On single daddery

41.jpgDon’t panic.

It’s already been a maddeningly long week– Presidents’ Day weekend is apparently a big thing in the furniture business– and Monday was a full staff day, meaning that everyone in the store had to be there on Monday whether it was their day to work or not and everyone got an extra five hours of work this week on top of our normal 46.

Everyone but me, that is.  They didn’t actually announce the full-staff thing until, like, Friday, and by that point I was already pretty damn sure that there was no way I was going to be able to spend a single second longer at work than I absolutely had to today.  My wife was at work until 8:00 on Monday and nearly 9:30 on Tuesday, meaning that my parents had to watch the boy all day Monday and pick him up from school and watch him afterwards on Tuesday until I could pick him up after I got off work at 8.

And today she fled town altogether to spend the next three days in Des Plaines (I think?  I should probably know what town she’s in) and leaving me at home with the boy.  Which in the overall scheme of things isn’t any sort of big deal– I am not actually the sort of father who panics at the thought of being sole caretaker for his kid for a few days– but it has rather increased my desire for sleep.  Lots of sleep.  And the extreme business of the last few days have already cut into my blogging time, so we’ll see if the next couple of days are the same way.

Long story short, I’ve got tons to do and don’t panic if I disappear for a couple of days.

On holding back

wicther_3_oh_my_glob.jpgIf you’ve been paying attention to my posts lately, or to my Twitter feed, you can probably guess why I didn’t post yesterday, and I suspect you’d be right.  I’ve been trying to write about it and I’m not quite there yet, for a variety of reasons.  If you have no idea what I’m talking about, please forgive the vaguebooking; all will be made clear soon enough.

Instead, let’s talk about something how I’m either too old, too liberal, or both to play video games any more. Despite shit-talking it when it came outThe Witcher 3 went on a steep-ass discount a few weeks ago– I got the game and both expansion packs for $20, if I remember right– and I was in a period of mourning the lack of video games in my life at the time and so I went ahead and picked it up.  I mean, fuck it, right?  This thing got Game of the Year awards from basically everybody, and I’ve been wrong before, right?


The Witcher 3 is exactly the game I thought it was before picking it up; it is not only bad in all the ways I thought it would be bad, it manages to be worse than I thought it was going to be in several critical areas.  I have been gaming for a very long time, so it is likely that I have played a more misogynistic game than this one at some point or another, but I can’t recall what that game might have been.  This is a game that very, very badly wants to be taken seriously, but the overgrown adolescents who coded it think that “serious” means that you get called a cunt everywhere you go, and mistake adult content— there are lots of tits, oh so many tits, and oh so many whores, and so many of the swear words– for adult complexity.

I would probably have really loved this when I was sixteen.  That’s who it’s aimed at, and regardless of the actual chronological ages of the designers, it’s who it was made by.  There are bits of the gameplay I do enjoy, but I commented to my wife this morning that the game’s greatest feat is managing to remain perfectly balanced on the razor’s edge where I’m enjoying it just enough that I’m still playing, but it’s not actually good enough to make me forget the parts that make me want to quit– so I’m still playing, but I hate the game for maybe half the time I’m playing it.

I don’t mind the stabbing.  I don’t even mind the crafting and alchemy, which is normally a part I do my best to ignore in most games.  It’s whenever I’m not in control of the character– ie, cutscenes– that I want to throw my PS4 out the window and cultivate a new hobby.


In which OH NO YOU DIDN’T oh yes I did

5327794+_3ff0bbc97327e2e34c0e4ea77569e412.jpgSome of our tables– most of them, actually– have leaves in them.  Any table that is on a pedestal is generally a breeze to put in and/or take out the leaf; the halves of the table are counterweighted and you can pull them apart with one hand.

And then there’s the tables with four legs, one in each corner, like you probably picture when you think of a table.  These can be a bastard to get apart to take the leaf out, especially one or two particular models that I don’t even like to sell to people who want to be able to use the leaf.  Pick a setting and keep it there forever; forget the leaf.  If I have to demonstrate with those tables, I have to ask the customer to help me out, and one of us needs to stand on each end and pull to get the goddamn thing apart enough to take the leaf out.  Sometimes we have to pull hard.

“Lend me a hand, here,” I’ll say to this hypothetical customer, as that’s a thing that people say to each other and it has a meaning that is immediately understood.

Yesterday, in precisely this circumstance, I said “lend me one hand” to the customer instead of “lend me a hand.”  Why did I phrase it that way?  Because yesterday was a long and emotionally draining day– there were good reasons I did not post yesterday, ending a streak of over two years of daily posting, and I was tired as hell and not, to put it mildly, my best self.

Oh, and also, the customer I was talking to had one arm, and I am a complete idiot.

I don’t know for sure that he noticed.  He certainly didn’t react at all, but he didn’t buy the table.

But seriously.  Jesus.