humor – Page 2 – Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island

Social Media Thirsty: The Immortal Sins of a Digital Profession

September 12, 2014September 12, 2014 mengx001Leave a comment

Dear Social Media fans and professionals.

Everyday I go into work, I think the same thing as I start up my computer for the day:

NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU ARE DOING.

It’s true. Nobody cares. Nobody should care. Nobody cares about reading this dribble on my blog either. At least I hope not. If you aren’t asking yourself the same questions, you are probably doing social media right.

The reverse mentality, that “everyone cares” what you are doing, is plaguing the field. In recent years, this has come to be known as “Social Media Thirsty.” This is not a phenomenon that only exists in the tech savvy business. It exists in my profession of naval history as well. The idea is to promote your brand, not blast it out to others like a knee jerk reaction. If you do, you are missing the point of social media entirely. ENTIRELY.

Building a brand has never been both easier and harder at the same time. One post can reach millions of people – if you want it to. But how do you get there? There are certain immortal sins I feel social media professionals utilize that totally erase the good work others are doing. I can’t say I am not at fault here, either. I do it all the time. I can’t say I run social media any better than anyone else. In fact, I am probably much worse. I should know better – but it still happens. Social media is a business, and the business model is held together on stilts.

Immortal Sin #1: Facebook Tagging

This annoys the piss out of me. It almost makes me wish there was a limit to characters in Facebook like there is for Twitter. And let’s be honest, if you “tag” other businesses, it goes to a different part of the page that almost nobody save admins really looks at. And let’s be honest, most of those posts people bring TO the page are coming from psycho Fox News people that want to self advertise in the worst ways possible. Self advertise on YOUR page, not others. It’s like name dropping So thirsty.

Immortal Sin #2: Hashtags on Facebook/Meaningless Hashtags is the new Fetch.

Ugh. Stop trying to make this happen. Hashtags are for Twitter. It’s like eating rice with a soup ladle. Sure, you can do it – but it looks out of place and cumbersome, detracting from the main point in the first place. I’m not just talking regular cumbersome, I am talking Seven Mary Three cumbersome. That’s some real talk right there. Don’t be Seven Mary Three, people.

Immortal Sin #3: 7,000 Posts a Day

I think this one is self explanatory. One, maybe two a day. When you couple this sin with any of the others, you enter into the top 3 circle of Dante’s Inferno. Actually, your computer should set itself on fire.

Immortal Sin #4: Spelling Counts

It is ironic that spelling has never been more important than it is now. I have seen WONDERFUL posts ruined by spelling. I do it all the time still. I get it. The anticipation of getting a really good post out there, and you forget to spell check it. But oh no! There are 6 likes already – You don’t want to lose those insights, but you don’t want to get made fun of for misspelling something.

Pro tip – throw your status in text edit or word before you do it. It also keeps an archive of everything you do each day.

Immortal Sin #5: The Humble Brag

This is an immortal sin for LIFE – not just for social media. It’s the fastest way for me to lose respect for you. That or not giving me a hand shake or eye contact when I first meet you. That is the absolute worst. If you have to brag about what you do, or who you are, then you are doing social media wrong. I can’t say I am blameless on this one. Everybody wants to promote their brand. It’s why we do what we do. But there are ways to do it without it looking like an empty, self-congratulatory gesture. I want to TELL YOU that you are awesome – not the other way around. This goes back to the main point – nobody cares what you are doing. Make them care. Give them the thirst. Make them act like they just swallowed a pound of salt from your posts. Make it rain with that Morton Salt.

The whole point is: Make people care. Don’t rely on others to do it. I just hope I have enough “likes” on my Facebook page to make it to Heaven someday.

5 Things I Need That I Will Never Buy

August 6, 2014August 6, 2014 mengx001Leave a comment

As a student of the interwebs, I come across a lot of lists. There is no denying the “listmania” revolution is upon us. Do I really want to know ten different things everybody my age can identify with? No. Do I click on it anyway? Yes. Stupid internet.

If you are still reading this now, I hope I have caught you in this web. I wanted to come up with a list that is deeply personal to me as a (man) at the dawn of his thirtieth decade. In honor of national underwear day today, I came up with a list of 5 things I ALWAYS need, yet somehow avoid buying all the time.

