Category Archives: Random Rants

Everyday items like money to days of the week to common situations.

Military Time

Military time is a way of keeping track of the hours using twenty-four hours instead using twelve hour intervals with a.m. or p.m. to differentiate between morning and evening. It’s known as the 24-hour clock around the world, but this is America and we call it military time, because violence. It’s convenient in that you don’t have to specify a.m. or p.m. but it’s inconvenient because you have to do math. If someone tells you that it’s 22:37, you have to subtract twelve hours to find the real time. 22 minus 12 is 10, so 22:37 is 10:37 p.m. I’m not a fan of military time. I’m not used to it and I don’t like change. There’s not much wrong with using a.m. or p.m. It doesn’t take much time to write it out and you don’t have to do math. I just want to know the time. I don’t want to have to think.

Critically Rated at 8/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Talking About Work After Work

The other day I clocked out of work after a double shift, went directly to the bar with a few coworkers, and we discussed the day’s events over round after round. We talked about customers, managers, scheduling, who does side work, who slacks off, the horror stories, the personal triumphs, who is hooking up with who, who is getting promoted, who is getting in trouble, and everything in between. Because that’s what we do after work. We talk about work. It’s not ideal but it’s unavoidable. I spend five or six days a week at work, as do my coworkers, and they are all fun and down to hang out so we hang out and inevitably end up talking about work after work. There’s no escape. It’s a vicious cycle. Case in point: Today is my day off and I’m writing about talking about work after work. FML.

Critically Rated at 9/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Being Productive Before Work

I usually work morning shifts, but every now and then my managers like to sneak in a closing night shift into my schedule. It keeps me on my toes. I don’t mind because night shifts give me the chance to be productive before work. It gives me enough time to do laundry, run errands, pay bills, and write blog posts about being productive before work. I don’t usually do anything fun or exciting before night shifts because I don’t want to get into shenanigans and feel the need to call out.

Today is one of those days where I work at night. I slept in an extra couple of hours and woke up feeling refreshed and invigorated. I drank a beer to kill that feeling, and then I did laundry. I’m still doing it actually. I just put everything into the dryer, then I skated home and started writing this article. Hopefully I will finish writing before I have to go back to the laundromat. This whole situation is very meta right now.

Well, the article is drawing to an end now and my laundry is still tumbling around in the dryer so I will call this a success. I still have a few hours to be productive. Maybe I will get a haircut. Most likely I will watch shit on YouTube or Netflix until it’s time to leave. You can’t deny that I was productive. I did some stuff.

Critically Rated at 14/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Duct Tape and WD-40

All you need in life is duct tape and WD-40 and you can solve practically any problem. If something moves and it’s not supposed to, use duct tape. It something doesn’t move and it’s supposed to, use WD-40. Duct tape is the best type of tape because it’s strong, flexible, and extra sticky. Plus it looks cool as fuck and you can use it to make duct tape wallets or tacky prom dresses. WD-40 is a penetrating oil and water-displacing spray. It has the power to stop squeaks, drive out moisture, loosen rusted parts, and can fix stuck zippers. My sister’s fiancé is an engineer. I gave him duct tape and WD-40 as Christmas gift one year. He told me it was a great gift; that it was practically all he needed to do his job. Ever since then, whenever somebody asks me what they should get for their dad, boyfriend, or husband, I tell them duct tape and WD-40. It’s always a solid and useful gift.

Critically Rated at 14/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Unofficial Translator

It’s summertime again and that means that my workplace has been flooded with dozens of Europeans with J1 Visas. They stay in the U.S. for a couple of months, work hard and party harder, and then go back home to their various countries. They all speak English as a second or third language, but most of them have different dialects and delicious accents. They speak Russian, Gaelic, Croatian, Slovak, you name it. They are awesome to hang out with, so of course I hang out with them. And I’ve become an unofficial translator.

I can’t speak Russian, Gaelic, Croatian, or Slovak. I speak J1. It’s like English but a lot slower and it involves a lot of hand gestures. You have to be able to explain things in a relatable way. One of my J1s went to get a tattoo and had to fill out paperwork. Initial here, here, and here, signature here. I had to tell her what her initials were and what to write. I went shopping with another J1 friend and the salesman made a pitch that he didn’t understand. He asked the salesman to repeat himself to me so I could decipher the message and relay it back to him.

I’m not saying that Europeans suck at English. I’m saying that Americans suck at English. They use fancy and proper words. They say advocate instead of lawyer. They spell color like colour. They add the U. Fancy. Proper. Americans have dumbed down the English language, so that even when Europeans say something right most Americans can’t understand what they are saying. That’s where I come in. I can turn casual speech into proper speech and vice versa so that a more cultured society can understand our primitive selves. It’s enough to warrant myself as an unofficial translator. I’ll take it.

