block up, and there are about a hundred Chevrolet pickups parked in a row. In case you haven't been in New York the past two weeks, the All Star game is tonight at Yankee Stadium. Why they get rewarded with an All Star Game for being so stupid as to tear down that park is beyond me, but I digress. This afternoon is an All Star Game parade near my office.
And there it was.
Superman's pickup for the parade.
After snapping this picture, I realized the head of my account at work was standing right next to me. "If you're taking a picture of Sizemore's truck, I hope you got a great shot of Willie Mays'."
Oops.
14 July 2008
12 July 2008
It's true. All of it. Every word.
Fine. I'll just get this out of they way.
I am the biggest Batman fan you know and I can barely contain myself.
Yes. Yes, I have tickets for midnight Thursday. Yes. I am kind of fucking thrilled that my first movie living in New York is The Dark Knight.
Yes. Yes, I have a Batman figure that I got out of a box of Cheerios.
I am the biggest Batman fan you know and I can barely contain myself.
Yes. Yes, I have tickets for midnight Thursday. Yes. I am kind of fucking thrilled that my first movie living in New York is The Dark Knight.
Yes. Yes, I have a Batman figure that I got out of a box of Cheerios.
10 July 2008
Glory be to Tarvold
This morning, I went to the right subway stop. Didn't get on the wrong train. Did wait for the right train. (Big Boy Badasses ride the B train.) Didn't get off at the wrong stops. Did hang around for the right stop. Got off there. Exited the catacombs through the stairs closest to my office. Immediately gathered my bearings. Walked directly to my office. Started to get my ID out when the bouncer at the door said, "I know you. You're cool. Hold on to your ID."
Also? I did this without breaking out into profuse sweating. I can actually feel dry spots of my undershirt and it's not 1pm.
Also? I did this without breaking out into profuse sweating. I can actually feel dry spots of my undershirt and it's not 1pm.
09 July 2008
Which desk is yours?
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S-M-R-T
"Hey, your office has a great view of the Empire State Building."
"It does?"
I've spent the past two days staring at the building across the street. Waiting for something cool to happen. But, and, in my defense, you'd have to be short to do this, if you squat down and look up and to the right ...
"It does?"
I've spent the past two days staring at the building across the street. Waiting for something cool to happen. But, and, in my defense, you'd have to be short to do this, if you squat down and look up and to the right ...
The pre snap read
I've long thought my time as the editor of The Texan, coupled with my time studying power structures (ie majoring in government) made me really good at reading a room.
My first impressions of my new job? This might be the first place in a long time where people aren't having to overcompensate for a total slapdick. I mean, I guess you'd expect that ... you know, working in the Mecca of advertising. Working on the agency's flagship account. But it's nice to have those assumptions validated.
Wait. What if I am the slapdick?
My first impressions of my new job? This might be the first place in a long time where people aren't having to overcompensate for a total slapdick. I mean, I guess you'd expect that ... you know, working in the Mecca of advertising. Working on the agency's flagship account. But it's nice to have those assumptions validated.
Wait. What if I am the slapdick?
08 July 2008
Time is on my side
Yeah, so forgive me for kind of picking this story up towards the end. It must feel like opening the movie with war veteran Odysseus strolling around Ithaca. Just know a certain someone has already thrown a few things up on her blog about our heroes' epic journey. Go find it. Start with the links to the right.
Anyway, if you've ever started a new job, and if you can afford a computer, I am guessing you have, you know the first couple days are meetings and training and trying to stay awake.
So I'm sitting in timesheet training this morning. And, the attendees were from my agency and our sister agency. The agencies use two totally different timesheet systems. So, 60 percent of the room got instructions first, while the other 40 percent of us were told to not pay attention to any of this because it would only serve to confuse us.
Deal. I can take that 10 minutes to write down things I still can't find.
So, it was during this exercise that it came up that our time sheets must have 35 hours on them.
Wait a second. What? Wha? Really? But?
Yeah. 9 to 5. Hour for lunch. Five days a week. 35 hours.
Now, I routinely logged 50 to 60 hour weeks at every job I ever had in Austin. I had a 20 hour Monday just a couple months ago. In fact, I think that was the week I first came up here to interview. And the standard was always 40 hours. Always. In fact, in order for an employer to not have to give me benefits, once, I was "limited" to 37.5 horus a week so as to not be a full time employee.
Do I expect to only work 35 hours every week? Not at all. Am I glad that's the benchmark? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Kelly, Janice and others keep waiting for this town to kick my ass. It will. But I just found an extra 5 hours a week to drown my sorrows in a bar.
Anyway, if you've ever started a new job, and if you can afford a computer, I am guessing you have, you know the first couple days are meetings and training and trying to stay awake.
So I'm sitting in timesheet training this morning. And, the attendees were from my agency and our sister agency. The agencies use two totally different timesheet systems. So, 60 percent of the room got instructions first, while the other 40 percent of us were told to not pay attention to any of this because it would only serve to confuse us.