1. A Sun Visor for my Car

I work at the Washington Navy Yard in Washington, DC. Unlike most people who work in DC, I have the option of free parking. Such luxury, however, comes at a price. I get up at 4:35am and drive into the yard to get to work at 5:45am. It’s beyond early. A friend of mine who works at the yard calls it “coming in with the vampires.” Anyways, its early. Driving to work has been a genuine pleasure. Although I get to work at the ass-crack of dawn, I have the option to leave in the early afternoon on my own time. Leaving this summer, however, has been more than a bitch. It’s been hot. I park my car in a small lot near the river’s edge in central yard. Needless to say, there is no shade for any of the vehicles there. By the time I get to my car at 2:30, it feels like an oven. It doesn’t help that 2:30 is usually the peak time for temperature. No amount of AC blasting will get it cool. By the time I get the car cool, I am back home in Alexandria. I have resorted to just rolling the windows down all the way home. Ironically, it’s actually cooler than trying to cool down the inside of a car that reaches over a hundred degrees on average each summer day. It’s not so bad, though; I get to smell the sweet air of DC Water everyday.

I park next to the same car every day. It’s a silver Mazda with a sun visor. I am half tempted to break into the car to see just how cool it feels at the end of the day. As much as I bitch and moan about how hot it is, I have yet to purchase a sun visor. I keep telling myself I don’t know where to find one.

I can’t wait until summer is over.

2. A Nice Suit/Nice Ties

I’ve never been one with good tastes in clothes. That doesn’t mean I don’t wouldn’t mind some. Sure, I have some nicer things that I wear (or that my fat ass can still fit into) from time to time, but I generally wear the same thing everyday. True story – I haven’t worn a pear of jeans in almost five years. All corduroy, baby. Every website that lists things a man my age “should have” by the time he reaches 30 is a nice tailored suit. Unfortunately, I deal with the mix and match. I rocked the professional look (brown jacket and slacks) for years, and I still bring it out on special occasions for work. Unless a giant cash flow comes in the near future, I will continue rocking the clothes I wear.

I get a little sad every time I walk by a nice suit in a store. For now, I’ll look like I am in a David Byrne video. Things to work for, though.

As far as the ties are concerned, all but one are hand-me-downs from my father. Why? To be honest, I generally suck at dressing myself and chose the most neutral tie choices to match any outfit. I am a poorly dressed chameleon. Also, nice ties are super expensive, and I don’t think I could pull off a power tie anyway.

Listen, if wearing sweatpants to work was acceptable, I would have one outfit.

3. A Potato Masher

This one is relatively self-explanatory. What the hell do you use to mash something if you don’t have a masher? My wife and I have resorted to using a hand blender. It works fine, but it’s truly not the same. I want to mash things, dammit. I want to reenact Alan Rickman stabbing the table in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves…but with potatoes.

This is really just a silent plea for more mashed potatoes.

4. Nice Underwear

You get me, Garth.

In the history of my adult life, I have never bought underwear that did not come in a 3 pack. That being said, the average shelf life of a Matt Eng pair of underwear is at least 6-7 years. Screw you, Marky Mark. I am the real face of the average underwear user.

By the time I am forced to throw them away, they have a look slightly reminiscent of tree rings. It’s magical. The crotch is all blown out and the elastic of the waistband is barely there. The sagging feeling feels like home to me. Looking back, it’s all I have ever really known.

“You know, if you got a nice pair of underwear, it would feel a lot better.”

I bet it would. The reason I have never bought nice underwear is pretty simple. Everybody always talks about their great pairs of broken in jeans. I don’t wear jeans (see above), but I do wear underwear. Mine are broken in and road tested. They are, as Garth said, a part of me. Do any guys really have nice underwear? Do guys buy nice underwear because they want the ladies to see it? Nah. If you don’t love me when I wake up in my frayed Haynes boxer briefs with two holes in the crotch, you prob. never will. Thankfully, my wife still tolerates it.

