^ This is not me... It's a picture of me.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Asians...
Like I said, I have a lot of stories to remember, and I just remembered one! I was on the bus on Thanksgiving (I think), and there was an Asian mother, father, and daughter sitting on the seats in front of where I was standing. The little girl got hungry so the mom takes out a bundle of rice wrapped in plastic wrap and hands her a clump of it! I just started laughing inside.... Rice is not only the worst travel food one can have, but I mean come on! How ridiculous is that? I mean it wasn't even just white rice, there was like rosemary or something in it. I understand if you just had some Chinese food leftovers or something, bu this was just a ball of rice in plastic wrap. I don't know, I just found that really weird. I can't stereotype 'cause I don't know if they were Chinese or Japanese or whatever, but I know us Russians would never take Пельмени as travel food! That's the best equivalent I could think of.... What do you think?
Stuff
I'm sitting in my boring class and I'm tired as hell. I've got a cold as well, that's what happens when you don't sleep all weekend. Today I bought some fingerless gloves at a stand for three bucks and now I'm wearing them while I'm typing on my computer. It makes me feel a lot like a hacker! I'm awesome!
Let's see.... I had a lot of stories to write about but I just didn't have the time to update at all last week because it was hell week for the retail business. Wednesday is my usual day off 'cause of Volleyball, but I didn't have it anyway last week 'cause of the holiday... And to make a long story (to be told later on this week, hopefully) short, I switched with someone on Wednesday so I could have off Sunday because Meri came to visit on Friday night. so I worked Tuesday night, Wednesday morning, Thanksgiving from 1-close (which was 6... but closing always includes making the store neat and folded and everything...)... so I got out at 8:30 and then Black Friday 3-close (which ended up being 2 AM). Meri's bus came in at 5PM on Friday, but I couldn't find anyone to switch with any other day so I was stuck working while she went to Sea Cliff. So I got out at 2AM on Friday night (Saturday morning) and took a 3:19 train to Manhasset. Got home at 4:15ish and hung out with Meri for a bit finally. THEN I passed out for a few hours and took an 8AM train back to the city and went straight back to work from 10-3. (3/4 of the employees who closed on Black Friday opened on Saturday). So the rest of the weekend was just as hectic, but that's the gist of why I got no sleep and am now sick with a cold.... My thoughts are jumbled. More to come later, after I sleep.
Let's see.... I had a lot of stories to write about but I just didn't have the time to update at all last week because it was hell week for the retail business. Wednesday is my usual day off 'cause of Volleyball, but I didn't have it anyway last week 'cause of the holiday... And to make a long story (to be told later on this week, hopefully) short, I switched with someone on Wednesday so I could have off Sunday because Meri came to visit on Friday night. so I worked Tuesday night, Wednesday morning, Thanksgiving from 1-close (which was 6... but closing always includes making the store neat and folded and everything...)... so I got out at 8:30 and then Black Friday 3-close (which ended up being 2 AM). Meri's bus came in at 5PM on Friday, but I couldn't find anyone to switch with any other day so I was stuck working while she went to Sea Cliff. So I got out at 2AM on Friday night (Saturday morning) and took a 3:19 train to Manhasset. Got home at 4:15ish and hung out with Meri for a bit finally. THEN I passed out for a few hours and took an 8AM train back to the city and went straight back to work from 10-3. (3/4 of the employees who closed on Black Friday opened on Saturday). So the rest of the weekend was just as hectic, but that's the gist of why I got no sleep and am now sick with a cold.... My thoughts are jumbled. More to come later, after I sleep.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Just had a thought. Yay! Fodder for writing!
So, amid my semi-daily spurt of evening internet-spamming boredom I stumbled upon a recipe for bread. When I say I stumbled upon it, I do not actually mean that I used StumbleUpon to figuratively stumble upon it, nor do I mean that I literally tripped and stumbled over a recipe book; I mean that I was dazedly staring at my iGoogle homepage and noticed that one of the three daily "How-to[s] of the day" was "How to Bake Almost No Knead Bread." (By the way, anybody want to explain to me how if the little window is called "how to of the day," why there are three of them every day? You don't go to a restaurant and see more than one soup of the day! That goes against the very definition and premise of something being "of the day!" You can only have one!) Anyway...