Deal. I can take that 10 minutes to write down things I still can't find.
So, it was during this exercise that it came up that our time sheets must have 35 hours on them.
Wait a second. What? Wha? Really? But?
Yeah. 9 to 5. Hour for lunch. Five days a week. 35 hours.
Now, I routinely logged 50 to 60 hour weeks at every job I ever had in Austin. I had a 20 hour Monday just a couple months ago. In fact, I think that was the week I first came up here to interview. And the standard was always 40 hours. Always. In fact, in order for an employer to not have to give me benefits, once, I was "limited" to 37.5 horus a week so as to not be a full time employee.
Do I expect to only work 35 hours every week? Not at all. Am I glad that's the benchmark? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Kelly, Janice and others keep waiting for this town to kick my ass. It will. But I just found an extra 5 hours a week to drown my sorrows in a bar.
07 July 2008
04 July 2008
Day 3: That was fast
So, today, while running an impromptu errand/covert operation, some tourists on the subway huddled around me to take a picture with a real New Yorker.
I was wearing a Cleveland Indians hat.
And a (Texas) Longhorns for Kinky (Friedman for Texas Governor) T-shirt.
Maybe that was too subtle?
I was wearing a Cleveland Indians hat.
And a (Texas) Longhorns for Kinky (Friedman for Texas Governor) T-shirt.
Maybe that was too subtle?
03 July 2008
A Day Without a Moving Truck
Yes, I made it. Somehow.
Lots lots lots has happened. It was something. Or something.
Anyway, more to come, but I have to say, it kind of rocks alot.
Lots lots lots has happened. It was something. Or something.
Anyway, more to come, but I have to say, it kind of rocks alot.
30 June 2008
27 June 2008
24 June 2008
23 June 2008
22 June 2008
19 June 2008
Seriously
I see one more person flip someone off with their kid in the car and I get up to ramming speed.
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Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
17 June 2008
I said I'd do this, and I am
The graphical representation of me, right now:
I saw someone once (and if you're reading this, it isn't you) have something happen in their life that would have (at the time) made me really, really happy. And this person was pretty blah about it all. Actually, they were kind of dickish. And I said at the time, if something like that ever happened to me, I would be ... and the only thing that popped in my head was Jordan holding his trophy.
It's even better than getting a Billy Ripken Fuck Face card.
Look, I can get too emotional. I sometimes wear my heart on my sleeve. I've noticed this. And I've been trying real hard to even things out. And, I've been holding back on my excitement a little on this whole New York thing. Until ... well, until I had a New York address.
I have some work to do. And, if you want a sectional couch, a washer, a dryer or a garage full of crap, we need to talk. But, I feel like hugging a trophy.
To quote former Texas football coach, Fred Akers, "Get out the wide angle lenses, boys. I'm getting ready to smile."
I saw someone once (and if you're reading this, it isn't you) have something happen in their life that would have (at the time) made me really, really happy. And this person was pretty blah about it all. Actually, they were kind of dickish. And I said at the time, if something like that ever happened to me, I would be ... and the only thing that popped in my head was Jordan holding his trophy.
It's even better than getting a Billy Ripken Fuck Face card.
Look, I can get too emotional. I sometimes wear my heart on my sleeve. I've noticed this. And I've been trying real hard to even things out. And, I've been holding back on my excitement a little on this whole New York thing. Until ... well, until I had a New York address.
I have some work to do. And, if you want a sectional couch, a washer, a dryer or a garage full of crap, we need to talk. But, I feel like hugging a trophy.
To quote former Texas football coach, Fred Akers, "Get out the wide angle lenses, boys. I'm getting ready to smile."
My bank is trying to protect me
Trying too hard. And, like my mother, I'm not sure what they're so afraid of.
So, you might have noticed I am trying to get a place in New York. I'm at Kinko's, filling out all the paper work before faxing it to my broker on Sunday night. When, I get to the section asking for checking and savings account info. Oops. I'm notorious for not knowing my checking account number. Also, the application needs my bank's address.
My bank is Wells Fargo ... the largest gobbler of banks west of the Mississippi. I don't exactly have their street address ... for any of their divisions. I swear I have sent checks to about four different states to pay various arms of Wells Fargo in the eight years we've been together.
So, I call customer service from the fax machine.
I give them my name, address and check card number.
"Sir, I can't give out account numbers over the phone."
So, let me get this straight. Whoever I might be, I have a check card number. Can't you do more damage with someone's check card number than with someone's checking account number? What - exactly - in this instance, is this policy protecting someone from? In any event, isn't the damage level about the same? I mean, end result, someone can drain the bank account.
So, then, I ask the guy if he can give me the Wells Fargo address for account verification.
"11203 ..."