5. High Quality Toilet Paper.

This one is actually not for me. I asked Angela (my wife) if she had any suggestions about this blog story before I wrote it. Good toilet paper is the first thing she said to me when asked. It took maybe two seconds for her to think of an answer. When she said it, I could see the look of pain in her eyes, like she was dying for me to ask it for years now. Yet I will never waver on my decision to forgo buying expensive toilet paper. I feel like most readers will side with my significant other on this matter. No matter the price, everyone should have a good BM experience. TP is usually the icing on the cake. For my household, one person in particular loathes the experience, so I guess I have to explain myself. My reasons are pretty simple. And, since this one is about poop, I must go into detail.

A. The Clog Issue
Thick toilet paper that is more than double ply (AKA Charmin, Quilted Northern, etc.) are more likely to clog up a toilet. I would much rather be a “rough rider” than have to pump poo through a clogged system at 3am. Call me crazy. You might ask yourself, “maybe you can wipe less.”

Come on…..come on. I do what I need to do to get the job done. END OF STORY.

B. If I Wanted a Peanut Butter Sandwich, I’d Make One
I don’t like the feeling of soft toilet paper. It’s not a pleasant one. I don’t feel in control. I don’t have a control issue overall, unless I am making food sausages.

Listen. I need to feel it. I need to know what I am doing. In short, my buttocks needs to know I am boss. I am the king of my body functions. And I will wipe away the sins of my food choices in any way I see fit. I don’t want to feel like I am wiping myself with wedding cake. Yes..I went there.

And for God sakes, I will never do the wet wipes thing. The last thing I want to feel on my butt is wetness on wetness. It actually gives me shivers.

C. Until the three seashell method is adopted, I will keep on doing it the same way. Your move, John Spartan.

HONORABLE MENTION: Quality Shaving Cream/Razors.

DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE RAZORS ARE! This one is for all the ladies, as well. I have to shave just my face. Most women shave much, much more. That kind of wear and tear is both tiring and very expensive. Thankfully, a Costco membership helps, but even that goes only so far. Discount or no discount, you are always going to shell out serious dough to make your face silky smooth.

The problem is, my face is never completely smooth because my shaving cream is, according to my wife, “the cheapest shit possible.” She isn’t wrong. You can get a can of Barbasol relatively anywhere for only a few bucks. I prefer the menthol scent. I love that it’s cheap, but I do hate that it almost always leaves me feeling half done when I am finishing up.

…and please don’t tell me about Dollar Shave Club. Those razors are pretty shit. I really do like my Mach 3 razor. It feels amazing for those first two weeks of use. Then it starts getting harder and harder to shave, getting to the point of almost digging into your skin to get the stubble off. If I ever upgrade from the two, it will be the cream and not the razor. For now, I can dream about a simpler time when good shaving cream was abundant and plentiful…

Reagan National Airport: How DC Locals Throw Shade

August 2, 2014August 2, 2014 mengx001Leave a comment

When I first moved up to DC, I was in a meeting at work with several members of our leadership. We were talking about a gentleman who needed to fly up from Florida and visit the museum gallery.

Ok. No problem.

Granted, this was one of my first “big boy” meetings with all of the members of leadership at my new job, and I wanted to give a good impression to all of them. It’s hard to impress people who you feel are already impressive. It’s the same tingling sensation you get when you meet a girl you really like -that nervousness that never leaves. They could have asked me anything and I would have given them the same reaction at that point:

Anyways, back to the story.

We were talking about this guy coming up to DC, and one of our leadership said that he would be “glad to pick him up at National.” As much as I wanted to resist asking, I had no idea what he was talking about. Keep in mind, this was really the first time I had spoken to any of them since my initial welcome back in November. I just said it. Like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, it just came out:

To this day, I can’t tell you why I said it. Curiosity perhaps. For damn sure, I knew as the words came out of my mouth that it was a mistake. Little did I know it would be a nice “Welcome to DC” moment for me.

“What,” he said in a tone of bewilderment. “National is what you might call Reagan National today.”

The look on his face can only be described in one word:

“Oh, Okay. Cool. Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.

oh.
OH.
OHHH.

Damnit. Really? Seriously. I wanted to absorb into the seat. Welcome to DC, indeed…dumbass. Oh well. They like me now (I think).