I get to the recipe of the bread (which I don't really need to know anyway, because I love cooking and baking, and kneading is one of the fun parts...), and the main ingredient, of course, is flour. But just like any other recipe you ever read that calls for non-whole-wheat flour, it says "unbleached all-purpose flour." That made me wonder... has anyone ever heard of bleached flour? Has anyone even made it? We know flour is white. Why would you ruin it by adding color to it and why would it be of such great importance to mention that the flour be unbleached in every recipe that calls for it? Do you ever see in the baking aisle of the supermarket a bag that says "bleached flour!"? I don't understand. And if it did exist, wouldn't competitors quickly come out with alternatives? "Flour made with Tide!" or "Lysol flour!" People are stupid...
Now that I think about it, why is it even necessary that distributors mention that the flour is all-purpose? Technically everything and anything is as all-purpose as the bearer wants it to be. I can use flour to fill up my child's sandbox (if I had a child or a sandbox...). It may not be the most fun experience of the child's life, but hey! look on the bright side! Throw some water in there and ask the kid to make a castle and voila! You no longer "knead" to worry about the bread recipe issue because the kid will end up (unbeknownst to him) kneading it for you in the process! (Pun clearly intended). All-purpose flour, my ass! My Macbook is technically all-purpose. I can use it to semi-angrily, completely-seriously rant about the ins and outs of the stupidity of the flour production industry, or I can use it to wipe up spills off the kitchen counter. It won't be very good at the latter, but I can do what I want. The End.
*EDIT* special shout out to Lena Meany, who is in the midst of a long road trip from Coors country to the beautiful state of New York!
I get to the recipe of the bread (which I don't really need to know anyway, because I love cooking and baking, and kneading is one of the fun parts...), and the main ingredient, of course, is flour. But just like any other recipe you ever read that calls for non-whole-wheat flour, it says "unbleached all-purpose flour." That made me wonder... has anyone ever heard of bleached flour? Has anyone even made it? We know flour is white. Why would you ruin it by adding color to it and why would it be of such great importance to mention that the flour be unbleached in every recipe that calls for it? Do you ever see in the baking aisle of the supermarket a bag that says "bleached flour!"? I don't understand. And if it did exist, wouldn't competitors quickly come out with alternatives? "Flour made with Tide!" or "Lysol flour!" People are stupid...
Now that I think about it, why is it even necessary that distributors mention that the flour is all-purpose? Technically everything and anything is as all-purpose as the bearer wants it to be. I can use flour to fill up my child's sandbox (if I had a child or a sandbox...). It may not be the most fun experience of the child's life, but hey! look on the bright side! Throw some water in there and ask the kid to make a castle and voila! You no longer "knead" to worry about the bread recipe issue because the kid will end up (unbeknownst to him) kneading it for you in the process! (Pun clearly intended). All-purpose flour, my ass! My Macbook is technically all-purpose. I can use it to semi-angrily, completely-seriously rant about the ins and outs of the stupidity of the flour production industry, or I can use it to wipe up spills off the kitchen counter. It won't be very good at the latter, but I can do what I want. The End.
*EDIT* special shout out to Lena Meany, who is in the midst of a long road trip from Coors country to the beautiful state of New York!
LOL!
This video is so gay. I laughed out loud for a few seconds after watching this 'cause it's so stupid.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Prose.
Good morrow!
I had to write a prose for Poetry class that I shared with the class today. It's nice, because prose (at least the way the prof. makes us do it) is just like my blog entries, but a little more poetic! So it was pretty easy and fun. It was technically my first time doing this, because obviously the blogs don't count. So here it is:
It won’t come to fruition. Intuition tells him something’s missing, but she’s Heaven-sent. And his poor heart is heavy-set. It wasn’t always so, but love clots fill his being ‘cause he’s worried. The crimson blood can’t pump because he’s broken. And so it sits there, filling up his center. His heart expands just like a lung that’s filled with water and can’t breathe without injecting poison that would otherwise be life-sustaining, but it kills him now. But he’s never been more alive, feeling the pain, waiting for the burst. That fatal bubble grows as more love tries to flow. The love just doesn’t want to leave him…
And that is his dilemma, as he tries to fix her and his arteries. As if they both were one inside of him. He’s blue beneath the skin but never redder underneath it. She knows this. She can feel every pain that he feels. She is pain – at least to him. And yet she’s just the opposite. She was the twilight that showered him with loveliness just before dusk. The smell before the sunset breeze; she taught him how to breathe! Taught his heart to pump so well. Professionally. He pounded out her rhythm, just the way she showed him. Now she chokes him. But the worst is, she didn’t know it, and she won’t leave. She just doesn’t want to leave him…
I had to write a prose for Poetry class that I shared with the class today. It's nice, because prose (at least the way the prof. makes us do it) is just like my blog entries, but a little more poetic! So it was pretty easy and fun. It was technically my first time doing this, because obviously the blogs don't count. So here it is:
