Category: not smart

03 Feb

Hercules! Hercules!

It’s been a while since I deployed the “not smart” label on a post. My apologies. Your long wait is over.

Let’s start off by playing a game. Can you guess what this is?

Plastic tongue depressor? Toothpick for a giant? Diorama shark’s tooth? No, no and no.

It’s the result of ridiculously cold weather, good intentions and terrible execution.

A few weeks ago, snow and freezing rain combined to make my car into a giant icicle. I had somewhere to go in the evening, and with temperatures not slated to go above 15 degrees, I figured I would go out in the morning and clear off my car as best I could so I wouldn’t have to do it later.

The snow came off easily, but a thick layer of ice coated all of the windows. No problem. I have a trusty ice scraper that sits in a pouch behind my passenger’s seat. I unlocked the doors using my handy keyfob, and went to open the door. It didn’t budge. I pulled hard and heard the creaking that comes with ice that is giving way. I pulled a little harder, and the creaking got louder. I was almost there. I could feel it about to open. And then it happened.

What used to look like this:

All of a sudden looked like this:

In that moment a few thoughts went through my mind. The first? “That was really stupid.” The second? “Why didn’t I just reach through from the driver’s side door THAT I ALREADY HAD OPEN?”

Fortunately the third was appropriate. “I probably open this door three times a year, sooo this is more funny than a real problem.”

Besides, if you look closely at the picture, you will see that this door is already the neglected child of the four. A few years ago, someone kindly slammed their door into it in a parking lot and left me a dent and some free white paint that I declined to hang onto.

Sorry, door.

By cjhannas car not smart Uncategorized
28 Nov

And The Shirts Came Back

It took a series of text messages, a home watch company, a multi-part chain of custody and more than five months, but I have now been reunited with three shirts that for a short time threatened my sanity.

In June, I went on vacation in Naples, Fla., where I stayed at my aunt’s house. Two weeks later, I did some laundry and afterward noticed an empty hanger on the left side of my closet. A maroon polo shirt was supposed to go there, right next to the orange one of the same style.

I double-checked the dryer, the washing machine, the space in between them and behind, but didn’t find the shirt. Back in the closet I searched every nook where it could have fallen — nothing. I dragged out the suitcase I had taken to Florida, opened every pocket, and still found nothing. Checks of my roommate’s closet, the guest bedroom, under my bed and at least three repeats of all of the above still resulted in no shirt.

If you know me at all, you’re probably aware that I’m ridiculously organized. I don’t lose anything. Ever.

I asked my then-former, now-current roommate (don’t ask, long story) if he had maybe borrowed it one night when he was staying with us. No dice. I searched the closet one more time, this round focusing on the right side (yes, there’s a system involved) and noticed two more empty hangers.

WAIT. WHAT SHIRTS ARE THOSE?!……..FLORIDA!!!!!

It all came back to me. When I arrived down there and unpacked, I hung up those three shirts in the closet — none of which I wore while I was there.

After my revelation, I texted my aunt, explaining how I was driving myself crazy looking and asked if she could check the closet the next time she was at the house.

“Don’t go nuts,” she said. “Don’t need more nuts in the family!!”

So true. Concerned for my sanity, she sent someone over to look, and sure enough the shirts were hanging right where I left them.

Flash forward to last weekend in New Jersey, where we were visiting for Thanksgiving. I walked into my grandparents’ house and was immediately handed my shirts.

Sanity fully intact.

By cjhannas family not smart Uncategorized
24 Jun

We’re Jambin’

My phone buzzed just after noon today, waking me up from a solid 12 hours of sleep.

That initially sounds like an amazing way to start any weekend, but given that I only slept three hours the day before it’s actually not that great at all. You might even say I’m somewhat sleep deprived.

I was talking to AV after my extended sleep session, and she sent me a link to an article she had just read giving five signs that you’re not getting enough sleep. Number 5 on the list: “You’ve become a klutz.”

Last night, on just the three hours of sleep, I decided the last thing I wanted to do was actually cook dinner. The word “Chipotle” sound a lot better than “effort.”