Why was this such an issue? In the words of Patrick Bateman, I wanted to fit in. I really want to be that guy that knows his way around the area because I really do love it here. I realized back then that I was far away. I won’t tell you what I really wanted to do.

I asked a friend of mine who has lived here for several years if I was overreacting. She had some pretty candid remarks.

“Oh, did you really? Yeah, they definitely know you are new to the area. Don’t let it get you down.”

I could almost feel her do that sympathetic tap on the shoulder through the internet. Damnit. I began to think that, yes, I was new to the area. I get a free pass, right? I felt a bit better when she said she had a similar experience when first moving to the district six years ago. These things take time. This was how I came to know one of the ways that beltway locals throw shade. There are others. Metro Shade. Smithsonian Shade. Traffic Shade. I will get to those later.

Apparently this is not just a ME issue. I went to look for more answers. TO THE INTERNET!

…and one troll.

National. DCA. Get on the planes. Got it. Looking back, it wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe I will just call it Reagan National. I can say it however I want, though Robot Nixon National Airport has a better ring to it. You can call it whatever you want, too. If anybody else tells you different, take it from the Gipper himself.

ONE MONTH LATER.

About a month after that unfortunate (yet somehow inevitable) incident, I was traveling from the Navy Yard to Farragut West. Somebody there asked me if I knew the best way to get to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

“Oh, well. You have to take the Green line here towards Greenbelt to L’Enfant. Then you can go down one level and hop on the Orange towards Vienna and get off at the Smithsonian stop. Although, you might as well get off at L’Enfant. It’s a shorter walk to Air and Space.”

The gentleman thanked me and walked away. If I wasn’t in public, I would have had to take a cold shower or done a Middle School gym tuck to hide my excitement. It wasn’t shade, it was being helpful. Felt good. Maybe I am getting used to this place. Slow and steady.

Maybe one day, I can throw shade in a similar way. A guy can dream. It’s hot out there right now. I am okay with a little shade every once in a while.

The 5 Stages of Grief: A Public Restroom Story

July 29, 2014 mengx0011 Comment

Whether you want to admit it or not, you will have to do the ‘ol straddle and flop in a public restroom in your lifetime. It’s not something you talk about in mixed company. Most people hide their shame. I like to let people know about it, whether you want to or not. If you’re still reading, I assume you do.

Despite my interest in talking about this with people and laughing about it, going to the bathroom for anything more than a quick “numero uno” is a true phobia of mine. My wife alway says she has an irrational fear of spiders. Why can’t mine be sitting on some other man’s oil slick? Gross. It’s IRRATIONAL.

A few months ago, I was on my way back to Virginia Beach after a day of work. I got off a little early, but didn’t have any time for lunch. I wanted to get back home and relax a bit. Either way, the ratio of coffee to food in my system was rather high.

My thoughts and rumbled feelings that day are best described in the Kubler-Ross Model, better known as the 5 Stages of Grief. The commentary going on in my head, based on the aforementioned model, went as follows:

Setting: Interstate 95. Somewhere between Fredericksburg and Ashland.

Our hero: Faint rumbles in my stomach. First a gurgle sensation, growing to sharp pains shooting like a lightning bold down my spine and out of my stomach. uh oh.

The time is 2:00 pm. Exit 140. Stafford.

1. DENIAL

Ooof. My stomach is kind of rumbling. I think I’ll be fine though. Do I have to go to the bathroom?

There’s a Starbucks at the next exit. Maybe I should stop there and see if I really do have to go.

(The mind processes, synapses fire, etc.)

Nah, I’ll be good. Maybe my body knows I am going home.

Where am I anyway? Why am I gripping the steering wheel so tight, and why the hell am I starting to sweat?

For some reason, I have managed to turn off the radio like you do when you are coming up to a destination. Who does that? And why? Where do I think I am going?

(GURRRRRRGLE – FRRP – CSSSSSSST)

Clenches stomach.

Oh, God No.

Denial is not just a river in Africa. The struggle is getting real.

2. ANGER

2:08 pm. Exit 136. Stafford Airport.