It won’t come to fruition. Intuition tells him something’s missing, but she’s Heaven-sent. And his poor heart is heavy-set. It wasn’t always so, but love clots fill his being ‘cause he’s worried. The crimson blood can’t pump because he’s broken. And so it sits there, filling up his center. His heart expands just like a lung that’s filled with water and can’t breathe without injecting poison that would otherwise be life-sustaining, but it kills him now. But he’s never been more alive, feeling the pain, waiting for the burst. That fatal bubble grows as more love tries to flow. The love just doesn’t want to leave him…
And that is his dilemma, as he tries to fix her and his arteries. As if they both were one inside of him. He’s blue beneath the skin but never redder underneath it. She knows this. She can feel every pain that he feels. She is pain – at least to him. And yet she’s just the opposite. She was the twilight that showered him with loveliness just before dusk. The smell before the sunset breeze; she taught him how to breathe! Taught his heart to pump so well. Professionally. He pounded out her rhythm, just the way she showed him. Now she chokes him. But the worst is, she didn’t know it, and she won’t leave. She just doesn’t want to leave him…
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Singapore.
So, looking through my blog stats, it turns out I have a fan in Singapore! There are 4 hits from Singapore, and they're all spaced out rather evenly.... I don't know anyone in Singapore. I have hits from England, France, Canada, Russia, Australia, New Zealand and Japan - And I know people in all those places - but I don't know anyone in Singapore. So here's to you, Singapore Fan! This shoutout is to you! Leave a comment, have your voice heard! Make yourself known! I've always wanted to go to Singapore, and now I have a supposed friend there. Introduce yourself!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Right Now
I just got back from work. Gotta work to feed the kids. You know....
Anyway, I have to put together my poetry midterm now, pretty much just a portfolio of my poems put into a folder (who uses those anymore, really?)... Basically I'm in a poetry mood, which, Thank God that is so, because otherwise how the hell would I be able to finish these unfinished poems. I can't be forced to write, lovely professor of mine! Yes, you may not believe in writer's block (and I do not either), but the point is you cannot expect us to always conform to your poetic needs and assignments. As an established poet and playwright you should understand that writers make their own deadlines if they wish the work to be perfect and at its best! All I'm saying is there's a reason all of my poems are either half finished or not to your standards... But that's a story for a different day. I'm in a poetic mood... I listened to Eminem on the bus home from work... It always opens the mind up to freedom. While I was listening to Eminem, another rap popped into my head... and it is really pure poetry. Here is an excerpt from the song Release (Parts 1, 2, and 3) by Blackalicious. This is actually Part 2 of the song, and it is a mellow, poetic free-verse that is chanted, more so than rapped. Enjoy this beauty.
Inner breathlessness, outer restlessness
By the time I caught up to freedom I was out of breath
Grandma asked me what I'm running for
I guess I'm out for the same thing the sun is sunning for
What mothers birth their young-ens for
And some say Jesus coming for
For all I know the earth is spinning slow
Suns at half mast 'cause masses ain't aglow
On bended knee, prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter versus spirit
A metal ladder
A wooden cross
A plastic bottle of water
A mandala encased in glass
A spirit encased in flesh
Sound from shaped hollows
The thickest of mucus released from heightened passion
A man that cries in his sleep
A truth that has gone out of fashion
A mode of expression
A paint splattered wall
A carton of cigarettes
A bouquet of corpses
A dying forest
A nurtured garden
A privatized prison
A candle with a broken wick
A puddle that reflects the sun
A piece of paper with my name on it
I'm surrounded
I surrender
All
All that I am I have been
All I have been has been a long time coming
I am becoming all that I am
The spittle that surrounds the mouth-piece of the flute
Unheard, yet felt
A gathered wetness
A quiet moisture
Sound trapped in a bubble
Released into wind
Wind fellows and land merchants
We are history's detergent
Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath
Articles amending death
These words are not tools of communication
They are shards of metal
Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks
Aged thoughts rolled in tobacco leaf
The tools of a trade
Barbers barred, barred of barters
Catch phrases and misunderstandings
But they are not what I feel when I am alone
Surrounded by everything and nothing
And there isn't a word or phrase to be caught
A verse to be recited
A man to de-fill my being in those moments
I am blankness, the contained center of an "O"
The pyramidic containment of an "A"
I stand in the middle of all that I have learned
All that I have memorized
All that I've known by heart
Unable to reach any of it
There is no sadness
There is no bliss
It is a forgotten memory
A memorable escape route that only is found by not looking
There, in the spine of the dictionary the words are worthless
They are a mere weight pressing against my thoughtlessness
But then, who else can speak of thoughtlessness with such confidence
Who else has learned to sling these ancient ideas
like dead rats held by their tails
so as not to infect this newly oiled skin
I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane
I can think of no greater conglomerate of steel and metal
I can think of nothing less likely to fly
There are no wings more weighted
I too have felt a heaviness
The stare of man guessing at my being
Yes I am homeless
A homeless man making offerings to the after-future
Sculpting rubber tree forests out of worn tires and shoe soles
A nation unified in exhale
A cloud of smoke
A native pipe ceremony
All the gathered cigarette butts piled in heaps
Snow covered mountains
Lipsticks smeared and shriveled
Offerings to an afterworld
Tattoo guns and plastic wrappers
Broken zippers and dead eyed dolls
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
It matters not what this paper be made of
Give me notebooks made of human flesh
Dried on steel hooks and nooses
Make uses of use, uses of us
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
On bended knee
Prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter vs. spirit, through meditation
I program my heart to beat breakbeats and hum basslines on exhalation
Anyway, I have to put together my poetry midterm now, pretty much just a portfolio of my poems put into a folder (who uses those anymore, really?)... Basically I'm in a poetry mood, which, Thank God that is so, because otherwise how the hell would I be able to finish these unfinished poems. I can't be forced to write, lovely professor of mine! Yes, you may not believe in writer's block (and I do not either), but the point is you cannot expect us to always conform to your poetic needs and assignments. As an established poet and playwright you should understand that writers make their own deadlines if they wish the work to be perfect and at its best! All I'm saying is there's a reason all of my poems are either half finished or not to your standards... But that's a story for a different day. I'm in a poetic mood... I listened to Eminem on the bus home from work... It always opens the mind up to freedom. While I was listening to Eminem, another rap popped into my head... and it is really pure poetry. Here is an excerpt from the song Release (Parts 1, 2, and 3) by Blackalicious. This is actually Part 2 of the song, and it is a mellow, poetic free-verse that is chanted, more so than rapped. Enjoy this beauty.
Inner breathlessness, outer restlessness
By the time I caught up to freedom I was out of breath
Grandma asked me what I'm running for
I guess I'm out for the same thing the sun is sunning for
What mothers birth their young-ens for
And some say Jesus coming for
For all I know the earth is spinning slow
Suns at half mast 'cause masses ain't aglow
On bended knee, prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter versus spirit
A metal ladder
A wooden cross
A plastic bottle of water
A mandala encased in glass
A spirit encased in flesh
Sound from shaped hollows
The thickest of mucus released from heightened passion
A man that cries in his sleep
A truth that has gone out of fashion
A mode of expression
A paint splattered wall
A carton of cigarettes
A bouquet of corpses
A dying forest
A nurtured garden
A privatized prison
A candle with a broken wick
A puddle that reflects the sun
A piece of paper with my name on it
I'm surrounded
I surrender
All
All that I am I have been
All I have been has been a long time coming
I am becoming all that I am
The spittle that surrounds the mouth-piece of the flute
Unheard, yet felt
A gathered wetness
A quiet moisture
Sound trapped in a bubble
Released into wind
Wind fellows and land merchants
We are history's detergent
Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath
Articles amending death
These words are not tools of communication
They are shards of metal
Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks
Aged thoughts rolled in tobacco leaf
The tools of a trade
Barbers barred, barred of barters
Catch phrases and misunderstandings
But they are not what I feel when I am alone
Surrounded by everything and nothing
And there isn't a word or phrase to be caught
A verse to be recited
A man to de-fill my being in those moments
I am blankness, the contained center of an "O"
The pyramidic containment of an "A"
I stand in the middle of all that I have learned
All that I have memorized
All that I've known by heart
Unable to reach any of it
There is no sadness
There is no bliss
It is a forgotten memory
A memorable escape route that only is found by not looking
There, in the spine of the dictionary the words are worthless
They are a mere weight pressing against my thoughtlessness
But then, who else can speak of thoughtlessness with such confidence
Who else has learned to sling these ancient ideas
like dead rats held by their tails
so as not to infect this newly oiled skin
I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane
I can think of no greater conglomerate of steel and metal
I can think of nothing less likely to fly
There are no wings more weighted
I too have felt a heaviness
The stare of man guessing at my being
Yes I am homeless
A homeless man making offerings to the after-future
Sculpting rubber tree forests out of worn tires and shoe soles
A nation unified in exhale
A cloud of smoke
A native pipe ceremony
All the gathered cigarette butts piled in heaps
Snow covered mountains
Lipsticks smeared and shriveled
Offerings to an afterworld
Tattoo guns and plastic wrappers
Broken zippers and dead eyed dolls
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
It matters not what this paper be made of
Give me notebooks made of human flesh
Dried on steel hooks and nooses
Make uses of use, uses of us
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
On bended knee
Prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter vs. spirit, through meditation
I program my heart to beat breakbeats and hum basslines on exhalation
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Soda Cans.