Before I could make the short drive though, I needed to grab my wallet and keys from my bedroom. When I walked out of the room, I caught the pocket of my shorts on the door latch, which somehow then whipped my hand into the door jamb so hard it immediately left a giant purple welt. I momentarily thought I broke my hand.

I did a terrible job of explaining that scene to AV, so I made her a diagram that I’ll share in case I failed again:

It’s hard to say if sleep deprivation was to blame, or if it was just natural klutziness. But since I went a full day on 12 hours of sleep without running myself into a doorway, let’s go with the sleepiness.

By cjhannas not smart Uncategorized
22 Apr

I Tawt I Taw a Tweety Tat

A few of my friends have recently joined Twitter and asked for advice about some of the intricacies of using the micro-blogging service.

Some of those questions have been about specific things like, “What are hashtags?” or “Who can see my Tweets?” Others have centered on more macro issues such as, “What do I do with it?”

There are about 200 million Twitter users, and many of them would answer that last question differently. My account is all about snarky responses to other people’s tweets, sharing links to interesting articles I read, offering quick observations that aren’t enough for a blog post (though sometimes they end up here), and posting links to my work.

I joined in 2008 and since then have sent out 1,347 messages. I was looking back through them today after AV asked if they stay on your account forever (they do, and also get recorded by the Library of Congress). Naturally, I was curious to see what my first post was like. It was boring, and somewhat puzzling for my first foray into the Twitterverse:

I was looking for my next job at the time, but not sure why I felt compelled to share that with the world. Since then, I think it’s become a more entertaining feed to follow.

There’s the observational stuff:

Some insight into my life:

And the constant reminder that I’m not that smart:

AV and I also talked about the trove of messages as in interesting place to research certain events. It would be fascinating to see how the Tweets unfolded as a particular event was happening, as people made conclusions and expressed opinions based on limited information and even how those things changed as more became clear. You could also compare international events looking through different lenses, such as how Americans viewed the uprising in Egypt or how Israelis and Palestinians talked about an airstrike in Gaza.

Or you could look at your ancestors and find really interesting nuggets about incredibly important milestones in their lives:

Of course, you can also do that with yourself. This seemed innocuous at the time, but given a group of people I have met since then, it would probably get me beaten up today:

Tweet carefully.

By cjhannas not smart technology Uncategorized
17 Dec

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

It’s amazing what can seem vitally important to us today, and then a week or year later seem absolutely irrelevant.

For some reason the other day I was looking back at some of the really, really old posts, and besides noting how strikingly my writing has changed since then I found it interesting to compare what I was writing about then versus what I think about today.

I don’t tend to share much deeply personal stuff, so posts like this one from August 23, 2005 really stand out:

“…It didn’t help that I saw a someone for the first time in about a year that really made me think about the mythical “what might have been.” What would life be like now if a few things back then had happened a little differently? They’d be different, very different, but I couldn’t help but feel like they would be just as good. It’s not like I haven’t thought about this before, or in the past year, but actually being there, three inches away and having a conversation made it so much more real. Here’s to one more week of being lost in my head, then back to classes and the world of no time to think…”

Clearly someone was on my mind. But five years later, I could not even remotely tell you who that was. No idea.

I spent a few minutes trying to piece things together: I was in grad school in Maryland…working part time at a local mall…still lived close to where I grew up…

Nothing.

Someone who affected me enough to move me to write is now absolutely no part of my life. I guess that’s how it goes.

Not long after that I reconnected with someone who hadn’t really spoken to me in a long time. In those five years since, we slowly became good friends again, much closer really than we had been before. But as life does, things between us changed quickly (seemed interminably long at the time) and we’re right back to having not spoken in months.

Even though we lose some relationships we value so highly at the time, we still move forward with those experiences (and sometimes lessons) that help shape the relationships still to come.

Of course, back in 2005 I was already in the habit of doing not-so-smart things.

Happy Friday.

