Little Victories
Hey kids. It has been some time since I last wrote about the quintessential American existential gripe, right? So today’s post offers two short bits of recent news about little victories I enjoyed, and yes, one of them is about driving.
Celebrate the little victories in life because if you wait for the big ones, it may be a long, long wait.
–Tom B. Taker
Offered herein are a pair of true stories where yours truly came out on top, no matter how thinly sliced the margin may have been. And both stories feature some small element of chance and odd elements of coincidence, enough so that my mind couldn’t help but notice.
So strap yourself in for this strange and peculiar journey to the winner’s lane. Don’t worry, I promise I handle it like everything else in life, in a very calm and mature manner.
Our first story finds me driving down the street as innocent as Bambi playing in the pure driven snow…
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The Winning Sinning
What is winning? What is risk? What is glory?
To win without risk is to triumph without glory.
— Pierre Corneille (1606 – 1684), ‘The Cid,’ 1636
Tough questions when it’s early on a Monday morning. Too tough. But I can tell you this much with 100 percent certainty: The continued existence of Charlie Sheen has absolutely ruined the internet for the term “winning.”
Out of the first 31 results in a Google Image Search for “winning” a whopping 28 of them had something to do with ye olde whack nut. On the highway of life Charlie Sheen is a single-vehicle accident.
I guess we could say he’s a winner when it comes to publicity.
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Douchebag Assholery of 2011

Yee-haw!
Today, on the first day of a new year, I know some people celebrate by going all couch potato and shit and watching the New Year’s Day Twilight Zone marathon. (It’s only 45 hours long so do try to squeeze it in if you can.)
Me? I like to be different. I like to be special.
While researching for the biggest douchebags and/or assholes of 2011 I stumbled happenstance on a whole new art form of entertainment to meet my holiday TV marathoning needs.
But first, a few thoughts about the research. In my quest for the biggest douchebags and assholes of 2011 I had to establish some rules. For example, outright criminal behavior doesn’t count. That stuff is on a whole other level. That leaves people like scumbag Jerry Sandusky off the list.
Douchebaggery is more about bad form and poor taste. It’s about being an ass or a jerk.
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America’s Next Great Person Who Sucks Least

I did experiments like these and many more
There’s a small chance I was a weird kid.
I think I played different.
I’ll talk about one of those differences today.
Like a lot of kids, I had toy cars that ran on little pieces of plastic track. I did the usual stuff with these toys like conducts races, torment the cat, and bounce them off my sister’s head.
But I also did some weird stuff with them, too. One things I did was conduct experiments.
Actually, I think I was a bit before my time. Long before I’d ever heard of reality TV or “bracketology” I was simulating both, even as a wee tyke.
What I would do is take my assorted cars and devise experiments for them. In my own version of bracketology each car would randomly challenge another car for the right to move on in the competition. I’d put the cars through all sorts of tests. There were jumping tests, distance tests, stability going down a bumpy surface, etc.
I’d go through as many rounds as it took to determine the “winner.” Then I’d log my findings in my little notebook. My objective? To determine which car was the “best.”
Sometimes I’d mix things up, though. Instead of bracketology, I’d run the contest in rounds where only the worst performer was eliminated. After a series of these rounds only one competitor would remain and be declared the “winner.” And I kept logs of those findings, too.
Logs of my results! Sick, huh?
It’s been far too long to remember which method produced the best results and how the methodology effected the results, if it did at all. But I distinctly remember doing both. And the logs themselves haven’t survived. Sadly, that bit of scientific knowledge has been lost forever. The world won’t be able to benefit from my experiments.
But I can’t help but wonder. Does the modern reality TV show methodology of “who sucks the most this round” eventually get around to producing a contestant who is the “best?” Or is it just a fancy way of randomizing things?
One thing is certain: The producers of this form of entertainment could care less as long as you watch.
Like Alton Brown says, “Even great cooks can have bad days.” And one bad day could easily eliminate the “best” contestant, especially when the conditions of the test are extremely rigged based on some totally random and extreme criteria. “And the secret ingredient … is … TOBACCO!” Unfortunately this severely hamstrings every chef except the one from North Carolina.
Does Tyra’s show really produce America’s next “top model?” Is the last chef left standing really the “top” one? Is the last person on the island really the best “survivor?” And why are we so compelled to watch?
Am I wrong or do these shows seldom produce the “best?” Or, in a case like Survivor, who was the best player that “deserved” to win but was still voted out?
Whatever. The decision of this blog is final. The person who sucks most will leave this blog immediately. The blog has spoken.
Qui pro ho, Clarice
QuiBids, in online advertising proclaims, “Department stores are ripping you off.”
Indeed. But I bet department stores can only dream about numbers like these:

Some numbers I crunched
Think about it. With a bidding increment of one cent a closing price of $14.49 represents 1,449 bids. At 60 cents each that adds up to a whopping $869.40 in bidding fees for QuiBids.
QuiBids claims these cameras normally sell for about $699. Of course, I just did a quick scan of Google Shopping and found the same camera and same lens selling new for $550. I guess that so-called “value price” isn’t worth the paper its printed on.
Let the bidder beware! And remember, kids, don’t let those department stores rip you off. Meh.
In closing I quip: Qui gone, gin? Can you hear the clicking of the bids, Clarice? Can you?
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