Butchered at the tailor

Sorry, Daniel, for making this public before you got to privately grieve, but I just had to post this.

Last week, Daniel and I had a townie afternoon that started with Rojoz and ended with wanting to die after shopping for a bit too long at Valley Fair and Santana Row. In between, we went to a tailor I had found on Yelp, one of the higher rated places in San Jose. I had four pairs of jeans to get hemmed, and Daniel had a hole that he wanted fixed. After a confusing conversation with two store owners he went ahead and decided that the “small patch” they would use plus sewing the hole shut would be a safe fix for his pricey designer duds.

The following Tuesday I went and picked up our jeans, paid, and went home. That’s when I saw it. The hot tranny mess they had turned Daniel’s jeans into. I called him, he didn’t pick up. I texted him, to try to soften the blow, and warned him I was not joking. I thought I had it bad that my jeans were hemmed slightly shorter than desired although they’re definitely still wearable. Daniel’s jeans, on the other hand, are highly questionable.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

I’m not really sure what is going on here, but it’s a confusion of thread and uncraftsmanlike conduct. It’s very possible that the thread will “melt away” when ironed, but something tells me that they either did not like Daniel’s attitude or they’re just completely moronic tailors who did not know how to fix the jeans and went apeshit. Anyway, this is Daniel’s first look at his ruined jeans and here’s hoping this can be reversed. Admittedly, if you’re not the victim, it’s pretty hilarious that you could walk into a tailor with a small problem and walk out with this. But for a tailor to botch a patch job this badly is fairly unreal.

Sad.Sigh Down Under – Part 4

11.18.08 – Taronga Zoo, Oxford Street/Darlinghurst

Rachel, Jamie’s friend from The JC was supposed to leave to head back to the States this afternoon.  However, before she was to do that, we decided to go to the Taronga Zoo, on Sydney’s North Shore.  Jamie, who’s been to 167 zoos whilst she’s been here, (including world-famous Australia Zoo of dead-via-stingray Steve Irwin fame), opted out on account of her general lameness. Continue reading

Sad.Sigh Down Under – Parts 1, 2 and 3

Yay!  Blogging from afar!  (G – we need a Sad.Sigh Abroad category.)

11.15.08 – NYC, Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean.

But first, a small tangent.  So, prior to my departure from JFK to SYD, I’d received a text message from my Magic Phone Panel telling me that they were disbanding the panel immediately, and that my phone service would be shut off on November 20th and that I would have to switch my service to an account of my own name, or be faced with account termination.  (I love when they use such mean, forceful language.  It makes me feel like I’m being abused, and I like that.)  So, Friday night at 11:30pm, as I’m sexing up my boyf, (in this case, sexing up = watching Ugly Betty), I get another text message and e-mail with instructions on how to switch my account over.  I was relieved at this, as I thought they weren’t going to get it to me in time before I left for the wonders of Down Under, (I promise this will be the 8th to last time that I use the phrase ‘Down Under’).  However, it turns out that, because I tried calling on Saturday, and my account was solely handled by AT&T’s Small Business Unit, I couldn’t get anyone to make the switch for me.  I tried their main number, I tried the number that was supplied to me by Magic Phone Panel, Inc., I tried a corporate store, I tried the main Transfer of Service line.  All to no avail.  Perhaps it’s time for me to try switching to a different provider?  The stupid fucking lowdown is that I’m going to have to stupid fucking do the whole transfer from Australia, and negotiate the dumass time differential, which is complicated for me, because I’m dumb.  Feel sorry for me.  Tangent done. Continue reading

The Wisdom of Janitors.

Proof that I don’t know anything about anything?

Our custodian at work, Tyrone, a 35-year old Jamaican man, and I had the following conversation the other day about the tanking economy*:

DT: Hey Tyrone, how’s it going?

Tyrone: Ayrie, not too good, not too good.

DT:  Sorry to hear that.

Tyrone: You know, I checked me Money Market deother day.  It’s next to no’ting!

DT:  Tell me about it.  Wait… you have a Money Market account?

Tyrone: Who do you think I are, man?  Dis economy is just tanking.  Housing prices, investment banking… Ting is, Paulson and the Treasury needs to get deyr act together.  Dey need to regulate, dey need oversight.  I tink Mayor Mike should be Secretary of de Treasury.  You know, I are just about ready to go back to the old days, where de toughest choice was picking which banana tree to hide your money under.

DT: (Stunned silence.)

*Jamaican slang added for emphasis and stereotyping.  Everything else he actually said, including the banana tree comment.