AHHHHHHHH. WHY DID I NOT STOP BACK THERE. Now I am going to sit here and keep holding it until I find a better place to go. I could go back around and hit 95 N to the Starbucks, but that is just a waste of time.

Why the hell is this happening to me now? I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to go to work and now have to drive home with what feels like an Armageddon sized boulder waiting for reentry into the atmosphere. Bruce Willis, where are you?

Now I am in the dead zone. There is no good exits here for miles and miles. Well, anything that won’t take me forever to get back on the interstate and moving. I need to get out of the corridor before it gets too crowded. Dropping a D will end up setting me back a half an hour or 45 minutes at least. Why is this happening now!

Our hero presses on. The foot on the gas better gets slightly heavier. The sweat is visible now on the ring of his blue dress shirt.

I think I am in trouble. Damn this phobia.

3. BARGAINING

2:25pm. Exit 118. Thornburg.

Exit 92. I have to make it there. It is my sanctuary. Rick had the CDC in Season 1 of the Walking Dead. Agent Smith had Zion. I have Exit 92.

I am crossing Mudd Tavern Rd. Isn’t that just hilarious.

(GURRRRRRGLE – FRRP – CSSSSSSST)

HNGGGGGGGGGGGG OW OW OW OW OW.

A slow but steady line of traffic appears.

ARE YOU F$%#!NG KIDDING ME. RIGHT NOW.

Taps the steering wheel incessantly.

GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO COME ON.

Oh, great. Look at what I am passing here at this exit. Maybe something good will show up. Let’s see:

McDonalds: I might as well try to go in a trash can.
Wendy’s: It’s just classy McDonald’s. Prob more grease. They never have paper towels, anyway.
Bojangles: Gross.
Gas Station(s): Double Gross.

Maybe Wendy’s won’t be so bad. I bet I could try real quick.

All our hero can think about is the opening lyrics to “Bump ’n Grind:”

“My mind’s telling me no
But my body, my body’s telling me yes”

What do I listen to? My body or mind? I’m a rational guy…I can figure this out.

Our hero envisions the toilet scene from Trainspotting in his head. Any thought of stopping at Wendy’s for a squat are diminished.

He grips the steering wheel tighter. The music is turned back on as a distraction.

I. MUST. MAKE. IT. TO. ASHLAND. Why am I thinking in a Scottish accent?

4. DEPRESSION

2:47pm. Exit 108. Rest Stop.

That traffic took longer than expected. UGH, I am so sad. There is no way I am stopping at a public rest stop to go. That’s like allowing the guy next to you to double decker while cooking you a meal. No way.

Whenever and wherever I do finally go, it is going to be terrible. I know it. I’ll have to cave and go somewhere disguisting. I don’t even have my set up, right? Pitchers always talk about the “perfect game” or business types are always “in the zone,” but for me – I have the perfect set up – I only have like 6% left on my phone. Unless I seriously dim the son of a bitch, I am looking to get only a few precious moments of good google searching or Facebooking until its lights out and back into the dark ages. I could stop on the side of the road and plug in my charger to my car, but that would take effort. Or unnecessary movement. And If I do go somewhere with no phone, I’ll just be sitting there on some strange toilet that isn’t yours without anything to look at. I’d have to read a magazine or something, but I don’t have a magazine. Better yet, who would take a magazine into the bathroom. Insurance plan? Gross. That would hurt a lot.

I now understand Faust.

Damnit, where is there an acceptable bathroom? I’ve driven down this road for ten miles and the only exits I see are for fast food restaurants. Eat healthy, America. Then nice guys like me could have decent places to poop. That’s all I ask for.

Nice guys finish last, right? I just hope its not in a 2013 Toyota Camry.

The sweat is now pooling on his neck. The struggle is more real than ever.

5. ACCEPTANCE

3:01pm. Exit 92. Ashland.

A Starbucks! OH LAWS YES! M-O-O-N, that spells poop.

Our hero quickly gets off the exit and speeds into the coffee establishment. You know the rest.

###

For the record, the bathroom wasn’t that great – but at that point, you must accept the hand (or seat) you are given.

LIFE LESSON. ZING!