By cjhannas nostalgia not smart Uncategorized
30 Sep

Bring On the Rain

Every once in a while, I like to remind people that I am not that smart.

About a month ago my mom said she was planning on going to a Washington Nationals game this week, and asked if I wanted to go. I checked the calendar, and for some reason got it in my head that the game was on a Monday.

Given that I don’t start work until 10 p.m., and work in the city, it was actually convenient timing to catch a game.

So I got home from work Monday morning planning on power-napping so I could get up in time for the game. All morning I had listened to weather reports saying we were getting tons of rain, and figured there was little chance they were actually going to play the game. I woke up a few times and checked the radar, each time becoming more and more convinced of a rain-out.

After sleeping a lot longer than I originally intended, I checked the radar one more time. Somehow all of the rain that seemed destined to fall on Washington somehow skirted the city.

I started rushing to leave the house so I could at least catch some of the game; I figured I could get there around the fifth or sixth inning. But in my haste, I left my ticket in the car. I knew where we were sitting, so on the train I figured I would just get a cheap ticket to get into the stadium and make my way down to the original seats.

I got to Nationals Park in the top of the sixth inning, and for some reason the guy at the box office gave me a free ticket. I would like to say it is because of my stellar personality, but given the stack of free tickets on the desk I doubt I was alone.

I didn’t see anyone in our row, so I called my mom to see if they had moved to a potentially drier location:

“Hello?”
“Hey, are you here?”
“Que?”
“Are you at the game?”
“The game is tomorrow.”

(Some portions of the conversation may have been re-created)

A dry view of the game

So there I was, at a baseball game on the wrong day. It’s actually quite fortunate I forgot my original ticket — imagine the confusion trying to use a ticket from the wrong day.

At least I got to see three free innings.

By cjhannas baseball not smart Uncategorized
02 Jun

Call Me Junior

As a left-handed kid who played baseball — and let’s face it, a baseball fan in the 1990s — I was a huge fan of Ken Griffey Jr.

He hit home runs. He made awesome catches in center field. He brought a youthful energy to the game that made him the most likable perennial fixture at the All Star Game.

Oh and he had a sweet batting stance every kid mimicked in their back yard and for a few swings at baseball practice.

Now his baseball career is over after his retirement Wednesday night.

He leaves behind a legacy of home runs without a hint of steroid suspicion and a thousand what-ifs related to his far-too-numerous season-ending injuries. Fortunately he also leaves the Nintendo 64 game Major League Baseball with Ken Griffey Jr. Even today, it remains one of my favorite video games of all time.

I recently reacquired a copy thanks to eBay, and though the graphics seem incredibly outdated, the game itself is as fun as ever. It’s not really a challenge — my brother and I have racked up so many wins by dozens and dozens of runs it hardly seems we could ever lose a game. In fact, we even played an entire season as the 1998 Tampa Bay Devil Rays and never felt we were in danger of not achieving perfection.

I am also not ashamed to admit I mis-heard the lyrics to the song at the beginning of the game for a long time. Take a listen:

Did you catch the words? I originally thought Griffey said “Home, home, homey-G.” Imagine my facepalm when my brother gave me the “are you an idiot” look with the corrected “Call, call, call me Junior,” which clearly makes more sense.

The makers of the game also put in a nice feature after any time you make a jumping or diving catch. Griffey will respond to your efforts with something like “fantastic play” or “great catch.” So if you get bored and want someone to talk to, just hit the jump button right before you catch a fly ball (really easy), and let the following unfold:

Griffey: “Fantastic play!”
You: “Why thank you.”

Now that he is retired, here’s to hoping he takes a few hours to play the N64 game and have that conversation with himself.

By cjhannas baseball home not smart Uncategorized video games
17 Jan

Rent-Free Living

So if you no longer want to pay for housing, apparently Britain is the place to be. I ran across this fascinating story in this morning’s Washington Post.

It recounts the story of some squatters taking up residence in a $33 million home in London. Apparently all you need is an open window, or an unlocked door and you’re in: “In Britain, trespassing is a civil offense, not a criminal one. Provided the squatters do not break a window or door to enter or otherwise damage the property, police are largely powerless to remove them.”