Critically Rated at 13/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Sitting in One Spot and Watching the World Change Around You

I went to my friend’s apartment the other night and we ended up perched on top of the fire escape drinking beer and sipping wine. It was right in the heart of downtown San Francisco, a block or two away from Union Square. It made for some terrific people watching to say the least. We saw tourist after tourist gawking at buildings and taking pictures of the cable cars. We saw angry drivers honking and yelling at bikers and pedestrians. We saw cars leaving parking spots and others swooping in instantly. We saw one guy drive up the wrong way of a one way street. He didn’t cause any accidents, but he didn’t make any friends either. We watched the sun set and the city became a different place. There’s nothing quite like sitting in once spot and watching the world change around you. It makes you realize that life happens whether you’re apart of it or not, aware of it or not. I’d rather be aware. I prefer people watching over binge watching something on Netflix.

Critically Rated at 15/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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That Was Our Song

 Once upon a time, a few years back, I was walking down the sidewalk with my girlfriend at the time when a bum starting following us and singing “My Girl” by The Temptations. It’s a great song, but that was a lousy version so I didn’t give him any cash. Nonetheless “My Girl” became our song. Each time we heard it, it was like the universe was playing it for us and us alone. I loved that song because it reminded me of her. Then we broke up. I could no longer stand that song. Every time I heard it I would think of her. I hated that song because it reminded me of her. It took quite a while to be able to listen to it again. I can tolerate it in small doses now but it will never be the same way again. That was our song. It still is. That’s why I don’t want to hear it.  

 Critically Rated at 7/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

  

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When Tragedy Strikes

I woke up this morning to news of a balcony collapse in Berkeley, California. A bunch of Irish students were celebrating a twenty-first birthday when the 4th floor balcony collapsed and pancaked into the balcony below. Six died, seven more were hospitalized, and two are in critical condition. One minute they were partying and celebrating life, and then everything changed in an instant. It’s not fair. You try to make sense out of it. You can’t.

Every summer, thousands of Irish students come to the work in the US with J1 visas. I work in a San Francisco restaurant that employs a handful of them each year. I’ve met a lot of Irish people over the years. They are great people. They work hard and they play hard. They are close-knit group, and treat each other like family. Ireland is small so they tend to stick together, but they aren’t exclusive. Anybody who wants to party with an Irish J1 is more than welcome to (and they know how to party). That’s why it sucks so much when something like this happens. They don’t deserve it. Nobody does, but especially not them.

This is a tragedy. It’s a punch to the stomach. All you can do is try to gather up the pieces and move on, but you can never fully recover from something like this. My thoughts and condolences go out to the family and friends to all those affected by this unfortunate accident. It’s a reminder that life can change in an instant. Never take anything for granted because tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Critically Rated at 3/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Bad Driver’s License Photo

I had to go to the DMV a few weeks ago to renew my driver’s license. I had to take the eye exam, give them my thumbprint, and take a new picture. A few weeks passed and my new license arrived in the mail. I opened up the envelope and was instantly dismayed at how terrible my picture was. Or more specifically, at how terrible I looked in my picture. I look drunk, stoned, and hungover. I swear I was only one of the three. I didn’t like it at first. I considered going back to the DMV and seeing if they would retake the picture again Then I realized what a mistake that would be. If I ever get pulled over driving under the influence, the cop will take one look at my bad driver’s license photo, assume that I look fucked up all the time, and I’ll get off scot-free. If I use it wisely I’ll stay out of trouble… well, legal trouble at least. There are a lot of terrible things in life. A bad driver’s license photo is not one of them.

Critically Rated at 7/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Your Neighborhood

I lived in the same house in San Francisco for over seven years. I knew everything about the neighborhood. I knew my neighbors, I knew the cashiers at the corner store. I knew the cashiers at the liquor store. I knew the bartenders at the dive bars. I knew which bus lines to take. I knew where to find parking. I had it made. Then I had to move into a new neighborhood in a different district. I had to start all over and I didn’t want to. The new neighborhood didn’t feel right. It wasn’t mine.

Luckily I got a chance to move back to my original neighborhood, about a block away from my first house. I’ve only been moved in for a couple of nights now, but it feels so good to be home. I’m back in my old stomping grounds and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. My first day back I went to the liquor store for a celebratory beer. The cashier remembered me and greeted me with a warm welcome. He shook my hand, asked where I’ve been, where I am now, and why I had to move. People noticed that I was gone and they were glad that I came back. It’s a great feeling to be remembered. I missed my neighborhood and my neighborhood missed me. It made me realize that you’re not just a part of your neighborhood, your neighborhood is a part of you too. Make sure you appreciate it.

Critically Rated at 16/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Street Sweeping Ticket

I woke up from a peaceful slumber this morning to the sounds of the street sweeper making its way down my block. I wondered if I had accidently parked on the wrong side of the street the night before. I ran down the hallway to the living room and peered out the window. Sure enough, I was parked directly in the path of the street sweeper. I could see him flanked by two meter maids in their dopey little three-wheeled vehicles. I debated whether or not to run outside and try to move my car before they got there, but I knew that I wouldn’t make it in time. I wasn’t even wearing any pants. I had to stand there in my boxers as they ticketed my car. I was powerless to do anything. All I could do was watch as sixty-six dollars went the drain. I hate street sweeping tickets. Mostly because I have no one to blame but myself. I should have read the damn sign. Too little, too late.