I just had some rum and coke. I drank it with Pavel Roudenko. It was his rum. Captain Morgan, to be precise. That's the best type of rum. For those who are unaware (idiots), Captain Morgan was a great man. He was better than Blackbeard. Better than Captain Hook! I would say he was better than Jack Sparrow, but that would just be a lie. Jack Sparrow could beat Chuck Norris. Easily. Speaking of Blackbeard, I think he would have been better had his name been been BlackBeer! Then he'd be even more badass! I think it's funny that I just randomly mentioned Jack Sparrow and Blackbeard in the same sentence because both of them are in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie! I can't wait for that! Hands down the best movie series of all time. And that's all because of Johnny Depp's amazing acting...
Penelope Cruz is in the next movie as well. Can you say HOT? Because I can! I don't know why the ability to say a 3-letter word is relevant to this situation, but whatever... deal with it. Back to my original point....
I had a rum and Coke (should Coke be capitalized, because I was actually drinking Coca-Cola brand cola, and not some stupid, unworthy imitation?... I think so. Anyway...) To drink this rum and Coke I had to open a can of Coke (naturally)! So, of course, the fact that I have to open it is made excruciatingly difficult by the fact that I have no nails and the "pop-top" is pressed deep down into the top of the can. Trouble. That made me wonder; why hasn't good, old, brilliant America thought up a way to make opening cans easier? I mean, yeah, we have can openers... but those are for legit cans.... The cans that homeless people mass order on their homeless person internet - or however else they get their food, how should I know? - and the cans that are sealed shut and impossible to open unless you smash them on a rock... which is more useless than having Christopher Reeves as a doorman, simply because no one wants to eat canned food off a dirty rock, just like no one wants to have a dead paraplegic guy in a wheelchair opening a door for them while he claims to be Superman. Too soon? I don't know, ask Heath Ledger. Oh yeah, never mind....
Point is, soda cans are way too difficult to open for us normal, male humans who don't have obnoxiously long fingernails. Made me wonder, what possible inventions could there be to make life so much easier when one simply wants to enjoy the simple pleasure of canned liquid sugar? And I had revelation! An epiphany! (Wait for it...) Why not GOOGLE it!? So I Googled it. And turns out those genius drunk Europeans have already figured out a way to fix this simple problem! They added a dent. Yes. A dent. They added a dent right below the flattened-ellipsis-shape-with-a-line-through-it thing that opens all soda cans. And VOILA! Anyone can open a can of soda with ease! Amazing.
NOTE: I didn't actually Google this phenomenon, but I was bored in class one day and was on Stumbleupon and it led me to this picture. And I fell in love.
Penelope Cruz is in the next movie as well. Can you say HOT? Because I can! I don't know why the ability to say a 3-letter word is relevant to this situation, but whatever... deal with it. Back to my original point....
I had a rum and Coke (should Coke be capitalized, because I was actually drinking Coca-Cola brand cola, and not some stupid, unworthy imitation?... I think so. Anyway...) To drink this rum and Coke I had to open a can of Coke (naturally)! So, of course, the fact that I have to open it is made excruciatingly difficult by the fact that I have no nails and the "pop-top" is pressed deep down into the top of the can. Trouble. That made me wonder; why hasn't good, old, brilliant America thought up a way to make opening cans easier? I mean, yeah, we have can openers... but those are for legit cans.... The cans that homeless people mass order on their homeless person internet - or however else they get their food, how should I know? - and the cans that are sealed shut and impossible to open unless you smash them on a rock... which is more useless than having Christopher Reeves as a doorman, simply because no one wants to eat canned food off a dirty rock, just like no one wants to have a dead paraplegic guy in a wheelchair opening a door for them while he claims to be Superman. Too soon? I don't know, ask Heath Ledger. Oh yeah, never mind....