The article says most people are kicked out in days or weeks, but “if they last 10 years, the law allows them to petition a court for ownership.” What a great country. Just when you thought our legal systems were alike…

In other odd news, today I cut my fingernails. Except I realized hours later that I only cut the ones on my right hand and not my left. In a bit of Chris Trivia I probably shouldn’t admit, I do this ALL the time. I’d say a good 30 percent of fingernail trimmings involve finding later on that I inexplicably only did one hand, and it’s always the right.

I know what you’re thinking, maybe, and I understand that’s a fairly odd thing to admit. But you’re also thinking, “Hey, at least he didn’t write about another book.” I pledge not to do that for a long while, unless it’s really really ridiculously warranted…but I am through No. 3 already…

By cjhannas not smart Uncategorized
12 Jun

That’s Just Not Thinking

Gas is expensive. I think you’d have to be a 2-year-old living on an island by yourself with pieces of coconut stuck in your ears and a monkey holding its hand over your eyes to not know that.

But for as much as people complain about the financial hardship, that doesn’t stop them from turning off the brain button.

On my way home from work there must be a dozen gas stations. Most of them are spread out, with several of them having no competitors for half a mile. Then there are the groups where one is just a few blocks from another, or in one case, practically on the same lot.

That is the site of some serious not-paying-attention-ness. The stations are divided by a very small street, which again makes them basically on the same lot. Driving home from work the other day, I noticed a few cars parked at one station, and just one car at the other.

There are many possible reasons for the disparity. Those drivers may simply like that station better. It’s the second one they’d come to, so if they suddenly were reminded by the first station that they needed gas they would be more able to stop in time for the second one. Or perhaps the price was just a penny better, drawing in a crowd from the station next door. It’s in that last situation that you wonder why the guy next door doesn’t just drop his gas by a cent and decide to compete.

But what if the difference was more like 24 cents? That’s right, 24 cents. Station A was selling for $4.20 with Station B offering the same product at $3.96. Um, no-brainer right? Well not for that one guy happily pumping away at Station A. He didn’t appear to be driving a Hummer or a Mercedes, so I can’t assume he just has loads of extra cash maybe to burn.

Perhaps he just felt bad for the guy at Station A who probably didn’t have a single customer to keep him company all day. Poor guy. Maybe I should have swung in for some ridiculously overpriced fuel action. Maybe next time. Or I could just spend those extra few bucks on something useful, like a couple of Cheesy Gordita Crunches. Mmmm.

By cjhannas not smart Taco Bell Uncategorized
25 Mar

Paying the Not-Paying-Attention Tax

Today I charged myself a tax. Granted, it was only 50 cents, but its effect will be long-lasting.

After grabbing a sandwich from Subway, I went up to the vending machine area at work to grab a soda. In my hand was a crisp one dollar bill, which I planned to use on one 50-cent can of soda goodness.

I looked for a moment at the bottled soda, which costs a dollar but does provide more overall ounces. But as I inserted the dollar into the machine, I figured I could get more soda for that dollar if I just got two cans.

And then I out-thought myself. Seeing root beer in the machine, my question of which kind of canned soda to acquire was instantly answered. I punched in B6 and waited for root beer glory to descend into the customer pickup area at the bottom.

No sooner did I hit the numbers did I realize I was a dumbass. This particular machine has a clear front, so you can see the cans just like bags of pretzels in a snack machine. Only in the root beer section, the first two slots were empty meaning there was exactly a -34989 chance I was getting a root beer.

As I picked my change out of the machine I pondered my next move. I could walk down the hall to the vending machine powers that be and issue a complaint for a refund. But then I decided I very much deserved that 50-cent punishment for being an idiot.

I used the remaining pair of quarters to get a Dr. Pepper and move on with my life having learned a valuable lesson.

Here’s to never paying the not-paying-attention tax ever again.

By cjhannas food not smart Uncategorized