Critically Rated at 5/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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My Reincarnation Plan

Reincarnation seems like a good deal. When you die you get to come back to life as another person or as an animal. It’s kind of like being immortal without the guilt of cheating death. You still die, but at least you get to live again. I’m not sure if I believe in reincarnation because I haven’t died yet (as far as I know). But I’ve decided that I would come back as a gorilla in a nice zoo if I was ever given a chance at it. It would be a pretty sweet gig I think. I would get a customized habitat with enclosed living quarters and outdoor space complete with trees, plants, and grass. I would get delicious meals served daily. I wouldn’t have to pay rent or taxes. I’d get everything for free, including health care. I would have everything handed to me. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I wouldn’t have any responsibilities. And let’s not forget the amazing breeding program they have going over there. I’m not into gorilla vag right now, but I’m not a gorilla yet. I’m sure my gorilla D would love it.

Critically Rated at 15/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Comb Over

A comb over is a hairstyle for bald/balding men who are either in denial about being bald or who have no shame. Whatever remaining hair on the head is grown long and then combed over the bald spot in a feeble attempt to hide the bald spot. I was having an intense bar conversation outside my favorite pub the other day. I was in the middle of proving my point when a newcomer walked into the bar with the most stunning comb over I’ve ever seen. It was beyond majestic. I completely lost my train of thought. I’m pretty sure my jaw actually dropped. To top it off, it was a breezy day so it waved in the wind as he entered. It was glorious. Words truly can’t describe how epic his comb over was. You could tell he took time to groom himself. Comb overs like that take a while to perfect. He was a professional. It was immaculate. It was just the right amount of wispy hair stretched over a perfectly polished scalp. I wish I took a picture but I was in shock. All I could do was stare. It was incredible. Seriously. I want you to know this.

Critically Rated at 12/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Unfitted Hats

Unfitted hats are baseball caps that are adjustable. There is typically a strap or plastic thing that you can use to tighten or loosen the fit. They are cheaper than regular fitted hats because they can go on anybody’s head, no matter how misshapen it is. There’s never a reason to pay for one. Every unfitted hat in my wardrobe has been from a promotional giveaway, like for opening up a new checking account. I’m not a hat guy. I hardly ever wear hats. But even I know that unfitted hats aren’t fashionable. They are cheap and they make you look cheap, especially when you turn your cap backwards and have the strap on display in the center of your forehead. You think you look cool. You don’t. You look cheap. And cheap is not a good look. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t wear unfitted hats. I’m saying that I’ll like you less if you do.

Critically Rated at 5/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Passcode

A passcode is a series of numbers that you enter into an electronic device for user authentication. When you drop five hundred bucks on an iPad, you want to make sure your shit is secure. You don’t want some stranger going through your contacts, pictures, and personal accounts. So you put a passcode on that bad boy. Now only you and your most observant friends can gain access to your electronics. I try to learn as many of my friends’ passcodes as I can. It’s fun to take selfies with their phone, status hack their Facebook accounts, or FaceTime a mutual friend. I don’t do anything too malicious (mostly so that they don’t change their passcode and I can keep pranking them).

Critically Rated at 12/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Neglecting Your Toenails

I clipped my toenails the other night for the first time in a few weeks. I put off cutting them for a lot longer than I should have. They were starting to look like little claws. I could hear them clacking on the hardwood floor whenever I walked around the house barefoot. They would dig into my socks and hook together like Velcro. It was not a pretty sight and it was not a good feeling. Neglecting your toenails is easy to do because your feet are hardly seen (especially if you’re a guy in cold city like San Francisco). I wake up, shower, get dressed, put on some socks, put on some shoes, and head out the door. I come home ten to twelve hours later usually. Then I crack open a beer, turn on the TV, and relax. Relaxing doesn’t typically include clipping my toenails. So they get long. I don’t mean for it to happen. It just does. Don’t insult my neglected toenails. I will scratch you with them.

Critically Rated at 5/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Sleeping on a Deflated Air Mattress 

I spent last weekend sleeping on my friend’s air mattress in San Diego. It wasn’t a very good air mattress. It had a hole in it. It was a pinhole leak so the air would slowly seep out during the night. I’d fall asleep in relative comfort, only to wake up a few hours later sprawled out painfully on the floor, at which point I’d have to reinflate the air mattress. Luckily it had an electric pump so I didn’t have to use any lung power. Sleeping on a deflated air mattress is like trying to relax on a sinking ship while pretending nothing is wrong. Sooner or later you’ll have to deal with the problem or else you will drown. Or have a sore back in the morning. Either way it’s going to suck. I don’t recommend sleeping on a deflated air mattress. I’d rather sleep on the couch, in the car, or even on the floor. At least you don’t end up on the floor when you start out on the floor. 

Critically Rated at 5/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young 

  

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