"Wow," I think to myself. "That's how my address starts off ... Wait. This bozo is giving me my own address."
So, they won't give out redundant ways to cause harm. But they will give out your PHYSICAL ADDRESS TO ANYONE WITH YOUR CHECK CARD. Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. I'm soooooo protected. From everyone except serial killers and thieves.
Eventually, the guy says he guesses the best address would be the branch I opened my account at all those years ago. Fine.
So, in order to find my account numbers, I log on to wellsfargo.com from one of Kinko's blatantly, glaringly unsecure computers and download the pdf of my bank statement so as to procure my account numbers.
Yeah. That felt real fucking safe. Thanks, Wells Fargo. Law of Unintended Consequences and shit.
Then I left said Kinko's with my check card still in the fax machine. Oops. This is what happens, Wells Fargo, when you don't just give me the freaking account numbers. I muster up all my concentration to smite you and end up unsecuring myself more than if you had just done it for me.
So, this morning, I needed to get some cash into a certain someone's account so she can write checks to get me in my apartment. I wheel up to my neighborhood Wells Fargo to get a certified check. It is 8:30. The Lobby opens at 9. The drive thru has been open since 7:30. I pull up and ask for a cashier's check.
"We can only do those in the Lobby."
"Well, hell." I drive off. Wait. Surely they won't just hand me $550 in cash through the Drive Thru, will they? I take a lap.
"So, if I can't get a cashier's check, will cash post immediately in her account?"
"Yes."
"And I can get $550 right now?"
"Yes."
"Do it."
Lose the certified check? Only a certain someone can do anything with it. Lose eleven $20 bills? Anyone can do anything with it. Maybe even get a half a tank of gas out of it. So, basically, I'm being protected from a more secure transaction by this policy of yours, Wells Fargo. That seems well thought out.
Just wow.
So, you might have noticed I am trying to get a place in New York. I'm at Kinko's, filling out all the paper work before faxing it to my broker on Sunday night. When, I get to the section asking for checking and savings account info. Oops. I'm notorious for not knowing my checking account number. Also, the application needs my bank's address.
My bank is Wells Fargo ... the largest gobbler of banks west of the Mississippi. I don't exactly have their street address ... for any of their divisions. I swear I have sent checks to about four different states to pay various arms of Wells Fargo in the eight years we've been together.
So, I call customer service from the fax machine.
I give them my name, address and check card number.
"Sir, I can't give out account numbers over the phone."
So, let me get this straight. Whoever I might be, I have a check card number. Can't you do more damage with someone's check card number than with someone's checking account number? What - exactly - in this instance, is this policy protecting someone from? In any event, isn't the damage level about the same? I mean, end result, someone can drain the bank account.
So, then, I ask the guy if he can give me the Wells Fargo address for account verification.
"11203 ..."
"Wow," I think to myself. "That's how my address starts off ... Wait. This bozo is giving me my own address."
So, they won't give out redundant ways to cause harm. But they will give out your PHYSICAL ADDRESS TO ANYONE WITH YOUR CHECK CARD. Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. I'm soooooo protected. From everyone except serial killers and thieves.
Eventually, the guy says he guesses the best address would be the branch I opened my account at all those years ago. Fine.
So, in order to find my account numbers, I log on to wellsfargo.com from one of Kinko's blatantly, glaringly unsecure computers and download the pdf of my bank statement so as to procure my account numbers.
Yeah. That felt real fucking safe. Thanks, Wells Fargo. Law of Unintended Consequences and shit.
Then I left said Kinko's with my check card still in the fax machine. Oops. This is what happens, Wells Fargo, when you don't just give me the freaking account numbers. I muster up all my concentration to smite you and end up unsecuring myself more than if you had just done it for me.
So, this morning, I needed to get some cash into a certain someone's account so she can write checks to get me in my apartment. I wheel up to my neighborhood Wells Fargo to get a certified check. It is 8:30. The Lobby opens at 9. The drive thru has been open since 7:30. I pull up and ask for a cashier's check.
"We can only do those in the Lobby."
"Well, hell." I drive off. Wait. Surely they won't just hand me $550 in cash through the Drive Thru, will they? I take a lap.
"So, if I can't get a cashier's check, will cash post immediately in her account?"
"Yes."
"And I can get $550 right now?"
"Yes."
"Do it."
Lose the certified check? Only a certain someone can do anything with it. Lose eleven $20 bills? Anyone can do anything with it. Maybe even get a half a tank of gas out of it. So, basically, I'm being protected from a more secure transaction by this policy of yours, Wells Fargo. That seems well thought out.
Just wow.
16 June 2008
15 June 2008
The could be new world headquarters for howthefdidigethere.blogspot.com
OK, I don't have keys yet ... or an application in ... or a deposit down ...
Anyway, maybe I should just call this a place I could live.
Whatever. Don't be a killjoy. No one likes that shit.
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