Point is, soda cans are way too difficult to open for us normal, male humans who don't have obnoxiously long fingernails. Made me wonder, what possible inventions could there be to make life so much easier when one simply wants to enjoy the simple pleasure of canned liquid sugar? And I had revelation! An epiphany! (Wait for it...) Why not GOOGLE it!? So I Googled it. And turns out those genius drunk Europeans have already figured out a way to fix this simple problem! They added a dent. Yes. A dent. They added a dent right below the flattened-ellipsis-shape-with-a-line-through-it thing that opens all soda cans. And VOILA! Anyone can open a can of soda with ease! Amazing.
NOTE: I didn't actually Google this phenomenon, but I was bored in class one day and was on Stumbleupon and it led me to this picture. And I fell in love.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Yo Mama
Ah! Before I get back to class, I need to inform everybody that I just came up with a brand new, completely original Yo Mama joke off the top of my head! This one's actually kinda good!
Ready?
Yo mama's so fat, she's a ROLL model!
Ready?
Yo mama's so fat, she's a ROLL model!
Subway (not the MTA...)
Today I walked by a Subway shop on the way to class. Well, I didn't walk by one.... I walked by the stupid old guy outside of Columbus Circle, wearing about 17 layers, holding a sign that says "SUBWAY! NOW SERVING BREAKFAST!" and an arrow pointing which way to walk.
First of all, Subway is not "now" serving breakfast. They have been serving breakfast for a while now. Everyone knows that they give you the option of entering the store before 11AM and ordering 5-day-old eggs, fake rubber bacon, and crappy American cheese on a green wrap or their awful-smelling "freshly-baked" bread.
Second of all, I want to know why Subway is advertising their store across the street from their store!? If you want to hire a homeless guy to hold a sign for you on cold, blustery days, at least have the common sense to put him a block away or something... somewhere where he is not in full view of the store. Put him in the middle of Central Park! That would be fun! You get some morning jogger who, for some unknown reason, has a craving for Subway diarrhea and sees the sign then starts running in the direction of the arrow, only to get lost on some trail in the park. Classic!
Anyway... Thirdly, why does Subway feel the need to advertise with such means at all? Listen, you guys have just recently bypassed McDonald's as the number one fast food company in the world. Believe it or not, people, there are now more Subways in the world than McDonald's. I guess this is partly because it is healthier, but also, people are starting to realize that cheap sandwiches are more filling and taste better than tiny burgers and fries that don't even mold or turn stale after being left out, untouched, for years upon years...
But the other thing is, fast food places don't need to advertise anything extra besides the usual billboards and TV ads.... If someone wants fast food they will get it. Why bother wasting 9 dollars an hour on a useless guy when it most likely does not increase your revenue one bit? Stupid people...
Alright, later guys... gotta start paying attention in class now.
First of all, Subway is not "now" serving breakfast. They have been serving breakfast for a while now. Everyone knows that they give you the option of entering the store before 11AM and ordering 5-day-old eggs, fake rubber bacon, and crappy American cheese on a green wrap or their awful-smelling "freshly-baked" bread.
Second of all, I want to know why Subway is advertising their store across the street from their store!? If you want to hire a homeless guy to hold a sign for you on cold, blustery days, at least have the common sense to put him a block away or something... somewhere where he is not in full view of the store. Put him in the middle of Central Park! That would be fun! You get some morning jogger who, for some unknown reason, has a craving for Subway diarrhea and sees the sign then starts running in the direction of the arrow, only to get lost on some trail in the park. Classic!
Anyway... Thirdly, why does Subway feel the need to advertise with such means at all? Listen, you guys have just recently bypassed McDonald's as the number one fast food company in the world. Believe it or not, people, there are now more Subways in the world than McDonald's. I guess this is partly because it is healthier, but also, people are starting to realize that cheap sandwiches are more filling and taste better than tiny burgers and fries that don't even mold or turn stale after being left out, untouched, for years upon years...
But the other thing is, fast food places don't need to advertise anything extra besides the usual billboards and TV ads.... If someone wants fast food they will get it. Why bother wasting 9 dollars an hour on a useless guy when it most likely does not increase your revenue one bit? Stupid people...
Alright, later guys... gotta start paying attention in class now.
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